‘I have lost my boy, and now my husband is gone, and I am a lonely woman. I have many servants, and some friends, but none near to me, none so near and dear as my dead son’s wife. My days are not to be many. Come to me, my daughter; I want you and Lewis’s child.’
‘Must I go?’ she asked with white lips.
‘Do you know her well?’ I asked.
‘I only saw her once or twice,’ she answered; ‘but she has been very good to me.’
‘She can hardly need you. She has friends. And surely you are needed here.’
She looked at me eagerly.
‘Do you think so?’ she said.
‘Ask any man in the camp—Shaw, Nixon, young Winton, Geordie. Ask Craig,’ I replied.
‘Yes, he will tell me,’ she said.
Even as she spoke Craig came up the steps. I passed into my studio and went on with my work, for my days at Black Rock were getting few, and many sketches remained to be filled in.