Page:The Fruit of the Tree (Wharton 1907).djvu/426

Rh were seen under clear water, a long way down. And then, as she lay thus, without sound or movement, two tears forced themselves through her lashes and rolled down her cheeks.

Justine, bending close, wiped them away. “Bessy——”

The wet lashes were raised—an anguished look met her gaze.

“I—I can’t bear it.…”

“What, dear?”

“The pain … Shan’t I die … before?”

“You may get well, Bessy.”

Justine felt her hand quiver. “Walk again.…?”

“Perhaps … not that.”

“This? I can’t bear it.…” Her head drooped sideways, turning away toward the wall.

Justine, that night, kept her vigil with an aching heart. The news of Amherst’s return had produced no sign of happiness in his wife—the tears had been forced from her merely by the dread of being kept alive during the long days of pain before he came. The medical explanation might have been that repeated crises of intense physical anguish, and the deep lassitude succeeding them, had so overlaid all other feelings, or at least so benumbed their expression, that it was impossible to conjecture how Bessy’s little half-smothered spark of soul had really been affected by the news. But Justine did not believe in this argument. Her [ 410 ]