WHEN THE SOUL KNOWS ITS OWN REMORSE

BERNARDINE had seen Mr. Reffold the previous day. She had sat by his side and held his hand. He had smiled at her many times, but he only spoke once.

“Little Brick,” he whispered for his voice had become nothing but a whisper. “I remember all you told me. God bless you. But what a long time it does take to die.”

But that was yesterday.

The lane had come to an ending at last, and Mr. Reffold lay dead.

They bore him to the little mortuary chapel. And Bernardine stayed with Mrs. Reffold, who seemed afraid to be alone. She clung to Bernardine’s hand.

“No, no,” she said excitedly, “you must not go! I can’t bear to be alone: you must stay with me!”

She expressed no sorrow, no regret. She did not even speak his name. She just sat nursing her beautiful face.

Once or twice Bernardine tried to slip away. This waiting about was a strain on her, and she felt that she was doing no good.

But each time Mrs. Reffold looked up and prevented her.

“No, no,” she said. “I can’t bear myself without you. I must have you near me. Why should you leave me?”

So Bernardine lingered. She tried to read a book which lay on the table. She counted the lines and dots on the wall-paper. She thought about the dead man; and about the living woman. She had pitied him; but when she looked at the stricken face of his wife, Bernardine’s whole heart rose up in pity for her. Remorse would come, although it might not remain long. The soul would see itself face to face for one brief moment; and then forget its own likeness.

But for the moment what a weight of suffering, what a whole century of agony!

Bernardine grew very tender for Mrs. Reffold: she bent over the sofa, and fondled the beautiful face.

“Mrs. Reffold” . . . she whispered.

That was all she said: but it was enough.

Mrs. Reffold burst into an agony of tears.

“Oh, Miss Holme,” she sobbed, “and I was not even kind to him! And now it is too late. How can I ever bear myself?”

And then it was that the soul knew its own remorse.