Sleet and hail, and even snow
fell, alternated with rain and wind, day after day for a week.
One afternoon the wind rose almost to a tempest. The rain drove in
sheets, and came against the windows of Mark's room nearly at right
angles. It was a cheerful room, though low-pitched and very old, with a
great beam across the middle of it. There were coloured prints, mostly
of Scripture-subjects, on the walls; and the beautiful fire burning in
the bow-fronted grate shone on them. It was reflected also from the
brown polished floor. The major sat by it in his easy-chair: he could
endure hardship, but saved strength for work, nursing being none of the
lightest. A bedroom had been prepared for him next to the boy's: Mark
had a string close to his hand whose slightest pull sufficed to ring a
bell, which woke the major as if it had been the opening of a cannonade.
This afternoon with the rain-charged wind rushing in fierce gusts every
now and then against the windows, and the twilight coming on the sooner
because the world was wrapt in blanket upon blanket of wet cloud, the
major was reading, by no means sure whether his patient waked or slept,
and himself very sleepy, longing indeed for a little nap.
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