Short Stories 1895-1926 Read Online Free PDF

looked at me with startled eyes and nodded. “Did you hear anything, Nicholas? Run to the door and listen; was that a sound of footsteps?”
    â€˜I opened the outer door and peered into the darkness; but it seemed the world ended here with the warmth and the light: beyond could extend only winter and silence, a region that, familiar though it was to me, seemed now to terrify me like an enormous sea.
    â€˜â€œIt’s stopped snowing,” I said, “but there isn’t anybody there; nobody at all, Mother.”
    â€˜The hours passed heavily from quarter on to quarter. The turkey, I grieved to hear, was to be taken out of the oven, and put away to cool in the pantry. I was bidden help myself to what I pleased of the trembling jellies, and delicious pink blanc-mange. Already midnight would be the next hour to be chimed. I felt sick, yet was still hungry and very tired. The candles began to burn low. “Leave me a little light here, then,” my mother said at last to Martha, “and go to bed. Perhaps your master has missed his way home in the snow.” But Mrs Ryder had followed Martha into the room.
    â€˜â€œYou must pardon my interference, ma’am, but it isn’t right, it isn’t really right of you to sit up longer. Master will not come back, maybe, before morning. And I shouldn’t be doing my bounden duty, ma’am, except I spoke my mind. Just now too, of all times.”
    â€˜â€œThank you very much, Mrs Ryder,” my mother answered simply “but I would prefer not to go to bed yet. It’s very lonely on the heath at night. But I shall not want anything else, thank you.”
    â€˜â€œWell, ma’am, I’ve had my say, and done my conscience’s bidding. And I have brought you up this tumbler of mulled wine; else you’ll be sinking away or something with the fatigue.”
    â€˜My mother took the wine, sipped of it with a wan smile at Mrs Ryder over the brim; and Mrs Ryder retired with Martha. I don’t think they had noticed me sitting close in the shadow on my stool beside the table. But all through that long night, I fancy, these good souls took it in turn to creep down stealthily and look in on us; and in the small hours of the morning, when the fire had fallen low they must have wrapped us both warm in shawls. They left me then, I think, to be my mother’s company. Indeed, I remember we spoke in the darkness, and she took my hand.
    â€˜My mother and I shared the steaming wine together when they were gone; our shadows looming faintly huge upon the ceiling. We said very little, but I looked softly into her grey childish eyes, and we kissed one another kneeling there together before the fire. And afterwards, I jigged softly round the table, pilfering whatever sweet or savoury mouthful took my fancy. But by and by in the silent house – a silence broken only by the fluttering of the flames, and the odd far-away stir of the frost, drowsiness vanquished me; I sat down by the fireside, leaning my head on a chair. And sitting thus, vaguely eyeing firelight and wavering shadow, I began to nod, and very soon dream stalked in, mingling with reality.
    â€˜It was early morning when I awoke, dazed and cold and miserable in my uncomfortable resting-place. The rare odour of frost was on the air. The ashes of the fire lay iron-grey upon the cold hearth. An intensely clear white ray of light leaned up through a cranny of the shutters to the cornice of the ceiling. I got up with difficulty. My mother was still asleep, breathing heavily, and as I stooped, regarding her curiously, I could almost watch her transient dreams fleeting over her face; and now she smiled faintly; and now she raised her eyebrows as if in some playful and happy talk with my father; then again utterly still darkness would descend on brow and lid and lip.
    â€˜I touched her sleeve, suddenly conscious of my loneliness in the large house. Her face clouded instantly, she