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Updated: May 12, 2025
Then came two laborers, on their way to a job, a stone-breaker, and two more women. It was through this little throng that the mother-child and Kirsteen passed into the fast-being-gutted cottage. The agent was standing by Tryst's bed, keeping up a stream of comment to two of his men, who were taking that aged bed to pieces.
Then taking a pipe out of his pocket, which he had evidently filled before they came in, he lighted it and re-read the letter. Then, looking very straight at Nedda, he said: "Nothing in it? Honour bright, my dear!" "No, Uncle John, nothing. Only that he fancies his talk about injustice put it into Tryst's head." John nodded; the girl's face was evidence enough for him. "Any proof?"
Far away on the gray horizon was a flare of red! The anxieties of the Lady Mallorings of this life concerning the moral welfare of their humbler neighbors are inclined to march in front of events. The behavior in Tryst's cottage was more correct than it would have been in nine out of ten middle or upper class demesnes under similar conditions.
Though Tryst's death meant so much relief to her, she felt first this rush of compassion; he himself, to whom it meant so much less relief, had felt only that relief. "He said he couldn't stand it; he told me that. But I never thought Oh! Poor man!" And, burying her face against his arm, she gave way.
And, trembling with nervousness, Nedda took her plunge, pouring out the whole story of Derek's letter; their journey down; her father's talk with him; the visit to Tryst's body; their walk by the river; and of how haunted and miserable he was. Showing the little note he had left that morning, she clasped her hands and said: "Oh, Aunt Kirsteen, make him happy again!
And just as she had stooped to pick one it was no flower, but Tryst's white-banded face! She woke with a little cry. She was dressed by eight and went at once to Derek's room. There was no answer to her knock, and in a flutter of fear she opened the door. He had gone packed, and gone. She ran back to the hall. There was a note for her in the office, and she took it out of sight to read.
"Lady Malloring, will you please let the Gaunts stay in their cottage and Tryst's wife's sister come to live with the children and him?" Lady Malloring raised one hand; the motion, quite involuntary, ended at the tiny cross on her breast. She said quietly: "I'm afraid you don't understand." "Yes," said Sheila, still very pale, "we understand quite well.
The cold and calculated balancing of pro and con; and those minutes of cold calculation veiled from the eyes of the court. Even the verdict: 'Guilty'; even the judgment: 'Three years' penal servitude. All nothing, all superfluity to the boy supporting the tragic gaze of Tryst's eyes and making up his mind to a desperate resort. "Three years' penal servitude!"
Open the window, Biddy." The small creature opened what there was of window. "Now, go down and heat two bricks and wrap them in something, and bring them up." Tryst's boots and socks removed, Tod rubbed the large, warped feet. While doing this he whistled, and the little boy crept up-stairs and squatted in the doorway, to watch and listen.
The most they did was to sit and look at one another. On the day of which Felix had seen the dawn at Hampstead, Sir Gerald's agent tapped on the door of Tryst's cottage, and was answered by Biddy, just in from school for the midday meal. "Your father home, my dear?" "No, sir; Auntie's in." "Ask your auntie to come and speak to me."
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