Marise’s impatience and scorn were flooded by an immense sympathy.  What a pitiable thing a dependent is!  Poor old Agnes!  She leaned down to the humble, docile old face, and put her cheek against it.  “I’ll do my best to take Cousin Hetty’s place for you,” she said gently, and then, “Now you’d better go back to bed.  There’s a hard day ahead of us.”

Agnes responded with relief to the tone of authority.  She said with a reassured accent, “Well, it’s all right if you’re not afraid,” turned and shuffled down the hall, comforted and obedient.

Marise saw her go into her room, heard the creak of the bed as she lay down on it, and then the old voice, “Miss Marise, will it be all right if I leave my candle burning, just this once?”

“Yes, yes, Agnes, that’ll be all right,” she answered.  “Go to sleep now.”  As she went back into her own room, she thought passingly to herself, “Strange that anyone can live so long and grow up so little.”

She herself opened her bed, lay down on it resolutely, and blew out her candle.

Instantly the room seemed suffocatingly full of a thousand flying, disconnected pictures.  The talk with Agnes had changed her mood.  The dull, leaden weight of that numbing burden of inarticulate pain was broken into innumerable fragments.  For a time, before she could collect herself to self-control, her thoughts whirled and roared in her head like a machine disconnected from its work, racing furiously till it threatens to shake itself to pieces.  Everything seemed to come at once.

Frank Warner was dead.  What would that mean to Nelly Powers?

Had there been enough bread left in the house till someone could drive the Ford to Ashley and buy some more?

Ought she to wear mourning for Cousin Hetty?

What had happened on the Eagle Rocks?  Had Frank and ’Gene quarreled, or had ’Gene crept up behind Frank as he sighted along the compass?

How would they get Cousin Hetty’s friends from the station at Ashley, out to the house, such feeble old people as they were?  It would be better to have the services all at the church.

Had anything been decided about hymns?  Someone had said something about it, but what had she . . . oh, of course that had been the moment when Toucle had come in, and Mr. Bayweather had rushed away to tell Frank’s mother.  Frank’s mother.  His mother!  Suppose that were to happen to Mark, or Paul?  No, not such thoughts.  They mustn’t be let in at all, or you went mad.

Was it true that Elly cared nothing about her, that children didn’t, for grown-ups, that she was nothing in Elly’s life?

She was glad that Toucle had come back.  There would be someone to help Neale with the children. . . .

Neale . . . the name brought her up abruptly.  Her mind, hurrying, breathless, panting, was stopped by the name, as by a great rock in the path.  There was an instant of blankness, as she faced it, as though it were a name she did not know.  When she said that name, everything stopped going around in her head.  She moved restlessly in her bed.