On Wednesday afternoon she asked for me again.
“It's only till seven,” she whispered. “He's certain to come then.
But if I—were to die first—then tell him—I'm sorry for him. They keep
saying: 'Don't talk—don't talk!' Isn't it stupid? As if I should have
any other chance! There'll be no more talking after to-night! Make
everybody come, please—I want to see them all. When you're dying you're
freer than any other time—nobody wants you to do things, nobody cares
what you say.... He promised me I should do what I liked if I married
him—I never believed that really—but now I can do what I like; and say
all the things I want to.” She lay back silent; she could not after all
speak the inmost thoughts that are in each of us, so sacred that they
melt away at the approach of words.
I shall remember her like that—with the gleam of a smile in her
half-closed eyes, her red lips parted—such a quaint look of mockery,
pleasure, regret, on her little round, upturned face; the room white,
and fresh with flowers, the breeze guttering the apple-leaves against
the window. In the night they had unhooked the violin and taken it away;
she had not missed it.... When Dan came, I gave up my place to him. He
took her hand gently in his great paw, without speaking.
“How small my hand looks there,” she said, “too small.” Dan put it
softly back on the bedclothes and wiped his forehead. Pasiance cried in
a sharp whisper: “Is it so hot in here? I didn't know.” Dan bent down,
put his lips to her fingers and left the room.
The afternoon was long, the longest I've ever spent. Sometimes she
seemed to sleep, sometimes whispered to herself about her mother, her
grandfather, the garden, or her cats—all sorts of inconsequent, trivial,
even ludicrous memories seemed to throng her mind—never once, I think,
did she speak of Zachary, but, now and then, she asked the time.... Each
hour she grew visibly weaker. John Ford sat by her without moving,
his heavy breathing was often the only sound; sometimes she rubbed her
fingers on his hand, without speaking. It was a summary of their lives
together. Once he prayed aloud for her in a hoarse voice; then her
pitiful, impatient eyes signed to me.
“Quick,” she whispered, “I want him; it's all so—cold.”