They seemed quite tranquil.

Helen was sewing, and Mary deep in "The Pillars of the House." The clock ticked.

Hamlet, lost in sleep, snored and sputtered; the whole world pursued its ordinary way.

Only in himself something was changed; he was unhappy, and he could not account for his unhappiness.
It should have been because his mother was ill, and yet she had been ill before, and he had been only disturbed for a moment.

After all, grown-up people always got well.