There had been long silence while Philip ate and drank, his attention wandering frequently from the food till Channah with a watchful word recalled his wits. "Channah," he said suddenly, "when will she die?" She was startled. Her cup clattered on the saucer. "Philip!" she said, in remonstrance. "Channah," he repeated, "tell me, when will she die? That's what I want to know, how long is there?" He was speaking in regular, subdued tones, with hardly an inflection in his voice. It seemed the voice almost of one talking in his sleep. An instinct commanded her to remonstrate no further, to fall in at once with this strange mood, to adopt his tones, to reply with no equivocation. "Not long. Three days ago the doctor said she'd last a week. Yesterday he said she couldn't last above two or three days. But only think--if it had happened before you came back!" The last consideration made no impression. "Not more than two or three days more?" he repeated. She nodded. "That was yesterday?" he said. "So to-morrow is the latest." "To-morrow is the latest." "Mother will die to-morrow. The day after to-morrow she will be dead. What is the day after to-morrow?" "To-day's Friday. It'll be Sunday!" His voice gathered urgency. "Boys must go to funerals!" he demanded. "They must," she said, "they always do! We don't go," she added. "You must go for us!" "There will be no mother the day after to-morrow?" "Philip," she wailed, "why must you go on like that? I can't bear it! It's been bad enough, but this is worse. You're looking and talking so funny I can't make you out. Go on with your tea, it's getting cold! I'll put in some tea from the teapot, shall I?" She hastened to the fire on unsteady feet. "Cold," he was repeating, "the day after to-morrow!" She left the fire and crossed over to him. "Philip, don't!" she implored. She shook him by the shoulders as if he were relapsing into dangerous sleep. He blinked. There was a grinding in his head like a clock running down. "Poor old Channah, I'm sorry! I was hungry and it's made me dizzy. What a pig I've been! What have I been saying?" "It's all right, I was only joking!" she assured him. "Be a good old boy, now, Philip, and have some more tea! You can't make things any better by not eating!" she insisted, "So let's try and be sensible!" "Oh, it's all right, Channah! You just get on with your own, I've had enough. I can't stay away any longer. You've been attending to her all this time, while I've been--I've been--" he paused and grimaced, "I've been enjoying myself. I must go in straight away. You keep on with your tea." But as soon as he closed the kitchen door behind him, she fumbled for her handkerchief in her blouse and withdrew to the scullery, her shoulders rocking.