“You thought it did,” said the old lady
soothingly.
“I say it did,” replied the other.
“There was no thought about it; I had just——
What’s the matter?”
His wife made no reply. She was watching the
mysterious movements of a man outside, who, peering
in an undecided fashion at the house, appeared to
be trying to make up his mind to enter. In mental
connection with the two hundred pounds, she noticed
that the stranger was well dressed, and wore a silk
hat of glossy newness. Three times he paused
at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth
time he stood with his hand upon it, and then with
sudden resolution flung it open and walked up the path.
Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands behind
her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her
apron, put that useful article of apparel beneath
the cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease,
into the room. He gazed at her furtively, and
listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old lady
apologized for the appearance of the room, and her
husband’s coat, a garment which he usually reserved
for the garden. She then waited as patiently
as her sex would permit, for him to broach his business,
but he was at first strangely silent.
“I—was asked to call,” he said
at last, and stooped and picked a piece of cotton
from his trousers. “I come from ‘Maw
and Meggins.’”
The old lady started. “Is anything the
matter?” she asked, breathlessly. “Has
anything happened to Herbert? What is it?
What is it?”
Her husband interposed. “There, there,
mother,” he said, hastily. “Sit
down, and don’t jump to conclusions. You’ve
not brought bad news, I’m sure, sir;”
and he eyed the other wistfully.
“I’m sorry—” began the
visitor.
“Is he hurt?” demanded the mother, wildly.
The visitor bowed in assent. “Badly hurt,”
he said, quietly, “but he is not in any pain.”
“Oh, thank God!” said the old woman, clasping
her hands. “Thank God for that!
Thank—”
She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of
the assurance dawned upon her and she saw the awful
confirmation of her fears in the other’s perverted
face. She caught her breath, and turning to her
slower-witted husband, laid her trembling old hand
upon his. There was a long silence.
“He was caught in the machinery,” said
the visitor at length in a low voice.
“Caught in the machinery,” repeated Mr.
White, in a dazed fashion, “yes.”
He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking
his wife’s hand between his own, pressed it
as he had been wont to do in their old courting-days
nearly forty years before.
“He was the only one left to us,” he said,
turning gently to the visitor. “It is hard.”
The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the
window. “The firm wished me to convey
their sincere sympathy with you in your great loss,”
he said, without looking round. “I beg
that you will understand I am only their servant and
merely obeying orders.”
