The Trespasser

'Inquest was held today upon the body of ----.' Helena read it, read it again, folded it up and put it in her purse. Her

mother stood watching her, consumed with distress and anxiety.

'How did you get to know?' she asked.

'I went to Wimbledon and bought a local paper,' replied the daughter, in

her muted, toneless voice.

'Did you go to the house?' asked the mother sharply.

'No,' replied Helena.

'I was wondering whether to send you that paper,' said her mother

hesitatingly.

Helena did not answer her. She wandered about the house mechanically,

looking for something. Her mother followed her, trying very gently

to help her.

For some time Helena sat at table in the dining-room staring before her.

Her parents moved restlessly in silence, trying not to irritate her by

watching her, praying for something to change the fixity of her look.

They acknowledged themselves helpless; like children, they felt

powerless and forlorn, and were very quiet.

'Won't you go to rest, Nellie?' asked the father at last. He was an

unobtrusive, obscure man, whose sympathy was very delicate, whose

ordinary attitude was one of gentle irony.

'Won't you go to rest, Nellie?' he repeated.

Helena shivered slightly.

'Do, my dear,' her mother pleaded. 'Let me take you to bed.' Helena rose. She had a great horror of being fussed or petted, but this

night she went dully upstairs, and let her mother help her to undress.

When she was in bed the mother stood for some moments looking at her,

yearning to beseech her daughter to pray to God; but she dared not.

Helena moved with a wild impatience under her mother's gaze.

'Shall I leave you the candle?' said Mrs Verden.

'No, blow it out,' replied the daughter. The mother did so, and

immediately left the room, going downstairs to her husband. As she

entered the dining-room he glanced up timidly at her. She was a tall,

erect woman. Her brown eyes, usually so swift and searching, were

haggard with tears that did not fall. He bowed down, obliterating

himself. His hands were tightly clasped.

'Will she be all right if you leave her?' he asked.

'We must listen,' replied the mother abruptly.

The parents sat silent in their customary places. Presently Mrs. Verden

cleared the supper table, sweeping together a few crumbs from the floor

in the place where Helena had sat, carefully putting her pieces of

broken bread under the loaf to keep moist. Then she sat down again. One

could see she was keenly alert to every sound. The father had his hand

to his head; he was thinking and praying.