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He
knelt
down
by
the
mattress
,
and
pressed
the
lids
over
the
dead
woman
’
s
eyes
.
Charity
,
trembling
and
sick
,
knelt
beside
him
,
and
tried
to
compose
her
mother
’
s
body
.
She
drew
the
stocking
over
the
dreadful
glistening
leg
,
and
pulled
the
skirt
down
to
the
battered
upturned
boots
.
As
she
did
so
,
she
looked
at
her
mother
’
s
face
,
thin
yet
swollen
,
with
lips
parted
in
a
frozen
gasp
above
the
broken
teeth
.
There
was
no
sign
in
it
of
anything
human
:
she
lay
there
like
a
dead
dog
in
a
ditch
.
Charity
’
s
hands
grew
cold
as
they
touched
her
.
Mr
.
Miles
drew
the
woman
’
s
arms
across
her
breast
and
laid
his
coat
over
her
.
Then
he
covered
her
face
with
his
handkerchief
,
and
placed
the
bottle
with
the
candle
in
it
at
her
head
.
Having
done
this
he
stood
up
.
“
Is
there
no
coffin
?
”
he
asked
,
turning
to
the
group
behind
him
.
There
was
a
moment
of
bewildered
silence
;
then
the
fierce
girl
spoke
up
.
“
You
’
d
oughter
brought
it
with
you
.
Where
’
d
we
get
one
here
,
I
’
d
like
ter
know
?
”
Mr
.
Miles
,
looking
at
the
others
,
repeated
:
“
Is
it
possible
you
have
no
coffin
ready
?
”
“
That
’
s
what
I
say
:
them
that
has
it
sleeps
better
,
”
an
old
woman
murmured
.
“
But
then
she
never
had
no
bed
.
.
.
.
”
“
And
the
stove
warn
’
t
hers
,
”
said
the
lank
-
haired
man
,
on
the
defensive
.
Mr
.
Miles
turned
away
from
them
and
moved
a
few
steps
apart
.
He
had
drawn
a
book
from
his
pocket
,
and
after
a
pause
he
opened
it
and
began
to
read
,
holding
the
book
at
arm
’
s
length
and
low
down
,
so
that
the
pages
caught
the
feeble
light
.
Charity
had
remained
on
her
knees
by
the
mattress
:
now
that
her
mother
’
s
face
was
covered
it
was
easier
to
stay
near
her
,
and
avoid
the
sight
of
the
living
faces
which
too
horribly
showed
by
what
stages
hers
had
lapsed
into
death
.
“
I
am
the
Resurrection
and
the
Life
,
”
Mr
.
Miles
began
;
“
he
that
believeth
in
me
,
though
he
were
dead
,
yet
shall
he
live
.
.
.
.
Though
after
my
skin
worms
destroy
my
body
,
yet
in
my
flesh
shall
I
see
God
.
.
.
.
”
