It had seemed to grow very suddenly dark. Outside in the hall, under the spluttering lamp, Mr. Westcott found a candle. The house was intensely silent. As they climbed the stairs, lighted only by the flickering candle-light, Peter's feelings were a curious mixture of uneasiness and a strange unthinking somnolence. Some part of him, somewhere, was urging him to an active unrest--“Norah ... what does she want interfering? I'll just go and see her and come back.... No, I won't, I'll just stay here ... never to bother again ... never to bother again....” He was also, in some undefined way, expecting that at any moment his father would change. The crimson dressing-gown swayed under the flickering candle-light. Let it turn round and what would one see inside it? His father never stopped talking for an instant--his thick wandering voice was the only sound in the deserted house. The rooms were all empty. They smelt as though the windows had not been opened for years. It was in the little room that had once been his bedroom that the apples were stored--piles upon piles of them and most of them rotten. The smell was all over the house. Mr. Westcott, standing with the apples on every side of him, flung monstrous shadows upon the wall--“This used to be your room. I remember I used to whip you here when you were disobedient. The only way to bring up your child. The Westcotts have always believed in it. Dear me, how long ago it all seems ... you can have this room again if you like. Any room in the house you please. We'll be very good company for one another....” All about Peter there was an atmosphere of extraordinary languor--just to sit here and let the days slip by, the years pass. Just to stay here with no one to hurt one, no need for courage.... They were out in the long passage. Mr. Westcott came and placed his hand upon Peter's arm. The whole house was a great cool place where one slept. Mr. Westcott smiled into Peter's face ... the house was silent and dark and oh! so restful. The candle swelled to an enormous size--the red dressing-gown seemed to enfold Peter. In another moment he would have fallen asleep there where he stood. With the last struggle of a drowning man he pulled back his fading senses. “I must go back to the hotel and fetch my things.” He could see his father's eyes that had been wide open disappear. “We can send for them.” “No, I must go for them myself--” For a moment they faced one another. He wondered what his father intended to do. Then--with a genial laugh, Mr. Westcott said: “Well, my boy, just as you please--just as you please. I know you'll come back to your old father--I know you'll come back--” He blew the candle out and put his arm through his son's and they went downstairs together. CHAPTER III NORAH MONOGUE I