It was so still a day that the sea seemed to be murmuring just
beyond the garden-wall. The house was very silent; Mrs. Trussit was in the
housekeeper's room, his grandfather was sleeping in the dining-room. The
voices of some children laughing in the road came to him so clearly that
it seemed to Peter impossible that his father ... and, at that, he knew
instantly that his chance had come. He must see his mother now--there might
not be another opportunity for many weeks.
He left his room and stood at the head of the stairs listening. There was
no sound.
He stole down very softly and then waited again at the end of the long
passage. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall drove him down
the passage. He listened again outside his mother's door--there was no
sound from within and very slowly he turned the handle.
As the door opened his senses were invaded by that air of medicine and
flowers that he had remembered as a very small boy--he seemed to be
surrounded by it and great white vases on the mantelpiece filled his eyes,
and the white curtains at the window blew in the breeze of the opening
door.
His aunt was sitting, with her eternal sewing, by the fire and she rose as
he entered. She gave a little startled cry, like a twittering bird, as she
saw that it was he and she came towards him with her hand out.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150