"Now pray don't
get excited--there has been an accident, and your husband--has--er--been
hurt, you know."
But for a painful whitening in her usually rosy face, and a quick
compression of her lips, the wife made no sign.
"What was the accident?" she queried, leaning her elbows on her knees.
"Well, you see, I don't understand machinery and the like, but there was
something about a wheel out of gear, and a band bursted, or something,
anyhow a big wheel flew to pieces, and as he was standing near, he was
hit."
"Where?"
"Well--well, I may as well tell you the truth, madam; a large piece of
the wheel struck him on the head--and--he was killed instantly."
She did not faint, nor make any outcry, nor tear her hair as he had
partly expected, but sat still staring at him, with a sort of helpless,
dumb horror shining out her eyes, then with a low moan, bowed her head
on her knees and shuddered, just as Lillian came in, curious to know
what the handsome stranger had to say to her mother.
* * * * *
The poor mutilated body came home at last, and was laid in a stiff,
silver-decorated, black coffin in the middle of the sitting-room, which
had been made to look as uncomfortable and unnatural as mirrors and
furniture shrouded in sheets and mantel and tables divested of ornaments
would permit.
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