For the
first time he was well nigh losing his self-possession. It was with an
effort that he steadied himself sufficiently to ask the usual
conventional question in the usual conventional tone.
"Is she any better this morning, Ann?"
"Yes, sir, she is much better," the Yorkshirewoman answered solemnly.
"She is where none can harm her now."
Yes; it was the usual periphrase of these vulgar people. He knew all
their cant by heart.
"You mean to say--she--is dead?"
He no longer tried to conceal his agitation. It was a part of his duty to
be agitated by the news of his stepdaughter's untimely death.
"O, sir, you may well be sorry," said the Yorkshirewoman, with deep
feeling. "She was the sweetest, most forgiving creature that ever came
into this world; and to the last no hard or cruel word ever passed her
innocent lips. Yes, sir, she is gone; she is beyond the power of any one
to harm her."
"All that sort of stuff is so much hypocritical twaddle, Mrs. Woolper,"
muttered Mr. Sheldon impatiently; "and I recommend you to keep it for the
chaplain of the workhouse in which you are likely to end your days. At
what time--did--did this--sad event--happen?
"About an hour ago."
In the very hour when, in his hideous dream, he had beheld the solemn
funeral train winding on for ever through the dim realms of sleep. Was
there some meaning in such foolish shadows, after all?
"And why was I not sent for?"
"You were asleep, sir.
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