"She went into my room; I think she wants to be alone; I will go up to her presently. Oh, Mr. Clayton," bursting into tears, for this touch of thoughtfulness moved her from her enforced calmness, "it has been so sad, so dreadful, all these hours."
"Yes; I know it has been very hard upon you. Poor Chester, and poor dear little Nan; who would have dreamed of such a catastrophe? Even Dr. Stewart, who is inured to all sorts of painful scenes, seems quite upset by it. It must be hard for a man to lose his only child," continued Garth, gravely, as he brought the tea, and stirred the fire into a more cheerful blaze.
"I did not know you were here," she said, after an interval of silence. The warmth had revived her, and the flow of nervous tears had done her good. How she wished that Langley could be induced to come down too!
"I could not make up my mind to leave you all in such a strait. Langley was here, and I thought after all that I might be of use. I am glad I thought of keeping up the fire. I had a grand hunt for Patience's tea-caddy; it took me no end of time to find."
Garth was talking in a fast, nervous way to keep up his own and Queenie's spirits. He had never seen her cry before, and it gave him an odd sort of pain. The thought of the room upstairs, and of the heart-broken father kneeling there by his dead child, weighed upon them both like lead; only Queenie stretched out her cold hands to the blaze, and drank her tea obediently, and felt cheered by Garth's kindness.
"These sorts of things upset one's views of life," he continued, after a pause. "I suppose we all know trouble in some shape or other; but when it comes to a man losing his only bit of comfort, and Heaven only knows what that child was to the poor fellow—well, I can only say it does seem hard."
"That is what I felt when I thought I was going to lose Emmie. Mr. Chester has his wife."
"She has never been much good to him. I am no scandal-monger, but one can't help seeing that. I wonder what has become of her and Miss Faith?" he went on, restlessly, walking to the window and looking out on the dark summer night.
Queenie left him soon after that. "She must see after Langley," she said; "and there were other things that ought to be done," she added, with a shudder.
Garth let her go with some reluctance; the little parlor looked desolate without her. He sat down in the old rocking-chair after she had left, and fell into an odd, musing dream. "How strangely they seemed to be drawn together," he thought. He was as much at home with her as he was with Langley and Cathy; it had come quite naturally to him now to take her under his protection, and care for her as he did for them. It had been pleasant ministering to her comfort just now. How pretty she had looked sitting there in her black dress, with her head resting against the hard wood of the chair. Most women looked ugly when they cried, but her tears had flowed so quietly. And then he wondered how Dora looked when she cried, and if she would ever gaze up in his face as gently and gratefully as Queenie did just now. And then he fell to musing in a grave, old-fashioned way on the inequalities of matrimony, and the probable risk of disappointment. Things did not always turn out well, as poor Chester had found to his cost. In times of trouble a man must turn for comfort to his wife. Was Dora the one likely to yield him this comfort? She was very strong and reliable; all manner of good qualities were hers, besides her creamy skin and golden hair; but would she be gentle and soft with him at times when a man needed gentleness?