Theobald's impatience
became more and more transparent daily, but fortunately Christina (who
even if she had been well would have been ready to shut her eyes to it)
became weaker and less coherent in mind also, so that she hardly, if at
all, perceived it. After Ernest had been in the house about a week his
mother fell into a comatose state which lasted a couple of days, and in
the end went away so peacefully that it was like the blending of sea and
sky in mid-ocean upon a soft hazy day when none can say where the earth
ends and the heavens begin. Indeed she died to the realities of life
with less pain than she had waked from many of its illusions.
"She has been the comfort and mainstay of my life for more than thirty
years," said Theobald as soon as all was over, "but one could not wish it
prolonged," and he buried his face in his handkerchief to conceal his
want of emotion.
Ernest came back to town the day after his mother's death, and returned
to the funeral accompanied by myself. He wanted me to see his father in
order to prevent any possible misapprehension about Miss Pontifex's
intentions, and I was such an old friend of the family that my presence
at Christina's funeral would surprise no one.
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