XI
　　WhenGyprecoveredaconsciousness，whoseflighthadbeenmercifullyrenewedwithmorphia，shewasinherbed，andherfirstdrowsymovementwastowardhermate。Witheyesstillclosed，sheturned，asshewaswont，andputoutherhandtotouchhimbeforeshedozedoffagain。Therewasnowarmth，nosubstance；throughhermind，stillawayinthemistsofmorphia，thethoughtspassedvagueandlonely:’Ah，yes，inLondon！’Andsheturnedonherback。London！Something——somethingupthere！Sheopenedhereyes。Sothefirehadkeptinallnight！Someonewasinachairthere，or——wasshedreaming！Andsuddenly，withoutknowingwhy，shebeganbreathinghurriedlyinlittlehalf-sobbinggasps。Thefiguremoved，turnedherfaceinthefirelight。Betty！Gypclosedhereyes。Anicysweathadbrokenoutalloverher。Adream！Inawhisper，shesaid:”Betty！”
　　Themuffledanswercame。”Yes，mydarlin’。””Whatisit？”
　　Noanswer；thenahalf-choked，”Don’t’eethink——don’t’eethink！
　　YourDaddy’llbeheredirectly，mysweetie！”
　　Gyp’seyes，wideopen，passedfromthefirelightandthatrockingfiguretothelittlechinkoflightthatwashardlylightasyet，cominginatonecornerofthecurtain。Shewasremembering。Hertonguestoleoutandpassedoverherlips；beneaththebedclothesshefoldedbothherhandstightacrossherheart。Thenshewasnotdeadwithhim——notdead！Notgonebackwithhimintotheground——
　　not——Andsuddenlythereflickeredinheraflameofmaniacalhatred。Theywerekeepingheralive！Awrithingsmileforceditswayupontoherparchedlips。”Betty，I’msothirsty——sothirsty。Getmeacupoftea。”
　　Thestoutformheaveditselffromthechairandcametowardthebed。”Yes，mylovey，atonce。It’lldoyougood。That’sabravegirl。””Yes。”
　　Themomentthedoorclickedto，Gypsprangup。Herveinsthrobbed；
　　herwholesoulwasalivewithcunning。Sherantothewardrobe，seizedherlongfurcoat，slippedherbarefeetintoherslippers，woundapieceoflaceroundherhead，andopenedthedoor。Alldarkandquiet！Holdingherbreath，stiflingthesoundofherfeet，sheglideddownthestairs，slippedbackthechainofthefrontdoor，openedit，andfled。Likeashadowshepassedacrossthegrass，outofthegardengate，downtheroadundertheblackdrippingtrees。Thebeginningoflightwasmixingitsgreyhueintothedarkness；shecouldjustseeherfeetamongthepuddlesontheroad。Sheheardthegrindingandwhirringofamotor-caronitstopgearapproachingupthehill，andcoweredawayagainstthehedge。Itslightcamesearchingalong，pickingoutwithamysteriousmomentarybrightnessthebushesandtree-trunks，makingthewetroadgleam。Gypsawthechauffeurturnhisheadbackather，thenthecar’sbodypassedupintodarkness，anditstail-
　　lightwasallthatwaslefttosee。PerhapsthatcarwasgoingtotheRedHousewithherfather，thedoctor，somebody，helpingtokeepheralive！Themaniacalhateflaredupinheragain；sheflewon。Thelightgrew；amanwithadogcameoutofagateshehadpassed，andcalled”Hallo！”Shedidnotturnherhead。Shehadlostherslippers，andranwithbarefeet，unconsciousofstones，orthetorn-offbranchesstrewingtheroad，makingforthelanethatranrightdowntotheriver，alittletotheleftoftheinn，thelaneofyesterday，wherethebankwasfree。
　　Sheturnedintothelane；dimly，ahundredormoreyardsaway，shecouldseethewillows，thewidthoflightergreythatwastheriver。Theriver——”Away，myrollingriver！”——theriver——andthehappiesthoursofallherlife！Ifhewereanywhere，shewouldfindhimthere，wherehehadsung，andlainwithhisheadonherbreast，andswumandsplashedabouther；whereshehaddreamed，andseenbeauty，andlovedhimso！Shereachedthebank。Coldandgreyandsilent，swifterthanyesterday，thestreamwasflowingby，itsdimfarshorebrighteningslowlyinthefirstbreakofdawn。
　　AndGypstoodmotionless，drawingherbreathingaspsafterherlongrun；herkneestrembled；gaveway。Shesatdownonthewetgrass，claspingherarmsroundherdrawn-uplegs，rockingherselftoandfro，andherloosenedhairfelloverherface。Thebloodbeatinherears；herheartfeltsuffocated；allherbodyseemedonfire，yetnumb。Shesat，movingherheadupanddown——astheheadofonemovesthatisgaspingherlast——waitingforbreath——breathandstrengthtoletgolife，toslipdownintothegreywater。Andthatqueerapartnessfromself，whichisthepropertyoffever，cameonher，sothatsheseemedtoseeherselfsittingthere，waiting，andthought:’Ishallseemyselfdead，floatingamongthereeds。Ishallseethebirdswonderingaboveme！’And，suddenly，shebrokeintoastormofdrysobbing，andallthingsvanishedfromher，savejusttherockingofherbody，thegaspingofherbreath，andthesoundofitinherears。Herboy——herboy——andhispoorhair！”Away，myrollingriver！”Swayingover，shelayfacedown，claspingatthewetgrassandtheearth。
　　Thesunrose，laidapalebrightstreakalongthewater，andhidhimselfagain。Arobintwitteredinthewillows；aleaffellonherbareankle。
　　Winton，whohadbeenhuntingonSaturday，hadreturnedtotownonSundaybytheeveningtram，andgonestraighttohisclubforsomesupper。Therefallingasleepoverhiscigar，hehadtobeawakenedwhentheydesiredtoclosetheclubforthenight。ItwaspasttwowhenhereachedBuryStreetandfoundatelegram。”SomethingdreadfulhappenedtoMr。Summerhay。Comequick——
　　BETTY。”
　　Neverhadhesocursedthelossofhishandasduringthetimethatfollowed，whenMarkeyhadtodress，helphismaster，packbags，andfetchataxiequippedforsolongajourney。Athalf-pastthreetheystarted。Thewholewaydown，Winton，wrappedinhisfurcoat，satalittleforwardonhisseat，readytoputhisheadthroughthewindowanddirectthedriver。Itwasawildnight，andhewouldnotletMarkey，whosechestwasnotstrong，gooutsidetoactasguide。Twicethatsilentone，impelledbyfeelingstoostrongevenforhisrespectfultaciturnity，hadspoken。”That’llbebadforMissGyp，sir。””Bad，yes——terrible。”
　　Andlater:”D’youthinkitmeanshe’sdead，sir？”
　　Wintonansweredsombrely:”Godknows，Markey！Wemusthopeforthebest。”
　　Dead！CouldFatebecruelenoughtodealonesosoftandlovingsuchablow？Andhekeptsayingtohimself:”Courage。Bereadyfortheworst。Beready。”
　　ButthefiguresofBettyandamaidattheopengardengate，inthebreakingdarkness，standingtherewringingtheirhands，weretoomuchforhisstoicism。Leapingout，hecried:”Whatisit，woman？Quick！””Oh，sir！Mydear’sgone。Ileftheramomenttogetheracupoftea。Andshe’srunoutinthecold！”
　　Wintonstoodfortwosecondsasifturnedtostone。Then，takingBettybytheshoulder，heaskedquietly:”WhathappenedtoHIM？”
　　Bettycouldnotanswer，butthemaidsaid:”Thehorsekilledhimatthatlinhay，sir，downin’thewild。’Andthemistresswasunconscioustillquarterofanhourago。””Whichwaydidshego？””Outhere，sir；thedoorandthegatewasopen——can’ttellwhichway。”
　　ThroughWintonflashedonedreadfulthought:Theriver！”Turnthecabround！Stayin，Markey！Bettyandyou，girl，godownto’thewild，’andsearchthereatonce。Yes？Whatisit？”
　　Thedriverwasleaningout。”Aswecameupthehill，sir，Iseealadyorsomethinginalongdarkcoatwithwhiteonherhead，againstthehedge。””Right！Drivedownagainsharp，anduseyoureyes。”
　　Atsuchmoments，thoughtisimpossible，andafeverishuseofeverysensetakesitsplace。Butofthoughttherewasnoneed，forthegardensofvillasandtheinnblockedtheriveratallbutonespot。Wintonstoppedthecarwherethenarrowlanebrancheddowntothebank，andjumpingout，ran。Byinstinctheransilentlyonthegrassedge，andMarkey，imitating，ranbehind。Whenhecameinsightofablackshapelyingonthebank，hesufferedamomentofintenseagony，forhethoughtitwasjustadarkgarmentthrownaway。Thenhesawitmove，and，holdinguphishandforMarkeytostandstill，walkedonalone，tiptoeinginthegrass，hisheartswellingwithasortofrapture。Stealthilymovingroundbetweenthatprostratefigureandthewater，hekneltdownandsaid，asbesthecould，forthehuskinhisthroat:”Mydarling！”
　　Gypraisedherheadandstaredathim。Herwhiteface，witheyesunnaturallydarkandlarge，andhairfallingalloverit，wasstrangetohim——thefaceofgriefitself，strippedofthewrappingsofform。Andheknewnotwhattodo，howtohelporcomfort，howtosave。Hecouldseesoclearlyinhereyesthelookofawildanimalatthemomentofitscapture，andinstinctmadehimsay:”Ilostherjustascruelly，Gyp。”
　　Hesawthewordsreachherbrain，andthatwildlookwaver。
　　Stretchingouthisarm，hedrewherclosetohimtillhercheekwasagainsthis，hershakingbodyagainsthim，andkeptmurmuring:”Formysake，Gyp；formysake！”
　　When，withMarkey’said，hehadgothertothecab，theytookher，notbacktothehouse，buttotheinn。Shewasinhighfever，andsoondelirious。Bynoon，AuntRosamundandMrs。Markey，summonedbytelegram，hadarrived；andthewholeinnwastakenlestthereshouldbeanynoisetodisturbher。
　　Atfiveo’clock，Wintonwassummoneddownstairstothelittleso-
　　calledreading-room。Atallwomanwasstandingatthewindow，shadinghereyeswiththebackofaglovedhand。ThoughtheyhadlivedsolongwithintenmilesofeachotherheonlyknewLadySummerhaybysight，andhewaitedforthepoorwomantospeakfirst。Shesaidinalowvoice:”Thereisnothingtosay；only，IthoughtImustseeyou。Howisshe？””Delirious。”
　　Theystoodinsilenceafullminute，beforeshewhispered:”Mypoorboy！Didyouseehim——hisforehead？”Herlipsquivered。”Iwilltakehimbackhome。”Andtearsrolled，oneaftertheother，slowlydownherflushedfaceunderherveil。Poorwoman！
　　Poorwoman！Shehadturnedtothewindow，passingherhandkerchiefupundertheveil，staringoutatthelittlestripofdarkeninglawn，andWinton，too，staredoutintothatmournfuldaylight。Atlast，hesaid:”Iwillsendyouallhisthings，except——exceptanythingthatmighthelpmypoorgirl。”
　　Sheturnedquickly。”Andsoit’sendedlikethis！MajorWinton，isthereanythingbehind——weretheyreallyhappy？”
　　Wintonlookedstraightatherandanswered:”Ah，toohappy！”
　　Withoutaquiver，hemetthosetear-darkened，dilatedeyesstrainingathis；withaheavysigh，sheoncemoreturnedaway，and，brushingherhandkerchiefacrossherface，drewdownherveil。
　　Itwasnottrue——heknewfromthemutteringsofGyp’sfever——butnoone，notevenSummerhay’smother，shouldhearawhisperifhecouldhelpit。Atthedoor，hemurmured:”Idon’tknowwhethermygirlwillgetthrough，orwhatshewilldoafter。WhenFatehits，shehitstoohard。Andyou！Good-bye。”
　　LadySummerhaypressedhisoutstretchedhand。”Good-bye，”shesaid，inastrangledvoice。”Iwishyou——good-
　　bye。”Then，turningabruptly，shehastenedaway。
　　Wintonwentbacktohisguardianshipupstairs。
　　Inthedaysthatfollowed，whenGyp，robbedofmemory，hungbetweenlifeanddeath，Wintonhardlyleftherroom，thatlowroomwithcreeperedwindowswhencetherivercouldbeseen，glidingdownunderthepaleNovembersunshineorblackbeneaththestars。Hewouldwatchit，fascinated，asonesometimeswatchestherelentlesssea。Hehadsnatchedherasbyamiraclefromthatsnakyriver。
　　Hehadrefusedtohaveanurse。AuntRosamundandMrs。Markeywereskilledinsickness，andhecouldnotbearthatastrangepersonshouldlistentothosedeliriousmutterings。Hisownpartofthenursingwasjusttositthereandkeephersecretsfromtheothers——
　　ifhecould。Andhegrudgedeveryminuteawayfromhispost。Hewouldstayforhours，witheyesfixedonherface。Noonecouldsupplysowellashejustthatcoherentthreadofthefamiliar，bywhichthefevered，withoutknowingit，perhapsfindtheirwayalittleinthedarkmazeswheretheywander。Andhewouldthinkofherassheusedtobe——wellandhappy——adoptingunconsciouslythemethodsofthosementalandotherscientistswhomhelookeduponasquacks。
　　Hewasastonishedbythenumberofinquiries，evenpeoplewhomhehadconsideredenemiesleftcardsorsenttheirservants，forcinghimtotheconclusionthatpeopleofpositionareobligedtoreservetheirhumankindnessforthoseasgoodasdead。Butthesmallfolktouchedhimdailybytheirgenuineconcernforherwhosegraceandsoftnesshadwontheirhearts。OnemorninghereceivedaletterforwardedfromBuryStreet。”DEARMAJORWINTON，”IhavereadaparagraphinthepaperaboutpoorMr。Summerhay’sdeath。And，oh，Ifeelsosorryforher！Shewassogoodtome；I
　　dofeelitmostdreadfully。Ifyouthinkshewouldliketoknowhowweallfeelforher，youwouldtellher，wouldn’tyou？Idothinkit’scruel。”Veryfaithfullyyours，”DAPHNEWING。”
　　SotheyknewSummerhay’sname——hehadnotsomehowexpectedthat。
　　Hedidnotanswer，notknowingwhattosay。
　　Duringthosedaysoffever，thehardestthingtobearwasthesoundofherrapidwhisperingsandmutterings——incoherentphrasesthatsaidsolittleandtoldsomuch。Sometimeshewouldcoverhisears，toavoidhearingofthatlongstressofmindatwhichhehadnowandthenglimpsed。Oftheactualtragedy，herwanderingspiritdidnotseemconscious；herlipswerealwaystellingthedepthofherlove，alwaysrepeatingthedreadoflosinghis；exceptwhentheywouldgiveawhisperinglaugh，uncannyandenchanting，asatsomegleamofperfecthappiness。Thoselittlelaughswereworstofalltohear；theyneverfailedtobringtearsintohiseyes。Buthedrewacertaingruesomecomfortfromtheconclusionslowlyforcedonhim，thatSummerhay’stragicdeathhadcutshortasituationwhichmighthavehadanevenmoretragicissue。Onenightinthebigchairatthesideofherbed，hewokefromadozetoseehereyesfixedonhim。Theyweredifferent；theysaw，wereherowneyesagain。Herlipsmoved。”Dad。””Yes，mypet。””Iremembereverything。”
　　Atthatdreadfullittlesaying，Wintonleanedforwardandputhislipstoherhand，thatlayoutsidetheclothes。”Whereisheburied？””AtWidrington。””Yes。”
　　Itwasratherasighthanawordand，raisinghishead，Wintonsawhereyesclosedagain。Nowthatthefeverhadgone，thewhitetransparencyofhercheeksandforeheadagainstthedarklashesandhairwastoostartling。Wasitalivingface，orwasitsbeautythatofdeath？
　　Hebentover。Shewasbreathing——asleep。
　　XII
　　ThereturntoMildenhamwasmadebyeasystagesnearlytwomonthsafterSummerhay’sdeath，onNewYear’sday——Mildenham，dark，smellingthesame，fullofghostsofthedaysbeforelovebegan。
　　ForlittleGyp，morethanfiveyearsoldnow，andbeginningtounderstandlife，thiswasthepleasantesthomeyet。Inwatchingherbecomingthespiritoftheplace，assheherselfhadbeenwhenachild，Gypfoundrestattimes，alittlerest。Shehadnotpickedupmuchstrength，wasshadowyasyet，andifherfacewastakenunawares，itwasthesaddestfaceonecouldsee。Herchiefpreoccupationwasnotbeingtakenunawares。Alas！ToWinton，hersmilewasevensadder。Hewasathiswits’endaboutherthatwinterandspring。Sheobviouslymadetheutmostefforttokeepup，andtherewasnothingtodobutwatchandwait。Nousetoforcethepace。Timealonecouldheal——perhaps。Meanwhile，heturnedtolittleGyp，sothattheybecamemoreorlessinseparable。
　　Springcameandpassed。Physically，Gypgrewstrongagain，butsincetheirreturntoMildenham，shehadneveroncegoneoutsidethegarden，neveroncespokenofTheRedHouse，neveronceofSummerhay。Wintonhadhopedthatwarmthandsunlightwouldbringsomelifetoherspirit，butitdidnotseemto。Notthatshecherishedhergrief，appeared，rather，todoallinherpowertoforgetandmaskit。Sheonlyhadwhatusedtobecalledabrokenheart。Nothingtobedone。LittleGyp，whohadbeentoldthat”Baryn”hadgoneawayforever，andthatshemust”neverspeakofhimforfearofmakingMumsad，”wouldsometimesstandandwatchhermotherwithpuzzledgravity。SheonceremarkeduncannilytoWinton:”Mumdoesn’tlivewithus，Grandy；shelivesawaysomewhere，I
　　think。IsitwithBaryn？”
　　Wintonstared，andanswered:”Perhapsitis，sweetheart；butdon’tsaythattoanybodybutme。
　　Don’tevertalkofBaryntoanyoneelse。””Yes，Iknow；butwhereishe，Grandy？”
　　WhatcouldWintonanswer？Someimbecilitywiththewords”veryfar”init；forhehadnotcouragetobroachthequestionofdeath，thatmysterysohopelesslybeyondthegraspofchildren，andofhimself——andothers。
　　Herodeagreatdealwiththechild，who，likehermotherbeforeher，wasneversohappyasinthesaddle；buttoGyphedidnotdaresuggestit。Sheneverspokeofhorses，neverwenttothestables，passedallthedaysdoinglittlethingsaboutthehouse，gardening，andsittingatherpiano，sometimesplayingalittle，sometimesmerelylookingatthekeys，herhandsclaspedinherlap。
　　Thiswasearlyinthefatefulsummer，beforeanyasyetfelttheworld-tremors，orsawtheVeiloftheTemplerendingandthedarknessbeginningtogather。Wintonhadnovisionofthecoifabovethedarkeyesofhislovedone，norofhimselfinastrangebrowngarb，callingoutoldfamiliarwordsoverbarrack-squares。
　　Heoftenthought:’Ifonlyshehadsomethingtotakeheroutofherself！’
　　InJunehetookhiscourageinbothhandsandproposedavisittoLondon。Tohissurprise，sheacquiescedwithouthesitation。TheywentupinWhit-week。WhiletheywerepassingWidrington，heforcedhimselftoanunnaturalspurtoftalk；anditwasnottillfullyquarterofanhourlaterthat，glancingstealthilyroundhispaper，hesawhersittingmotionless，herfaceturnedtothefieldsandtearsrollingdownit。Andhedarednotspeak，darednottrytocomforther。Shemadenosound，themusclesofherfacenomovement；only，thosetearskeptrollingdown。And，behindhispaper，Winton’seyesnarrowedandretreated；hisfacehardenedtilltheskinseemedtightdrawnoverthebones，andeveryinchofhimquivered。
　　TheusualroutefromthestationtoBuryStreetwas”up，”andthecabwentbynarrowby-streets，townlaneswherethemiseryoftheworldisonshow，whereill-lookingmen，draggledandover-drivenwomen，andthejauntyghostsoflittlechildreninguttersandondoorstepsproclaim，byeveryfeatureoftheirclay-colouredfacesandeverymovementoftheirunfedbodies，thepost-datementofthemillennium；wheretheleanandsmuttedhouseshavealookofdissolutionindefinitelyputoff，andthereisnomoretraceofbeautythaninasewer。Gyp，leaningforward，lookedout，asonedoesafteralongseavoyage；Wintonfeltherhandslipintohisandsqueezeithard。
　　Thateveningafterdinner——intheroomhehadfurnishedforhermother，wherethesatinwoodchairs，thelittleJacobeanbureau，theoldbrasscandelabrawerestillmuchastheyhadbeenjustonthirtyyearsago——shesaid:”Dad，I’vebeenthinking。WouldyoumindifIcouldmakeasortofhomeatMildenhamwherepoorchildrencouldcometostayandgetgoodairandfood？Therearesuchthousandsofthem。”
　　Strangelymovedbythis，thefirstwishhehadheardherexpresssincethetragedy，Wintontookherhand，and，lookingatitasifforanswertohisquestion，said:”Mydear，are，youstrongenough？””Quite。There’snothingwrongwithmenowexcepthere。”Shedrewhishandtoherandpresseditagainstherheart。”What’sgiven，onecan’tgetback。Ican’thelpit；IwouldifIcould。It’sbeensodreadfulforyou。I’msosorry。”Wintonmadeanunintelligiblesound，andshewenton:”IfIhadthemtoseeafter，Ishouldn’tbeabletothinksomuch；themoreIhadtodothebetter。Goodforourgipsy-bird，too，tohavethemthere。I
　　shouldliketobeginitatonce。”
　　Wintonnodded。Anythingthatshefeltcoulddohergood——anything！”Yes，yes，”hesaid；”Iquitesee——youcouldusethetwooldcottagestostartwith，andwecaneasilyrunupanythingyouwant。””Onlyletmedoitall，won’tyou？”
　　Atthattouchofheroldself，Wintonsmiled。Sheshoulddoeverything，payforeverything，bringawholestreetofchildrendown，ifitwouldgiveheranycomfort！”Rosamund’llhelpyoufind’em，”hemuttered。”She’sfirst-rateatallthatsortofthing。”Then，lookingatherfixedly，headded:”Courage，mysoul；it’llallcomebacksomeday。”
　　Gypforcedherselftosmile。Watchingher，heunderstoodonlytoowellthechild’ssaying:”Mumlivesawaysomewhere，Ithink。”
　　Suddenly，shesaid，verylow:”AndyetIwouldn’thavebeenwithoutit。”
　　Shewassitting，herhandsclaspedinherlap，tworedspotshighinhercheeks，hereyesshiningstrangely，thefaintsmilestillonherlips。AndWinton，staringwithnarrowedeyes，thought:’Love！
　　Beyondmeasure——beyonddeath——itnearlykills。Butonewouldn’thavebeenwithoutit。Why？’
　　Threedayslater，leavingGypwithhissister，hewentbacktoMildenhamtostartthenecessaryalterationsinthecottages。Hehadtoldnoonehewascoming，andwalkedupfromthestationonaperfectJuneday，brightandhot。Whenheturnedthroughthedrivegate，intothebeech-treeavenue，theleaf-shadowswerethickontheground，withgoldengleamsoftheinvinciblesunlightthrustingtheirwaythrough。Thegreyboles，thevividgreenleaves，thoseglisteningsun-shaftsthroughtheshadeentrancedhim，comingfromthedustyroad。Downintheverymiddleoftheavenue，asmall，whitefigurewasstanding，asiflookingoutforhim。Heheardashrillshout。”Oh，Grandy，you’vecomeback——you’vecomeback！WhatFUN！”
　　Wintontookhercurlsinhishand，and，lookingintoherface，said:”Well，mygipsy-bird，willyougivemeoneofthese？”
　　LittleGyplookedathimwithflyingeyes，and，hugginghislegs，answeredfuriously:”Yes；becauseIloveyou。PULL！”
　　End