And it was still good to live, in some ways. Even today she had known pleasure, more than for a long time. Something had lifted her up. This was the reaction.... If only she could sleep! If the wind would stop howling like a lost soul round the house!
Why was it that she had lost the faith that in her girlhood had made her so strong and secure?... She had said to Lavery it was because people had disappointed her. But was that a reason for losing her faith in God? Wasn't there something above and beyond this human life, so often petty and sordid, these weak human beings—something fixed, sure, always good and beautiful, a refuge?... No, there was nothing, or if there was, she could not find it. When she had thought she loved God, it was only that she loved people—Hilary in one way, Laurence in another—and believed in them. And then at one stroke she had lost both of them. They had been cut away from her—or was it that she had done it, cut them away, repelled and denied them both? If a man loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how shall he love God whom he hath not seen?... Then she had lost all that remained to her, the joy in her children, her content with herself, and that feeling of rightness.... From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.... Now she would be glad to go away from everybody, even the children....
Toward morning she slept, and woke unwillingly at a knock on her door.
"Breakfast's ready—aren't you coming down?"
It was Jim. She said sleepily, "Oh, I'm tired, hardly slept all night. I guess I won't get up."
Jim looked aggrieved.
"It's rotten when you don't come down," he said. Then, turning away he enquired sulkily, "Well, shall I bring up your breakfast?"
How vigorous and vivid his young figure looked, in the grey morning light—his brown glowing colour, how pleasant to see!
"Yes—no, I'll get up," she said.