“Poor little Joe,” she said; “I am so sorry I was not in time.”
Mr. Hayle did not speak.
“I will go in and see the mother,” Cicely added in a minute. Mr. Hayle looked at her doubtfully.
“He—it—the poor little dead body is in there,” he said. “Do you not mind?”
“Oh! no,” she replied. “I should like to see him.”
She went into the inner room, and the young clergyman stood watching her.
“What a woman she might be if she were but better influenced!” he said to himself.
Cicely did not stay very long, and when she came out again, Mr. Hayle saw that she had been crying. He walked a little way along the road with her, then their ways separated.
“I must take a short cut home across the fields,” he said. “Good-bye, Miss Methvyn, and thank you very much.”
“Thank me,” she repeated “I have done nothing; I wish I could. I wish I had more in my power.”