II
When she had heard the horse's footsteps scramble down the little steep ascent in the dark, and then pass into silence on the turf beyond, she closed the outer door, barred it once more, and then went back straight into the hall, where the lantern still burned among the plates. She dared not face her mother yet; she must learn how far she still held control of herself; for her mother must not hear the news: the apothecary from Derby who had ridden up to see her this week had been very emphatic. So the girl must be as usual. There must be no sign of discomposure. To-night, at least, she would keep her face in the shadow. But her voice? Could she control that too?
After she had sat motionless in the cold hall a minute or two, she tested herself.
"He is dead," she said softly. "He is quite dead, and so are the others.
They—"
But she could not go on. Great shuddering seized on her; she shook from head to foot….
Later that night Mrs. Manners awoke. She tried to move her head, but the pain was shocking, and still half asleep, she moaned aloud.
Then the curtains moved softly, and she could see that a face was looking at her.
"Margy! Is that you?"
"Yes, mother."
"Move my head; move my head. I cannot bear—"