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But the happiness that by way of comfort she held out to him was the very dregs of Ranny's cup.
"That's it," he said. "I don't know how it's going to be now. She's the same, somehow, and yet different."
It was his way of expressing the fact that Violet's suffering had given her a soul, and that this soul, this subtler and more inscrutable essence of her, would not necessarily be good. It might even be malignant. Most certainly it would be hostile. It would come between them.
"It's a good thing the children'll be at school now--out of her way."
"P'raps she's better--kinder, p'raps."
"I don't know about that, Winny. I'm afraid. Anyhow, it'll never be the same for you and me."
He paused, and then seeing suddenly the full extent of their calamity, he broke out.
"What'll you _do_, Winny?"
"I'll ask Mr. Randall if he'll take me on."
"You won't stay here?"
"No. Better not. I mustn't be too near, this time. That was the mistake I made before. And you've got your mother."
"And what have _you_ got?" he cried, fiercely.
"I've got plenty--all I've ever had. These things don't go away, dear."
They stood still, looking before them, with their unspoken misery in their eyes.
At their feet, down there, creeping low on the ground, spreading its packed roofs for miles over the land that had once been green fields, its red and purple smoldering and smoking in the autumn mist and sunset, there lay the Paradise of Little Clerks.
They turned and went slowly toward it down the hill.
THE END
