It's very chivalrous and
considerate, of course; though you will say that you didn't think
of that; but it's hardly human--and now at last I see you are flesh
and blood again."
"Well, I am not sure that it isn't what I thought about you," said
Howard.
"Ah," said Mrs. Graves, "I am an old woman; and I don't think death
is so terrible to me. Life is interesting enough, but I should
often be glad to get away; there is something beyond that is a good
deal easier and more beautiful. But I don't expect you to feel
that."
"You think she will get well?" said Howard faintly.
"Yes, she will get well, and soon," said Mrs. Graves. "She has been
resting in her own natural way. The poor dearest baby--you don't
know, you can't know, what that means to Maud and even to me; you
will have to be very good to her for a long time yet; you won't
understand her sorrow--she won't expect you to; but you mustn't
fail her; and you must do as you are bid. This afternoon you must
just go out for a walk, and you must SLEEP, dear; that's what you
want; you don't know what a spectre you are; and you must just get
well as quick as you can, for Maud's sake and mine."
That afternoon there fell on Howard after his walk--though the
world was sweet to him and dear again, he was amazed to find how
weak he was--an unutterable drowsiness against which he could
hardly fight. The delicious weariness came on him like a summer
air; he stumbled to bed that night, and oh, the wonder of waking in
a new world, the incredible happiness that greeted him, happiness
that merged again in a strange and serene torpor of the senses,
every sight and sound striking sharp and beautiful on his eye and
ear.
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