“I don’t know that I’m feeling so tremendously happy my own self,” she thought.  For the reaction had set in.  She was glad enough to bring about by various movements their long-delayed bedward journey.  She was beginning to feel that her head and her heart were both aching, and that any more confidences from Emmy would be unbearable.  And where Emmy had grown communicative—­since Emmy had nothing to conceal—­Jenny had felt more and more that her happiness was staled as thought corroded it.  By the time they turned out the kitchen gas the clock pointed to twenty minutes past two, and the darkest hour was already recorded.  In three more hours the sun would rise, and Jenny knew that long before then she would see the sky greying as though the successive veils of the transformation were to reveal the crystal grotto.  She preceded Emmy up the stairs, carrying a candle and lighting the way.  At the top of the staircase Emmy would find her own candle, and they would part.  They were now equally eager for the separation, Emmy because she wanted to think over and over again the details of her happiness, and to make plans for a kind of life that was to open afresh in days that lay ahead.  Arrived at the landing the sisters did not pause or kiss, but each looked and smiled seriously as she entered her bedroom.  With the closing of the doors noise seemed to depart from the little house, though Jenny heard Emmy moving in her room.  The house was in darkness.  Emmy was gone; Pa lay asleep in the dim light, his head bandaged and the water slowly soaking into the towel protectively laid upon his chest; in the kitchen the ailing clock ticked away the night.  Everything seemed at peace but Jenny, who, when she had closed the door and set her candle down, went quickly to the bed, sitting upon its edge and looking straight before her with dark and sober eyes.

She had much to think of.  She would never forgive herself now for leaving Pa.  It might have been a more serious accident that had happened during her absence; she could even plead, to Emmy, that the accident might have happened if she had not left the house at all; but nothing her quick brain could urge had really satisfied Jenny.  The stark fact remained that she had been there under promise to tend Pa; and that she had failed in her acknowledged trust.  He might have died.  If he had died, she would have been to blame.  Not Pa!  He couldn’t help himself!  He was driven by inner necessity to do things which he must not be allowed to do.  Jenny might have pleaded the same justification.  She had done so before this.  It had been a necessity to her to go to Keith.  As far as that went she did not question the paramount power of impulse.  Not will, but the strongest craving, had led her.  Jenny could perhaps hardly discourse learnedly upon such things:  she must follow the dictates of her nature.  But she never accused Pa of responsibility.  He was an irresponsible.  She had been left to look after him.  She had not stayed; and ill had befallen.  A bitter smile curved Jenny’s lips.