David Herbert Lawrence

"You noticed the blinds were down?"

Morel looked up.

"No," he said. "Why--has she gone?"

"Yes."

"When wor that?"

"About twelve this morning."

"H'm!"

The miner sat still for a moment, then began his dinner. It was as

if nothing had happened. He ate his turnips in silence. Afterwards he

washed and went upstairs to dress. The door of her room was shut.

"Have you seen her?" Annie asked of him when he came down.

"No," he said.

In a little while he went out. Annie went away, and Paul called on the

undertaker, the clergyman, the doctor, the registrar. It was a long

business. He got back at nearly eight o'clock. The undertaker was coming

soon to measure for the coffin. The house was empty except for her. He

took a candle and went upstairs.

The room was cold, that had been warm for so long. Flowers, bottles,

plates, all sick-room litter was taken away; everything was harsh and

austere. She lay raised on the bed, the sweep of the sheet from the

raised feet was like a clean curve of snow, so silent. She lay like a

maiden asleep. With his candle in his hand, he bent over her. She lay

like a girl asleep and dreaming of her love. The mouth was a little open

as if wondering from the suffering, but her face was young, her brow

clear and white as if life had never touched it. He looked again at the

eyebrows, at the small, winsome nose a bit on one side. She was young

again. Only the hair as it arched so beautifully from her temples was

mixed with silver, and the two simple plaits that lay on her shoulders

were filigree of silver and brown. She would wake up. She would lift her

eyelids. She was with him still. He bent and kissed her passionately.

But there was coldness against his mouth. He bit his lips with horror.

Looking at her, he felt he could never, never let her go. No! He stroked

the hair from her temples. That, too, was cold. He saw the mouth so dumb

and wondering at the hurt. Then he crouched on the floor, whispering to

her:

"Mother, mother!"

He was still with her when the undertakers came, young men who had

been to school with him. They touched her reverently, and in a quiet,

businesslike fashion. They did not look at her. He watched jealously. He

and Annie guarded her fiercely. They would not let anybody come to see

her, and the neighbours were offended.

After a while Paul went out of the house, and played cards at a

friend's. It was midnight when he got back. His father rose from the

couch as he entered, saying in a plaintive way:

"I thought tha wor niver comin', lad."

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