'He's gone, Basil,' he said, scarcely able to subdue his voice, not to
let an unconscious, frightening exultation sound through.
'What?' cried Basil, going pale.
Gerald nodded. Then he went on to his mother's room.
She was sitting in her purple gown, sewing, very slowly sewing, putting
in a stitch then another stitch. She looked up at Gerald with her blue
undaunted eyes.
'Father's gone,' he said.
'He's dead? Who says so?'
'Oh, you know, mother, if you see him.'
She put her sewing down, and slowly rose.
'Are you going to see him?' he asked.
'Yes,' she said
By the bedside the children already stood in a weeping group.
'Oh, mother!' cried the daughters, almost in hysterics, weeping loudly.
But the mother went forward. The dead man lay in repose, as if gently
asleep, so gently, so peacefully, like a young man sleeping in purity.
He was still warm. She stood looking at him in gloomy, heavy silence,
for some time.
'Ay,' she said bitterly, at length, speaking as if to the unseen
witnesses of the air.
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