Page 566 - sons-and-lovers

cried in terror and pain.
‘Don’t—don’t cry,’ his mother faltered.
Slowly she stroked his hair. Shocked out of himself, he
cried, and the tears hurt in every fibre of his body. Suddenly
he stopped, but he dared not lift his face out of the bed-
clothes.
‘You ARE late. Where have you been?’ his mother
asked.
‘The train was late,’ he replied, muffled in the sheet.
‘Yes; that miserable Central! Is Newton come?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sure you must be hungry, and they’ve kept dinner
waiting.’
With a wrench he looked up at her.
‘What is it, mother?’ he asked brutally.
She averted her eyes as she answered:
‘Only a bit of a tumour, my boy. You needn’t trouble. It’s
been there—the lump has—a long time.’
Up came the tears again. His mind was clear and hard,
but his body was crying.
‘Where?’ he said.
She put her hand on her side.
‘Here. But you know they can sweal a tumour away.’
He stood feeling dazed and helpless, like a child. He
thought perhaps it was as she said. Yes; he reassured him-
self it was so. But all the while his blood and his body knew
definitely what it was. He sat down on the bed, and took
her hand. She had never had but the one ring—her wed-
ding-ring.