houghtwasunendurable,buttheveryhorrorofitfascinatedhershecouldnotdriveawaythesceneswhich,withstrangedistinctness,herimaginationsetbeforeher.Shewasseatedatthepianoandheardsuddenlyahorsestopatthefrontdoor—Edwardwasbackearly:butthebellrangwhyshouldEdwardring?TherewasamurmurofvoiceswithoutandArthurBrandertoncamein.Inhermind’seyeshesaweverydetailmostclearly.Hewasinhishuntingclothes!Somethinghadhappened,andknowingwhatitwas,Berthawasyetabletorealiseherterrifiedwonder,asonepossibilityandanotherrushedthroughherbrain.Hewasuneasy,hehadsomethingtotell,butdarednotsayitshelookedathim,horror-stricken,andafaintnesscameoverhersothatshecouldhardlystand.
Bertha’sheartbeatquickly.Shetoldherselfitwasabsurdtoletherimaginationrunawaywithherbut,notwithstanding,thepicturesvividlyproceeded:sheseemedtoassistataghastlyplayinwhichshewaschiefactor.
Andwhatwouldshedowhenthefactwasfinallytoldher—thatEdwardwasdead?Shewouldfaintorcryout.
“There’sbeenanaccident,”saidBranderton—“yourhusbandisratherhurt.”
Berthaputherhandstohereyes,theagonywasdreadful.
“Youmustn’tupsetyourself,”hewenton,tryingtobreakittoher.
Then,rapidlypassingovertheintermediatedetailsshefoundherselfwithherhusband.Hewasdead,lyingonthefloor—andshepicturedhimtoherself,sheknewexactlyhowhewouldlooksometimeshesleptsosoundly,soquietly,thatshewasnervousandputhereartohishearttoknowifitwasbeating.Nowhewasdead.Despairsuddenlysweptdownuponheroverpoweringly.Berthatriedagaintoshakeoffherfancies,sheevenwenttothepianoandplayedafewnotesbutthemorbidattractionwastoostrongforherandthescenewenton.Nowthathewasdead,hecouldnotcheckherpassion,nowhewashelplessandshekissedhimwithallherloveshepassedherhandsthroughhishair,andstrokedhisface(hehadhatedthisinlife),shekissedhislipsandhisclosedeyes.
TheimaginedgriefwassopoignantthatBerthaburstintotears.Sheremainedwiththebody,refusingtobeseparatedfromi