I saw him obliquely, since I occupied myself with Eliza, for whom the long carriage ride had caused great discomfort. But though I made no outward notice of the reunited pair, I did notice one thing: the eyes of Thomas Miller. As he held Martha, he glanced at me briefly. It was not the jovial face I knew. Tears had pooled beneath his amber irises and threatened to careen down his face. For whom or what did he grieve? Catching me looking at him, he attempted to smile, as if to say, “All is well, truly.” I was moved but showed it not, and went inside with Eliza. The weather was growing cool, especially at night, and I was glad I thought to give Eliza the parlor bed. In the parlor, one could easily start a fire with coals from the kitchen, and, when her sickness was upon her, I could watch her progress while continuing my work. Eliza set her bags down; Thomas still had the trunk in the carriage. My house was cozy, with signs of industry everywhere.
