238
THE TRESPASSER
strange farewell, did not speak. There were a few taut moments of silence. No one seems to have strength to interrupt these spaces of irresolute anguish. Finally, the guard’s whistle went. Siegmund and Helena clasped hands. A warm flush of love and healthy grief came over Siegmund for the last time. The train began to move, drawing Helena’s hand from his.
“Monday,” she whispered—“Monday,” meaning that on Monday she should receive a letter from him. He nodded, turned, hesitated, looked at her, turned and walked away. She remained at the window watching him depart.
“Now, dear, we are manless,” said Olive in a whisper. But her attempt at a joke fell dead. Everybody was silent and uneasy.
