With heart drawn fine, Gerald stepped into the hall, whose floor was of
coloured tiles, went quickly and looked into the large, pleasant room.
In a chair by the fire, the father sat asleep, his head tilted back
against the side of the big oak chimney piece, his ruddy face seen
foreshortened, the nostrils open, the mouth fallen a little. It would
take the merest sound to wake him.
Gerald stood a second suspended. He glanced down the passage behind
him. It was all dark. Again he was suspended. Then he went swiftly
upstairs. His senses were so finely, almost supernaturally keen, that
he seemed to cast his own will over the half-unconscious house.
He came to the first landing. There he stood, scarcely breathing.
Again, corresponding to the door below, there was a door again. That
would be the mother's room. He could hear her moving about in the
candlelight. She would be expecting her husband to come up. He looked
along the dark landing.
Then, silently, on infinitely careful feet, he went along the passage,
feeling the wall with the extreme tips of his fingers.
Pages:
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711