He was not
ashamed of the sentiment which had prompted it, but he was ashamed of
its exhibition. He still thought tenderly of the little child that was
lost, and once in a long while he visited the place where his tablet
was, as he would have visited a grave.
One summer evening he sauntered through the wood and down the road by
the sea on this errand. Before going to the shore, he stopped at the
cottage where the old labourer, Morrison, lived.
There was something to gossip about, for Day's wife had been sent from
the asylum as cured, and her husband had been permitted to take her home
again on condition that no young or weak person should remain in the
house with her. He had sent his two remaining children to be brought up
by a relative in the West. People said he could get more work out of his
wife than out of the children, and, furthermore, it saved his having to
pay for her board elsewhere. The woman had been at home almost a
twelvemonth, and Caius had some natural interest in questioning Morrison
as to her welfare and general demeanour. The strange gaunt creature had
for his imagination very much the fascination that a ghost would have
had. We care to hear all about a ghost, however trivial the details may
be, but we desire no personal contact. Caius had no wish to meet this
woman, for whom he felt repulsion, but he would have been interested to
hear Neddy Morrison describe her least action, for Neddy was almost the
only person who had constant access to her house.
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