The Morris County chronicle., 1906-01-30
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other particulars that you may wish tc
learn Miss Lynch will, no doubt, tell
you at some fHtufe time. ] am sure
you have heard as much as you can
|beMr, together with the fatigue Of your
journey, upon one day"
VERY well, sir, she answered, me-
chanicaly. u am much obliged to you
for all the trouble you have raken for
me; and think now, il you please, !
will get on my road again; have some
rhing to do for Miss Lynch before go
back to paddington.
She rose to her feet, and knew that
it caused her a strange, unwonted eff
fort to move. She was not faint, nor
trembling, only her limbs felt heavy,
inert, cold -as her brain, her heart felt
las it seemed to her all her future life
would be until she died.
MIR. Clithero, at parting, lapsed once
more into professional commonplace,
speaking still of her enga cement to
Mohun as a matter Of course, and al
iuding to what had formed the sub
ject Of their interview, just as he would
have done to any other serious family
commnnicationstha he~llads thought II
necessary 10 make. And Jane took
leave Of the old man with a feeling Of
relief that he proffered noa6eeper sym
pathy and sought to offer her no con
dolence. She stood in need Of support
that no words spoken by lips Of flesh
and blood could give her.
1t was some hours before the time
which Miss Lynch had fixed for her 10
return; and at Mr.. Clithero's wish.
poor Jane allowed herself to be taken
upstairs by the housekeeper, and
promised, passively, to rest and take
some refreshments before starting on
her journey home. She waited, she
swallowed few mouthfuls of the food
that was set before her-bui the merest
attempt at rest, or quiet thought, made
her heartsick. Now that she was alone
and unconstrained, an irresistible few
erish desire to DO something. if only
to get upon her feet and pace restlessly
up and down, fell upon her.
{ The room into which she had been
shown was the one which Miss Lynch
and she had always occupied when
they visited Mr.. Clithero, and every
object it contained was like familiar
face staring strangely at her in her
pain. The old print Of Hogarth's above
the chimney piece, The Antiquated
Lovers" who, when she was child,
she used to think were very like Mr..
Chthero and Miss Lynch-the very
grim, painted monsters upon the Chi
nese screen-the curves and twistings
i'll each old-fashioned piece Of furni-
ture, seemed to look at her. and twill
her with the past-the happy, unc0n-
scious past when from these windows
she had used to look out and think
OF London (eYen such London as the
upper floor lin Russell Square COM
mands) rs kind of enchanted city,
ready to yield up wonders, and plens-
ure, and intoxicating delights to all
such happy people as had passed the
barriers of manhood and womanllood
and might walk abroad. free and un-
fettered, beyond the rubicon to Totten-
ham Court road-a point at which Miss
Lynch always forced James unwilling
feet to turn when they walked out
unescorted.
She looked through these windows
now, and she saw London as it is-a
countless mass Of streets and houses,
holding q countless mass of human be-
ings hundreds and thousands Of them,
no doubt, sick and bruised, and wear
led Of life like herself, and all callous
to each others misery ard to hers. In
this great Babylon who cared that she
was TO lose Clifford that her whole
life was dishonored -al1 the sweet and
innocent fountains OF her former happi-
ness poisoned?
Already the carriages Of Mr.. Cli-
thero's clients were standing before
the house door; Mr.. Clithero himself
would be already deep in other bust
ness, in other family histories, other
miserable, degrading histories like hers,
perhaps; and would have ceased to
think of her. Scarce another person in
all tile rest Of London knew her name,
even, much less would care to hear
whether she was in misery or in hap
piness.
And yet It seemed to her own con-
sciousness as though her grief must
be greater than all other griefs; as
though it were Inonstrous, almost inn
possible, that the rest OF the world
could go on, quiet, and GLIB and I'M
concerned, when she in an hour had
lost everything that made life worth
living for. What a mockery was the
summer sunshine streaming clear and
golden on the crowded streets What
mockery were those cllildyen's voices
rising happy from their play upon the
grass within the SQUARED The familiar
furniture OF the silent room: the sun
shines the children's voices all be-
longed to something gone; and fevered
her, while they possessed not The exact
degree OF pathos that could melt her
into tears.
She felt as though her brnin must
turn il she remained longer inert. She
must get into the streets; must feel, at
least, the stimulus Of bodily exertion;
must 20 to do Miss Lyncf's shopping;
drive to the station; walk about the
platfcrnl; murder time and conscious
ness by strong physical effort. until
until sae hour when she should be
back at home. and could rest her head
tor once for the first and last time III
her lifeon Gitford's breast.