He mightn't be well enough.

All the same, the dream filled her eyes with tears, that for a moment eased the burning within.
Her life was now made up of such moments and dreams.

On the whole, what held her most was the fierce refusal to think of him as dead.

That morning, in dressing, among the clothes they had hurriedly brought with them from Westmorland, she saw a thin black dress--a useful stand-by in the grime of London--and lifted her hands to take it from the peg on which it hung.

Only to recoil from it with horror.