She slipped her two hands under her head,
letting them lie palm to palm on the sofapillow. The violet eyes looked
past him into space. Her tangled thoughts were in a chaos of disorder. Even
though she had known but a few months and loved not at all the grim,
gray-haired man she had called husband, the sense of wretched bereavement,
the nearness of death, was strong on her. He had been kind to her in his
way, and the inevitable closeness of their relationship, repugnant as it
had been to her, made its claims felt. An hour ago he had been standing
here, the strong and virile ruler over thousands. Now he lay stiff and
cold, all his power shorn from him without a second's warning. He had
kissed her good-by, solicitous for her welfare, and it had been he that had
been in need of care rather than she. Two big tears hung on her lids and
splashed to her cheeks. She began to sob, and half-turned on the divan,
burying her face in her hands.
Ridgway let her weep without interruption for a time, knowing that it would
be a relief to her surcharged heart and overwrought nerves.
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