"I knew how it'd be; I told you she wouldn't last through the summer."
Aunt Hester made no reply; it was nearly October, but what was the good
of arguing; some people were never satisfied.
She sent up to tell her sister that the brothers were there. Mrs. Small
came down at once. She had bathed her face, which was still swollen, and
though she looked severely at Swithin's trousers, for they were of light
blue--he had come straight from the club, where the news had reached
him--she wore a more cheerful expression than usual, the instinct for
doing the wrong thing being even now too strong for her.
Presently all five went up to look at the body. Under the pure white
sheet a quilted counter-pane had been placed, for now, more than ever,
Aunt Ann had need of warmth; and, the pillows removed, her spine and
head rested flat, with the semblance of their life-long inflexibility;
the coif banding the top of her brow was drawn on either side to the
level of the ears, and between it and the sheet her face, almost as
white, was turned with closed eyes to the faces of her brothers and
sisters. In its extraordinary peace the face was stronger than ever,
nearly all bone now under the scarce-wrinkled parchment of skin--square
jaw and chin, cheekbones, forehead with hollow temples, chiselled
nose--the fortress of an unconquerable spirit that had yielded to death,
and in its upward sightlessness seemed trying to regain that spirit, to
regain the guardianship it had just laid down.
Swithin took but one look at the face, and left the room; the sight,
he said afterwards, made him very queer. He went downstairs shaking the
whole house, and, seizing his hat, clambered into his brougham, without
giving any directions to the coachman. He was driven home, and all the
evening sat in his chair without moving.
He could take nothing for dinner but a partridge, with an imperial pint
of champagne....
Old Jolyon stood at the bottom of the bed, his hands folded in front of
him. He alone of those in the room remembered the death of his mother,
and though he looked at Ann, it was of that he was thinking. Ann was
an old woman, but death had come to her at last--death came to all! His
face did not move, his gaze seemed travelling from very far.
Aunt Hester stood beside him. She did not cry now, tears were
exhausted--her nature refused to permit a further escape of force; she
twisted her hands, looking not at Ann, but from side to side, seeking
some way of escaping the effort of realization.