The house upon whose atmosphere he so depended instantly darkened; his
Friend was gone, not because he was no longer able to see him (his
consciousness of him did not depend at all upon any visual assurance),
but because there was now, Henry was perfectly assured, no chance
whatever of his suddenly appearing. And, on the other hand, those
Others--the one with the taloned claws behind the piano, the one with
the black-hooded eyes--were stronger, more threatening, more dominating.
But, beyond her influence on the house, Mrs. Carter, in her own physical
and actual presence, tortured Henry. When she was in the room, Henry
suffered agony. He would creep away were he allowed, and, if that were
not possible, then he would retreat into the most distant corner and
watch. If he were in the room his eyes never left Mrs. Carter for a
moment, and it was this brooding gaze more than his disapproval that
irritated her. "You never can tell with poor little dears when they're
'queer' what fancies they'll take. Why, he quite seems to dislike me,
Mrs. Slater!"

Mrs. Slater could venture no denial; indeed, Henry's attitude aroused
once again in her mind her earlier suspicions. She had all the
reverence of her class for her son's "oddness." He knew more than
ordinary mortal folk, and could see farther; he saw beyond Mrs. Carter's
red cheeks and shining black hair, and the fact that he was, as a rule,
tractable to cheerful kindness, made his rejection the more remarkable.
But it might, nevertheless, be that the black things in Mrs. Carter's
past were the marks impressed upon Henry's sensitive intelligence; and
that he had not, as yet, perceived the new Mrs. Carter growing in grace
now day by day.

"'E'll get over 'is fancy, bless 'is 'eart." Mrs. Slater pursued then
her work of redemption.