Sleep, or loath? It might well be the latter, for anything Sidney
could determine to the contrary. The face he could not recognise, or
only when he had gazed at it for several minutes. Oh, pitiless
world, that pursues its business and its pleasure, that takes its
fill of life from the rising to the going down of the sun, and
within sound of its clamour is this hiding-place of anguish and
desolation!
'Mother, here's Mr. Kirkwood.'
Repeated several times, the words at length awoke consciousness. The
dying woman could not move her head from the pillow; her eyes
wandered, but in the end rested upon Sidney. He saw an expression of
surprise, of anxiety, then a smile of deep contentment.
'I knew you'd come. I did so want to see you. Don't go just yet,
will you?'
The lump in his throat hindered Sidney from replying. Hot tears, an
agony in the shedding, began to stream down his cheeks.
'Where's John?' she continued, trying to look about the room. 'Amy,
where's your father? He'll come soon, Sidney. I want you and him to
be friends again. He knows he'd never ought to a' said what he did.
Don't take on so, Sidney! There'll be Amy to look after the others.
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