For a month or so it would seem that she had gone on a journey;
he would find himself waiting and watching; but as the weeks and
months went by, and he heard not her step nor her voice, then would
come the real anguish. They tell us that these wounds heal; well,
maybe; but they open and reopen and open again till that day we
ourselves cease to take interest in worldly affairs.
He stooped and picked up one of the roses which she had held in her
hand. Reverently he pressed his lips to it and put it away in his
wallet. Then he turned and went slowly down the hill. He had never
really known her till these last few months; not till now did he
realize how closely knit together had been their lives and affections.
He lighted a cigar, and with his hands behind his back and his chin in
his collar, he continued to the gates. The old care-taker opened and
closed the gates phlegmatically. Day by day they came, and one by one
they never went out again. To him there was neither joy nor grief; if
the grass grew thick and the trees leaved abundantly, that was all he
desired.
It was a long walk to Williams Street, and he was tired when he
entered the house.
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