Then
grasping Wilderspin's hand, I said, 'But,--but was she begging,
Wilderspin? Not literally begging! My Winnie! my poor Winnie!'
My mother looked at me. The gaze was full of a painful interest; but
she recognised that between me and her there now was rolling an
infinite sea or emotion, and her eyes drooped before mine as though
she had suddenly invaded the privacy of a stranger.
'She was offering matches for sale,' said Wilderspin.
'Winnie! Winnie! Winnie!' I murmured. 'Did she seem emaciated,
Wilderspin? Did she seem as though she wanted food?'
'Heaven, no!' exclaimed my mother.
'No,' replied Wilderspin firmly. 'On that point who is a better judge
than the painter of "Faith and Love"? She did not want food. The
colour of the skin was not--was not--such as I have seen--when a
woman is dying for want of food.'
'God bless you, Wilderspin, God bless you! But what then?--what
followed?'
'Well, Mr. Aylwin, I stood for some time gazing at her, muttering
thanks to my mother for what I had found. I then went up to her, and
asked her for a box of matches.
Pages:
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522