Конец рабства
XIV
Shehadreceiveditintheafternoon;alltheboardershadgoneout,herboyswereatschool,herhusbandsatupstairsinhisbigarm-chairwithabook,thin-faced,wrappedupinrugstothewaist.Thehousewasstill,andthegraynessofacloudydaylayagainstthepanesofthreeloftywindows.
Inashabbydining-room,whereafaintcoldsmellofdisheslingeredalltheyearround,sittingattheendofalongtablesurroundedbymanychairspushedinwiththeirbackscloseagainsttheedgeoftheperpetuallylaidtable-cloth,shereadtheopeningsentence:“Mostprofoundregret—painfulduty—yourfatherisnomore—inaccordancewithhisinstructions—fatalcasualty—consolation—noblameattachedtohismemory....”
Herfacewasthin,hertemplesalittlesunkunderthesmoothbandsofblackhair,herlipsremainedresolutelycompressed,whileherdarkeyesgrewlarger,tillatlast,withalowcry,shestoodup,andinstantlystoopedtopickupanotherenvelopewhichhadslippedoffherkneesontothefloor.
Shetoreitopen,snatchedouttheinclosure....
“Mydearestchild,”itsaid,“IamwritingthiswhileIamableyettowritelegibly.Iamtryinghardtosaveforyouallthemoneythatisleft;Ihaveonlykeptittoserveyoubetter.Itisyours.Itshallnotbelost:itshallnotbetouched.There’sfivehundredpounds.OfwhatIhaveearnedIhavekeptnothingbacktillnow.Forthefuture,ifIlive,Imustkeepbacksome—alittle—tobringmetoyou.Imustcometoyou.Imustseeyouoncemore.
“Itishardtobelievethatyouwilleverlookontheselines
