"'…For on pains of death, to fall from Thee….'"
(They would have come to the grave now, by the black pointed cypresses. There would be a long pit of yellow clay instead of the green grass and the white curb. Dan and Roddy would be standing by it.)
"'Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His mercy to take unto
Himself the soul of our dear brother—'"
The queer, violent voice stopped.
"I can't—I can't."
Mamma seemed gratified by her inability to finish the Order for the
Burial of the Dead.
XII.
"You can say that, with your poor father lying in this grave—"
It was the third evening after the funeral. A minute ago they were at perfect peace, and now the everlasting dispute about religion had begun again. There had been no Prayers since Papa died, because Mamma couldn't trust herself to read them without breaking down. At the same time, it was inconceivable to her that there should be no Prayers.
"I should have thought, if you could read the Burial Service—"