The house was more
tomb-like than ever on such a night as thin To Maud's eyes the
intruding fog shaped itself into ghostly visages, which looked upon
her with weird and woeful compassion. She shuddered, and hastened
upstairs to her mother's room.
After her husband's disappearance, Mrs. Enderby had passed her days
in a morbid apathy, contrasting strangely with the restless
excitement which had so long possessed her. But a change came over
her from the day when she was told of Maud's approaching marriage.
It was her delight to have Maud sit by her bed, or her couch, and
talk over the details of the wedding and the new life that would
follow upon it. Her interest in Waymark, which had fallen off during
the past half-year, all at once revived; she conversed with him as
she had been used to do when she first made his acquaintance, and
the publication of his book afforded her endless matter for gossip.
She began to speak of herself as an old woman, and of spending her
last years happily in the country. To all appearances she had
dismissed from her mind the calamity which had befallen her; her
husband might have been long dead for any thought she seemed to give
him. She was wholly taken up with childish joy in trivial matters.
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