Clare had come alone to the house, and was waiting in the hall below, to
hear what the physician said. Miss Garth was not able to go down to him
herself: she sent a message. He said to the servant, "I'll come and ask
again, in two hours' time"--and went out slowly. Unlike other men in
all things else, the sudden death of his old friend had produced no
discernible change in him. The feeling implied in the errand of inquiry
that had brought him to the house was the one betrayal of human sympathy
which escaped the rugged, impenetrable old man.
He came again, when the two hours had expired; and this time Miss Garth
saw him.
They shook hands in silence. She waited; she nerved herself to hear him
speak of his lost friend. No: he never mentioned the dreadful accident,
he never alluded to the dreadful death. He said these words, "Is she
better, or worse?" and said no more. Was the tribute of his grief for
the husband sternly suppressed under the expression of his anxiety for
the wife? The nature of the man, unpliably antagonistic to the world
and the world's customs, might justify some such interpretation of his
conduct as this. He repeated his question, "Is she better, or worse?"
Miss Garth answered him:
"No better; if there is any change, it is a change for the worse.
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