"Good night, Uncle Mathew."
He looked at her then and noticed by her white face and dark-lined eyes what a strain the day had been to her.He saw again the figure in the shabby black hat sobbing in the lane.He suddenly put his arms about her and held her close to him.She noticed that he smelled of whisky, but she felt his kindness, and putting her hand on his fat shoulder kissed once more his cheek.
When he had left her, her weariness came suddenly down upon her, overwhelming her as though the roof had fallen in.The lamp swelled before her tired eyes as though it had been an evil, unhealthy flower.The table slid into the chairs and the cold beef leered at the jelly; the pictures jumped and the clock ran in a mad scurry backwards and forwards.
She dragged her dazed body up through the silent house to her bedroom, undressed, was instantly in bed and asleep.
She slept without dreams but woke suddenly as though she had been flung into the midst of one.She sat up in bed, knowing from the thumping of her heart that she was seized with panic but finding, in the first flash, no reason for her alarm.The room was pitch black with shadows of light here and there, but she had with her, in the confusion of her sleep, uncertainty as to the different parts of the room.What had awakened her? Of what was she frightened? Then suddenly, as one slits a black screen with a knife, a thin line of light cracked the darkness.As though some one had whispered it in her ear she knew that the door was there and the dark well of uncertainty into which she had been plunged was suddenly changed into her own room where she could recognise the window, the chest of drawers, the looking-glass, the chairs.Some one was opening her door and her first thought that it was of course her father was checked instantly by the knowledge, conveyed again as though some one had whispered to her, that her father was dead.
The thin line of light was now a wedge, it wavered, drew back to a spider's thread again, then broadened with a flush of colour into a streaming path.Some one stood in the doorway holding a candle.
Maggie saw that it was Uncle Mathew in his shirt and trousers.
"What is it?" she said.
He swayed as he stood there, his candle making fantastic leaps and shallows of light.He was smiling at her in a silly way and she saw that he was drunk.She had had a horror of drunkenness ever since, as a little girl, she had watched an inebriated carter kicking his wife.She always, after that, saw the woman's bent head and stooping shoulders.Now she knew, sitting up in bed, that she was frightened not only of Uncle Mathew, but of the house, of the whole world.
