'Jury returned a verdict of suicide during temporary insanity. Sympathy
was expressed for the widow and children.' Helena stood still on the station for some time, looking at the print.
Then she dropped the paper and wandered into the town, not knowing where
she was going.
'That was what I got,' she said, months afterwards; 'and it was like a
brick, it was like a brick.' She wandered on and on, until suddenly she found herself in the grassy
lane with only a wire fence bounding her from the open fields on either
side, beyond which fields, on the left, she could see Siegmund's house
standing florid by the road, catching the western sunlight. Then she
stopped, realizing where she had come. For some time she stood looking
at the house. It was no use her going there; it was of no use her going
anywhere; the whole wide world was opened, but in it she had no
destination, and there was no direction for her to take. As if marooned
in the world, she stood desolate, looking from the house of Siegmund
over the fields and the hills. Siegmund was gone; why had he not taken
her with him?
The evening was drawing on; it was nearly half past seven when Helena
looked at her watch, remembering Louisa, who would be waiting for her to
return to Cornwall.
'I must either go to her, or wire to her. She will be in a fever of
suspense,' said Helena to herself, and straightway she hurried to catch
a tramcar to return to the station. She arrived there at a quarter to
eight; there was no train down to Tintagel that night. Therefore she
wired the news: 'Siegmund dead. No train tonight. Am going home.' * * * * * This done, she took her ticket and sat down to wait. By the strength of
her will everything she did was reasonable and accurate. But her mind
was chaotic.
'It was like a brick,' she reiterated, and that brutal simile was the
only one she could find, months afterwards, to describe her condition.
She felt as if something had crashed into her brain, stunning and
maiming her.
As she knocked at the door of home she was apparently quite calm. Her
mother opened to her.
'What, are you alone?' cried Mrs. Verden.
'Yes. Louisa did not come up,' replied Helena, passing into the
dining-room. As if by instinct she glanced on the mantelpiece to see if
there was a letter. There was a newspaper cutting. She went forward and
took it. It was from one of the London papers.