discover that although death is commonplace it is terribly original.
We may have thought about it all our lives, but if it comes close to
us, it is quite a new, strange thing to us, for which we are entirely
unprepared. It may, perhaps, not be the bare loss so much as the
strength of the bond which is broken that is the surprise, and we are
debtors in a way to death for revealing something in us which
ordinary life disguises. Long after the first madness of their grief
had passed, Clara and Madge were astonished to find how dependent
they had been on their mother. They were grown-up women accustomed
to act for themselves, but they felt unsteady, and as if deprived of
customary support. The reference to her had been constant, although
it was often silent, and they were not conscious of it. A defence
from the outside waste desert had been broken down, their mother had
always seemed to intervene between them and the world, and now they
were exposed and shelterless.

Three parts of Mrs Hopgood's little income was mainly an annuity, and
Clara and Madge found that between them they had but seventy-five
pounds a year.



CHAPTER XV



Frank could not rest. He wrote again to Clara at Fenmarket; the
letter went to Mrs Cork's, and was returned to him. He saw that the
Hopgoods had left Fenmarket, and suspecting the reason, he determined
at any cost to go home. He accordingly alleged ill-health, a pretext