II-XX

He passed through the dining room to the
inner doorway, where he brushed by Mrs.
Caley. Her face was as harsh and
twisted as an old root. He proceeded directly to the
bed.

"Lettice," he said; "Lettice."

Then he saw the appalling futility of addressing
that familiar name to the strange head on the pillow.

Lettice had gone: she had been destroyed as utterly
as though a sinister and ruthless magic had
blasted every infinitesimal quality that had been
hers. A countenance the color of glazed white paper
seemed to hold pools of ink in the hollows of its eyes.
The drawn mouth was the color of stale milk.
Nothing remained to summon either pity or sorrow.
The only possible emotion in the face of that revolting
human disaster was an incredulous and shocked
surprise. It struck like a terrible jest, a terrible,
icy reminder, into the forgetful warmth of living;
it mocked at the supposed majesty of suffering,
tore aside the assumed dignity, the domination, of

[[269]]

p268 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p269w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p270

v?