Page 496 - women-in-love

then at the bed.
‘Ah!’ came her soft whimpering cry, and she hurried for-
ward to the dead man. ‘Ah-h!’ came the slight sound of her
agitated distress, as she stood bending over the bedside.
Then she recovered, turned, and came for towel and sponge.
She was wiping the dead face carefully, and murmuring, al-
most whimpering, very softly: ‘Poor Mr Crich!—Poor Mr
Crich! Poor Mr Crich!’
‘Is he dead?’ clanged Gerald’s sharp voice.
‘Oh yes, he’s gone,’ replied the soft, moaning voice of the
nurse, as she looked up at Gerald’s face. She was young and
beautiful and quivering. A strange sort of grin went over
Gerald’s face, over the horror. And he walked out of the
room.
He was going to tell his mother. On the landing he met
his brother Basil.
‘He’s gone, Basil,’ he said, scarcely able to subdue his
voice, not to let an unconscious, frightening exultation
sound through.
‘What?’ cried Basil, going pale.
Gerald nodded. Then he went on to his mother’s room.
She was sitting in her purple gown, sewing, very slowly
sewing, putting in a stitch then another stitch. She looked
up at Gerald with her blue undaunted eyes.
‘Father’s gone,’ he said.
‘He’s dead? Who says so?’
‘Oh, you know, mother, if you see him.’
She put her sewing down, and slowly rose.
‘Are you going to see him?’ he asked.

496 Women in Love