Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/148

"She loved Brad," he told himself, and marveled that he could ever have thought she did not.

He held her hand tight, and once he reached awkwardly and stroked her forehead . . .

She began to cry then. As though his touch had given anguish a release. Great dry sobs, like coughs, shook her from head to foot. She flung an arm across her face, and below it Jock could see her lips writhing grotesquely. They were saying things, those lips. Hoarse incoherent things. He leaned closer. "I was asleep, and—oh, my God, I can heah it yet!—and I ran in—on the floah, lyin' theah on the floah—" She sat up suddenly and faced Jock and screamed, "I was a good wife to him—I was—I was——. You must say I was, Jock."

"Of course!" Jock said. "Of course you were. Don't, Eunice—you mustn't let yourself go like this——"

The strange woman came hurrying in, and between them they quieted her. She lay back again, gasping, rolling her head from side to side on the pillows. The woman mixed up something in a glass and gave it to her, and she drank it, spilling some.

"I'll go," Jock mumbled. "I'll come again later."

A cry from Eunice halted him. "Wait, Jock! I have somethin' to give you——"

He turned quickly. "Did he——"

"He left you a lettah." She pointed. "Theah. On the bureau."

Jock picked it up, not looking at it. Cold. . . cold it was to the fingertips. . . . He crumpled it in his palm. He strove not to think of it, yet, but to fix his mind on Eunice. He bent down and brushed his lips across her cheek. "Eunice dear, try to rest, won't you? He'd want you to."