I knew what had happened—it was midnight, the "public-houses had turned out," and Mr. Wagstaffe had came home drunk.
The night passed heavily. I heard myself (as I had done before) calling on Martin in a voice of wild entreaty:
"Martin! Martin!"
Then remembering that he was gone I began again to pray. I heard myself praying to the Blessed Virgin:
"Oh, Mother of my God, let my child . . ."
But a voice which seemed to come from far away interrupted me.
"Hush, bâch, hush! It will make it harder for thee."
At length peace came. It seemed to me that I was running out of a tempestuous sea, with its unlimited loneliness and cruel depth, into a quiet harbour.
There was a heavenly calm, in which I could hear the doctor and the nurse and my Welsh landlady talking together in cheerful whispers.
I knew that everything was over, and with the memory of the storm I had passed through still in my heart and brain. I said: