Explore "Broad Arrow" by Caroline Leakey on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE morning light shimmered coyly through the closed pane, and fell upon a lovely pair--death in its reality, cold, but void of mockery; life in its unreality, cold, and brimful of subtle mockery drooped together on that couch. But for the low, tearless sob which broke at intervals from Maida, you would have thought that she, too, shared the kind reality of death. She knelt by the couch, resting her face on her dead baby's pillow; her hair fell like a pall over the little corpse, and strikingly the chill pallor of death looked up from the sable covering.
The clock had struck five--still Maida bent over the little sleeper, unconscious that she was watched by Norwell, who had ascended the stairs without noise. Horror-stricken he stood at the door. He came to impart direful news; but in this new grief for Maida everything was forgotten, as the sight of sorrow burst upon him.