The house was very still. In the little room over the porch, the lady in black sat alone. Near her, a childs white dress lay across a chair. On the floor at her feet lay a tiny pair of shoes. A doll hung over a chair and a toy soldier occupied the little stand by the bed.
And everywhere was silence-the strange silence that comes only to a room where the clock has stopped ticking.
The clock stood on the shelf near the end of the bed. The Lady in Black looked at it. She remembered the wave of anger that had come over her when she had reached out her hand and silenced the clock that night three months before.
It had been silent ever since and it should remain silent, too. Of what possible use were the hours it would tick away now? As if anything mattered, with little Kathleen lying out there white and still under the black earth!
Muvver!
The Lady in Black moved restlessly and looked toward the closed door. Behind it, she knew, was a little boy with wide blue eyes who wanted her. But she wished he would not call her by that name.
It only reminded her of those other little lips--silent now.
Muvver! The voice was more demanding.
The Lady in Black did not answer. He might go away, she thought, if she did not answer.
There was a short silence, and then the door opened slowly.
Pe-eek! It was a cry of joyful discovery, but it was followed almost immediately by silence. The unsmiling woman did not invite him to come near. The boy was unsteady at his first step.
He paused, then spoke carefully, Is--here.
It was maybe the worst thing he could have said. To the Lady in Black it was a yet more painful reminder of that other one who was not there. She gave a sharp cry and covered her face with her hands.
Bobby, Bobby she cried out, in a release of unreasoning sadness. Go away! Go away! I want to be alone--alone!
All the brightness fled from the boys face. His eyes showed a feeling of deep hurt. He waited, but she did not move. Then, with a half-quieted cry, he left the room.
Long minutes afterward, the Lady in Black raised her head and saw him through the window. He was in the yard with his father, playing under the apple tree.
Playing!
The Lady in Black looked at them with serious eyes, and her mouth hardened at the corners.
Bobby had someone to play with him, someone to love him and care for him, while out there on the hillside Kathleen was alone--all alone.
With a little cry the Lady in Black sprang to her feet and hurried into her own room. Her hands shook as she pinned on her hat and covered herself with her black veil. But her step was firm as she walked downstairs and out through the hall.
The man under the apple tree rose hurriedly and came forward.
Helen, dearest,--not again, today! he begged. Darling, it cant do any good!
But shes alone--all alone. You dont seem to think! No one thinks--no one knows how I feel. You dont understand. If you did, youd come with me. You wouldnt ask me to stay--here! choked the woman.
I have been with you, dear, said the man gently. Ive been with you today, and every day, almost, since--since she left us.
But it cant do any good--this continuous mourning over her grave.
It only makes more sadness for you, for me, and for Bobby. Bobby is--here, you know, dear!
No, no, dont say it, cried the woman wildly. You dont understand! You dont understand! And she turned and hurried away, followed by the worried eyes of the man, and the sad eyes of the boy.
It was not a long walk to the burial place. The Lady in Black knew the way. Yet, she stumbled and reached out blindly. She fell before a little stone marked Kathleen. Near her a gray-haired woman, with her hands full of pink and white roses, watched her sympathetically. The gray-haired woman paused and opened her lips as if she would speak. Then she turned slowly and began to arrange her flowers on a grave nearby.
The Lady in Black raised her head. For a time she watched in silence. Then she threw back her veil and spoke, “You care, too, she said softly. You understand. Ive seen you here before, Im sure. And was yours --a little girl?
The gray-haired woman shook her head. “No, dearie, its a little boy--or he was a little boy forty years ago.
Forty years--so long! How could you have lived forty years--without him?
Again the little woman shook her head.One has to--sometimes, dearie, but this little boy wasnt mine.
But you care. You understand. Ive seen you here so often before.
Yes. You see, theres no one else to care. But there was once, and Im caring now, for her sake.
For her?
His mother.
Oh-h! It was a tender little cry, full of quick sympathy. The eyes of the Lady in Black were on the stone marked Kathleen.
It aint as if I didnt know how shed feel, said the gray-haired woman. You see, I was nurse to the boy when it happened, and for years afterward I worked in the family. So I know. I saw the
whole thing from the beginning, from the very day when the little boy here met with the accident.
Accident! It was a cry of concern and sympathy from Kathleens mother.
Yes. It was a runaway and he didnt live two days.
I know! I know! choked the Lady in Black. Yet she was not thinking of the boy and the runaway horse accident.
Things stopped then for my mistress, continued the little gray-haired woman, and that was the beginning of the end. She had a husband and a daughter, but they didnt seem to be important—not either of em. Nothin seemed important except this little grave out here. She came and spent hours over it, bringin flowers and talkin to it.
The Lady in Black raised her head suddenly and quickly looked into the womans face. The woman went on speaking.
The house got sadder and sadder, but she didnt seem to mind. She seemed to want it so. She shut out the sunshine and put away many of the pictures. She sat only in the boys room. And