When Victor woke from his uneasy sleep next morning his first glance was
toward his mother's room wherein he had seen her vanish in an agony of
grief and despair. All was quiet, and after dressing himself--still
firmly resolved upon flight--he went to the door and silently peered in.
She was sleeping peacefully, her thin hands folded on her breast, and he
drew a sigh of relief.
"I am glad she's able to sleep," he said, and stole back to the pantry.
He studied its sparse supplies with care. There was not much to do with,
but he boiled some eggs and made coffee very quietly, with intent to let
his mother sleep as long as she could. He found himself less savage than
the night before.
"I can't leave till she wakes," he said to himself, "but I'm going, all
the same."
In order to pass the time of waiting he went down to the foot of the
stairs to find the morning paper. He opened it with apprehension, but
breathed a sigh of relief upon finding no further "scare heads" of
himself. The only reference to his mother came in the midst of an
editorial advocating the cleaning out of all the healers, palmists,
fortune-tellers, and mediums in the city. With lofty virtue the writer
went on to say that the _Star_ had refused to advertise the business of
these people, no matter what the pecuniary reward, and that it purposed
a continuous campaign. "We intend to pursue all such women as Mrs.
Ollnee, who fasten upon their credulous dupes like leeches," he
declared.
As Victor read this paragraph he caught again the violence of contrast
between the woman pictured by the pen of the editor and the pale, sweet,
mild-voiced little woman who was his mother. It would have been funny
had it not been so serious and so personal. Furthermore, the paragraph
strengthened him in his determination to leave the city, and he still
hoped to be able to persuade his mother to go with him.
At eight o'clock he once more tiptoed in to see if she still slept, and
finding her in the same position his heart softened with pity. "She must
have been completely tired out, poor little mother! I'm afraid what I
said to her worried her."
After another hour of impatient waiting he again entered her room and
studied her more intently. There was something suggestive of death in
the folded hands and he could detect no breathing. Her face was as pale
as that of a corpse, and his blood chilled a little as he approached
her. He called to her at last, but she did not stir.
Stepping to her bedside, he laid his palm upon her wrist. It was cold as
ice, and he started back filled with fear. "Mother! _mother!_ Are you
ill?" he called. She gave no sign of life.
For a long time he stood there, rigid with fear, not knowing what to do.
He knew no one in all the city upon whom he could call save Mrs. Joyce
and Leo, and he did not know their street or number. He felt himself
utterly alone, helpless, ignorant as a babe, and in the presence of
death.
Gradually his brain cleared. Sorrow overcame his instinctive awe of a
dead body. He felt once more the pulseless arm and studied closely the
rigid face. "She is gone!" he sobbingly cried, "and I was so cruel to
her last night!"
The memory of his harsh voice, his brutal words, came back to plague
him, now that she was deaf to his remorse. How little, how gentle she
was, and how self-sacrificing she had been for him! "She burned out her
very soul for me," he acknowledged.
He remained beside her thus till the sound of a crying babe on the floor
below suggested to him the presence of neighbors. Hastening down-stairs,
he knocked upon the first door he came to with frantic insistence.
A slatternly young woman with a crown of flaming red-gold hair came to
the door. She smiled in greeting, but his first words startled her.
"My mother is dead. Come up and help me. I don't know what to do."
His tone carried conviction, and the girl did not hesitate a moment. She
turned and called: "Father, come here quick. Mrs. Ollnee is dead."
An old man with weak eyes and a loose-hung mouth shuffled forward. To
him the girl explained: "This is Mrs. Ollnee's son. He says his mother
is dead. I'm going up there. You look out for the baby." She turned back
to Victor. "When did she die?"
"I found her cold and still this morning."
"Have you called a doctor?"
"No, I don't know of any to call."
"Jimmie!" she shrieked.