Helena shivered slightly.
“Do, my dear,” her mother pleaded. “Let me take you to bed.”
Helena rose. She had a great horror of being fussed or petted, but this night she went dully upstairs, and let her mother help her to undress. When she was in bed the mother stood for some moments looking at her, yearning to beseech her daughter to pray to God; but she dared not. Helena moved with a wild impatience under her mother’s gaze.
“Shall I leave you the candle?” said Mrs. Verden.
“No, blow it out,” replied the daughter. The mother did so, and immediately left the room, going downstairs to her husband. As she entered the dining-room he glanced up timidly at her. She was a tall, erect woman. Her brown eyes, usually so swift and searching, were haggard with tears that did not fall. He bowed down, obliterating himself. His hands were tightly clasped.
“Will she be all right if you leave her?” he asked.
“We must listen,” replied the mother abruptly.
The parents sat silent in their customary places. Presently Mrs. Verden cleared the supper table, sweeping together a few crumbs from the floor in the place where Helena had sat, carefully putting her pieces of broken bread under the loaf to keep moist. Then she sat down again. One could see she was keenly alert to every sound. The father had his hand to his head; he was thinking and praying.
Mrs. Verden suddenly rose, took a box of matches from the mantel-piece, and hurrying her stately, heavy tread, went upstairs. Her husband followed in much
