The Breaking Point - Page 107/275

At Nina's was a smaller but similar group. All over the village at that

time in the evening were similar groups, gathered around flowers and

candles; neatly served, cheerful and undramatic groups, with the house

doors closed and dogs waiting patiently outside in the long spring

twilight.

Elizabeth was watching Nina. Just so, she was deciding, would she some

day preside at her own board. Perhaps before so very long, too. A little

separation, letters to watch for and answer, and then-The telephone rang, and Leslie answered it. He did not come back;

instead they heard the house door close, and soon after the rumble of

the car as it left the garage. It stopped at the door, and Leslie came

in.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I guess Elizabeth will have to go home. You'd

better come along, Nina."

"What is it? Is somebody sick?" Elizabeth gasped.

"Jim's been in an automobile accident. Steady now, Elizabeth! He's hurt,

but he's going to be all right."

The Wheeler house, when they got there, was brightly lighted. Annie was

crying in the hall, and in the living-room Mrs. Sayre stood alone, a

strange figure in a gaudy dress, but with her face strong and calm.

"They've gone to the hospital in my car," she said. "They'll be there

now any minute, and Mr. Oglethorpe will telephone at once. You are to

wait before starting in."

They all knew what that meant. It might be too late to start in. Nina

was crying hysterically, but Elizabeth could not cry. She stood dry-eyed

by the telephone, listening to Mrs. Sayre and Leslie, but hardly hearing

them. They had got Dick Livingstone and he had gone on in. Mrs. Sayre

was afraid it had been one of Wallie's cars. She had begged Wallie to

tell Jim to be careful in it. It had too much speed.

The telephone rang and Leslie took the receiver and pushed Elizabeth

gently aside. He listened for a moment.

"Very well," he said. Then he hung up and stood still before he turned

around: "It isn't very good news," he said. "I wish I could--Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth had crumpled up in a small heap on the floor.

All through the long night that followed, with the movement of feet

through the halls, with her mother's door closing and the ghastly

silence that followed it, with the dawn that came through the windows,

the dawn that to Jim meant not a new day, but a new life beyond their

living touch, all through the night Elizabeth was aware of two figures

that came and went. One was Dick, quiet, tender and watchful. And one

was of a heavy woman in a gaudy dress, her face old and weary in the

morning light, who tended her with gentle hands.