"Mr. Wilton wishes to know who has died."
The uncivil fellow never turned an inch; he only started, when Sophie began to speak. I couldn't see his face.
"Tell Mr. Wilton that my mother is dead, if he wishes to know."
Sophie pulled my sleeve, and whispered, "Come away!"--and the man, standing there, began to toll the years of his mother's life.
"Don't go," I said, outside; "don't leave him without saying, 'I am sorry': you didn't even ask a question."
"You wouldn't, if you knew the man."
"Which I mean to do. You go on. I'll wait upon the step till he is done, and then I'll talk to him."
"I wouldn't, Anna. But I must hurry. Aaron will go up at once."
Dutiful little wife! She went to send her headaching husband half a mile away, to offer consolation, unto whom?
I sat upon the step until he had done. The years were not many,--half a score less than the appointed lot.