Then , with a sudden recurrence of the untuneful note : `` Is he dangerously ill ? '' `` We have n't heard for three days . The doctors were not anxious about him Monday , though they said it was a pretty severe case . '' A faint , wraith-like change of expression drifted over Emily 's beautiful face and was gone in a moment . What was it -- relief ? Regret ? It would have been impossible to say . When she next spoke her vibrant voice was as perfectly melodious as usual . `` I think I will go to bed , Amelia . John will not be back until late I suppose , and I am very tired . There comes the rain . I suppose it will spoil all the flowers . They will be beaten to pieces . '' In the dark hall Emily paused for a moment and opened the front door to be cut in the face with a whip-like dash of rain . She peered out into the thickly gathering gloom . Beyond , in the garden , she saw the asters tossed about , phantom-like . The wind around the many-cornered old farmhouse was full of wails and sobs . The clock in the sitting-room struck eight . Emily shivered and shut the door . She remembered that she had been married at eight o'clock that very morning seven years ago .
She thought she could see herself coming down the stairs in her white dress with her bouquet XXXXX asters .
In about as into next of that to until with