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I. There Is No One Left

           Shewaswithafairyoungmanandtheystoodtalkingtogetherinlowstrangevoices.Maryknewthefairyoungmanwholookedlikeaboy.ShehadheardthathewasaveryyoungofficerwhohadjustcomefromEngland.Thechildstaredathim,butshestaredmostathermother.Shealwaysdidthiswhenshehadachancetoseeher,becausetheMemSahib—Maryusedtocallherthatoftenerthananythingelse—wassuchatall,slim,prettypersonandworesuchlovelyclothes.Herhairwaslikecurlysilkandshehadadelicatelittlenosewhichseemedtobedisdainingthings,andshehadlargelaughingeyes.Allherclotheswerethinandfloating,andMarysaidtheywere“fulloflace.”Theylookedfulleroflacethaneverthismorning,buthereyeswerenotlaughingatall.Theywerelargeandscaredandliftedimploringlytothefairboyofficer’sface.

           “Isitsoverybad?Oh,isit?”Maryheardhersay.

           “Awfully,”theyoungmanansweredinatremblingvoice.“Awfully,Mrs.Lennox.Yououghttohavegonetothehillstwoweeksago.”

           TheMemSahibwrungherhands.

           “Oh,IknowIought!”shecried.“Ionlystayedtogotothatsillydinnerparty.WhatafoolIwas!”

           Atthatverymomentsuchaloudsoundofwailingbrokeoutfromtheservants’quartersthatsheclutchedtheyoungman’sarm,andMarystoodshiveringfromheadtofoot.Thewailinggrewwilderandwilder.“Whatisit?Whatisit?”Mrs.Lennoxgasped.

           “Someonehasdied,”answeredtheboyofficer.“Youdidnotsayithadbrokenoutamongyourservants.”

           “Ididnotknow!”theMemSahibcried.

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Roboto Lora
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