Then she was being led over hard snow,
towards a place where men stood, where there was new-turned earth,
where a coffin lay upon the ground. She suffered the sound of more
words which she could not follow, then heard the dull falling of
clods upon hollow wood. A hand seemed to clutch her throat, she
struggled convulsively and cried aloud. But the tears would not
come.
No memory of the return home dwelt afterwards in her mind. The white
earth, the headstones sprinkled with snow, the vast grey sky over
which darkness was already creeping, the wind and the clergyman's
voice joining in woful chant, these alone remained with her to mark
the day. Between it and the days which then commenced lay formless
void.
On Tuesday morning Alice Mutimer came to the house. Mrs. Clay
chanced to be from home; Emma received the visitor and led her down
into the kitchen.
'I am glad you have come,' she said; 'I wanted to see you to-day.'
'Are you feeling better?' Alice asked. She tried in vain to speak
with the friendliness of past days; that could never be restored.
Her advantages of person and dress were no help against the
embarrassment caused in her by the simple dignity of the wronged and
sorrowing girl.
Emma replied that she was better, then asked:
'Have you come only to see me; or for something else?'
'I wanted to know how you were; but I've brought you something as
well'
She took an envelope from within her muff.
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