THE STEADFAST HEART
if she had not slept through the entire night…. Found her careless of personal appearance, careless of everything; in such a state of mind as no one had ever seen Lydia in before.
“I came over as soon as I could,” said Myrtle, “to hear all about it.”
Lydia turned away her head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she murmured chokingly. “I don’t….”
“What is it? What has happened? You didn’t go and quarrel with Mal before you got home!”
“Quarrel with him? No…. No…. I wish….” The strain had been too great. Unnerved by a sleepless night, by a night of wretchedness, by a night spent in rebellion of spirit and in muttering over and over and over Angus Burke’s name… in stifled terrors of the future, she found her strength of body and will and courage gone.
“Oh, Myrtle… Myrtle…” she cried, and flung herself sobbing upon the bed.
Myrtle was startled. The thing was so unlike Lydia, so impossible in Lydia, and she sat down beside her, stroked her hair, mothered her as her gentle nature was so finely able to do until the paroxysm had passed. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me, Lydia. It’ll make you feel better.”
“I can’t…. I can’t…. Oh, Myrtle, I’m
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