— 34 —Mrs. Sacret took this news to Susan who was lying on her bed in a darkened room, pale and ravaged in her stiff new mourning, her bright hair tumbled into knots on the top of her head.
“Now that is over,” said Mrs. Sacret gently. “Your poor husband will be buried tomorrow and you need never think of him again!”
“Oh, I shall always think of him!” wept the widow, hiding her face in the pillow.
“Really? Have you always thought of Captain Dasent?”
Susan only sobbed the louder at this cruelty.
“It is the way he died—to know that he took his own life, in that horrible, horrible manner, and, because of me—the unkindness there was between us!”
“All this trouble is ended. You are weak to lament so, pray consider how lucky you are—the verdict might have been much worse.”
“Lucky? Worse? I
