Eleanor H. Porter

“ Bobby is—here, you know, dear!"
"No, no, don't say it," sobbed the woman wildly. "You don't understand—you don't understand!" And she turned and hurried away, a tall black shadow of grief, followed by the anguished eyes of the man, and the wistful puzzled eyes of the boy.
It was not a long walk to the tree-embowered plot of ground where the marble shafts and slabs glistened in the sunlight, and the Lady in Black knew the way; yet she stumbled and reached out blindly, and she fell, as if exhausted, before a little stone marked "Kathleen." ”

“ You don't seem to think! No one thinks—no one knows how I feel. You don't understand—if you did, you'd come with me. You wouldn't ask me to stay—here!" choked the woman.
"I have been with you, dear," said the man gently. "I've been with you to-day, and every day, almost, since—since she left us. But it can't do any good—this constant brooding over her grave. It only makes additional sorrow for you, for me, and for Bobby. ”

“ The house was very still. In the little room over the porch the Lady in Black sat alone. Near her a child's white dress lay across a chair, and on the floor at her feet a tiny pair of shoes, stubbed at the toes, lay where an apparently hasty hand had thrown them. A doll, head downward, hung over a chair-back, and a toy soldier with drawn sword dominated the little stand by the bed. And everywhere was silence—the peculiar silence that comes only to a room where the clock has ceased to tick.
The clock—such a foolish little clock of filigree gilt—stood on the shelf at the foot of the bed ”