ODOUR OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS

She rose, went into the kitchen, where she poured
warm water into a bowl, brought soap and flannel
and a soft towel.

" I must wash him," she said.

Then the old mother rose stiffly, and watched
Elizabeth as she carefully washed his face, carefully
brushing the big blonde moustache from his mouth
with the flannel. She was afraid with a bottomless
fear, so she ministered to him. The old woman,
jealous, said:

" Let me wipe him ! " -- and she kneeled on the
other side drying slowly as Elizabeth washed, her
big black bonnet sometimes brushing the dark head
of her daughter. They worked thus in silence for a
long time. They never forgot it was death, and the
touch of the man's dead body gave them strange
emotions, different in each of the women ; a great
dread possessed them both, the mother felt the lie
was given to her womb, she was denied; the wife
felt the utter isolation of the human soul, the child
within her was a weight apart from her.

At last it was finished. He was a man of hand-
some body, and his face showed no traces of drink.
He was blonde, full-fleshed, with fine limbs. But
he was dead.

" Bless him," whispered his mother, looking
always at his face, and speaking out of sheer terror.
" Dear lad -- bless him! " She spoke in a faint,
sibilant ecstasy of fear and mother love.

Elizabeth sank down again to the floor, and put
her face against his neck, and trembled and shud-
dered. But she had to draw away again. He was
dead, and her living flesh had no place against his.