came the great harsh sound. He mended the fire again, noiselessly. She must not be disturbed. The minutes went by. The night was going, breath by breath. Each time the sound came he felt it wring him, till at last he could not feel so much.
His father got up. Paul heard the miner drawing his stocking on, yawning. Then Morel, in shirt and stockings, entered.
“Hush!” said Paul.
Morel stood watching. Then he looked at his son, helplessly, and in horror.
“Had I better stop a-whoam?” he whispered.
“No. Go to work. She’ll last through to-morrow.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes. Go to work.”
The miner looked at her again, in fear, and went obediently out of the room. Paul saw the tape of his garters swinging against his legs.
After another half-hour Paul went downstairs and drank a cup of tea, then returned. Morel, dressed for the pit, came upstairs again.
“Am I to go?” he said.
“Yes.”
And in a few minutes Paul heard his father’s heavy steps go thudding over the deadening snow. Miners called in the streets as they tramped in gangs to work. The terrible, long-drawn breaths continued—heave—heave—heave; then a long pause—then—ah-h-h-h-h! as it came back. Far away over the snow sounded the hooters of the ironworks. One after another they crowed and boomed, some small and far away, some near, the blowers of the collieries and the other works. Then there was silence. He mended the fire. The great breaths broke the silence— she looked just the same. He put back the blind and peered out. Still it was dark. Perhaps there was a lighter tinge. Perhaps the snow was bluer. He drew up the blind and got dressed. Then, shuddering, he drank brandy from the bottle on the wash-stand. The snow
Suddenly the door opened, and Annie entered. She looked at him questioningly.
“Just the same,” he said calmly.
They whispered together a minute, then went downstairs to get breakfast. It was twenty to eight. Soon Annie came down.
“Isn’t it awful! Doesn’t she look awful!” she whispered, dazed with horror.
He nodded.
“If she looks like that!” said Annie.
“Drink some tea,” he said.
They went upstairs again. Soon the neighbours came with their frightened question:
“How is she?”
It went on just the same. She lay with her cheek in her hand, her mouth fallen open, and the great, ghastly snores came and went.
At ten o’clock nurse came. She looked strange and woebegone.
“Nurse,” cried Paul, “she’ll last like this for days?”
“She can’t, Mr. Morel,” said nurse. “She can’t.”
There was a silence.
“Isn’t it dreadful!” wailed the nurse. “Who would have thought she could stand it? Go down now, Mr. Morel, go down.”
At last, at about eleven o’clock, he went downstairs and sat in the neighbour’s house. Annie was downstairs also. Nurse and Arthur were upstairs. Paul sat with his head in his hand. Suddenly Annie came flying across the yard crying, half mad:
“Paul—Paul—she’s gone!”
In a second he was back in his own house and upstairs. She lay curled up and still, with her face on her hand, and nurse was wiping her mouth. They all stood back. He kneeled down, and put his face to hers and his arms round her:
“My love—my love—oh, my love!” he whispered again and again. “My love—oh, my love!”
Then he heard the nurse behind him, crying, saying:
“She’s better, Mr. Morel, she’s better.”
When he took his face up from his warm, dead mother he went straight downstairs and began blacking his boots.
There was a good deal to do, letters to write, and so on. The doctor came and glanced at her, and sighed.
“Ay—poor thing!” he said, then turned away. “Well, call at the surgery about six for the certificate.”
