..."
He brought them to her, three old yellow programmes of a "Concert Given at
the Town Hall, Truro." "There, do you see? Miss Minnie Trenowth, In the
Gloaming--There, I sang in those days. Oh! Truro was fun when I was a girl!
There was always something going on! You see I wasn't always on my back!"
He crushed the papers in his hand.
"But, mother! If you were like that then--what's made you like this now?"
"It's nerves, dear--I've been stupid about it."
"And father, how has he treated you these years?"
"Your father has always been very kind."
"Mother, tell me the truth! I _must_ know. Has he been kind to you?"
"Yes, dear--always."
But her voice was very faint and that look that Peter had noticed before
was again in her eyes.
"Mother--you must tell me. That's not true."
"Yes, Peter. He's done his best. I have been annoying, sometimes--foolish."
"Mother, I know. I know because I know father and I know myself. I'm like
him--I've just found it out. I've got those same things in me, and they'll
do for me if I don't get the better of them. Grandfather told me--he was
the same. All the Westcotts--"
He bent over the bed and took her hand and kissed it.
"Mother, dear--I know--father has been frightening you all this
time--terrifying you. And you were all alone. If only I had been there--if
only there had been some one--"
Her voice was very faint.
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