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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
62
The
next
day
Miss
Pole
brought
us
word
that
Mr
Holbrook
was
dead.
Miss
Matty
heard
the
news
in
silence;
in
fact,
from
the
account
of
the
previous
day,
it
was
only
what
we
had
to
expect.
Miss
Pole
kept
calling
upon
us
for
some
expression
of
regret,
by
asking
if
it
was
not
sad
that
he
was
gone,
and
saying—
“To
think
of
that
pleasant
day
last
June,
when
he
seemed
so
well!
And
he
might
have
lived
this
dozen
years
if
he
had
not
gone
to
that
wicked
Paris,
where
they
are
always
having
revolutions.”
She
paused
for
some
demonstration
on
our
part.
I
saw
Miss
Matty
could
not
speak,
she
was
trembling
so
nervously;
so
I
said
what
I
really
felt;
and
after
a
call
of
some
duration—
all
the
time
of
which
I
have
no
doubt
Miss
Pole
thought
Miss
Matty
received
the
news
very
calmly—
our
visitor
took
her
leave.
Miss
Matty
made
a
strong
effort
to
conceal
her
feelings—
a
concealment
she
practised
even
with
me,
for
she
has
never
alluded
to
Mr
Holbrook
again,
although
the
book
he
gave
her
lies
with
her
Bible
on
the
little
table
by
her
bedside.
She
did
not
think
I
heard
her
when
she
asked
the
little
milliner
of
Cranford
to
make
her
caps
something
like
the
Honourable
Mrs
Jamieson’s,
or
that
I
noticed
the
reply—
“But
she
wears
widows’
caps,
ma’am?”
“Oh!
I
only
meant
something
in
that
style;
not
widows’,
of
course,
but
rather
like
Mrs
Jamieson’s.”
This
effort
at
concealment
was
the
beginning
of
the
tremulous
motion
of
head
and
hands
which
I
have
seen
ever
since
in
Miss
Matty.
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