His anxiety to reach the house before the mother came
in, spurred him to his best speed. He halted
two minutes on the way to buy some slices of ham and
some rolls, and ran on again. It was a frosty
night, but by the time he reached Everilda-street,
he was far from cold. He was rewarded by finding
his brother and sister at home, alone, and not too
hungry.
He had just time to empty his pockets, and receive
a kiss from Alice in return, when they heard the uncertain
step of their mother coming up the stair, stopping
now and then, and again resuming the ascent. Alice
went to watch which door she would turn to when she
reached the top, that Richard might go out by the
other, for the two rooms communicated. But just
as she was entering Arthur’s room, Mrs. Manson
changed her mind, and turned to the other door, so
that Richard was caught in the very act of making
his exit. She flew at him, seized him by the hair,
and began to pull and cuff him, abusing him as the
true son of his father, who did everything on the
sly, and never looked an honest woman in the face.
Richard said never a word, but let her tug and revile
till there was no more strength in her, when she let
him go, and dropped into a chair.
The three went half-way down the stair together.
“Don’t mind her,” said Alice with
a great sob. “I hope she didn’t hurt
you much, Richard!”
“Not a bit,” answered Richard.
“Poor mother!” sighed Arthur; “she’s
not in her right mind! We’re in constant
terror lest she drop down dead!”
“She’s not a very good mother to you!”
said Richard.
“No, but that has nothing to do with loving
her,” answered Alice; “and to think of
her dying like that, and going straight to the bad
place! Oh, Richard, what shall I do!
It turns me crazy to think of it!”
The door above them opened, and the fierce voice of
the mother fell upon them; but it was broken by a
fit of hiccupping, and she went in again, slamming
the door behind her.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE DOORS OF HARMONY AND DEATH.
That night Richard could not rest. His brain
wrought unceasingly.
He had caught cold and was feverish. After his
hot haste to reach his brother and sister, he had
stood on the stair till his temperature sank low.
When at length he slept, he kept starting awake from
troublous dreams, and this went on through the night.
In the morning he felt better, and rose and set to
his work, shivering occasionally. All the week
he was unwell, and coughed, but thought the attack
an ordinary cold. When Sunday came, he kept his
bed, in the hope of getting rid of it; but the next
day he was worse. He insisted on getting up, however:
he must not seem to be ill, for he was determined,
if he could stand, to go to the concert! What
with weariness and shortness of breath and sleepiness,
however, it was all he could do to stick to his work.
But he held on till the evening, when, watching his
opportunity, he slipped from the house and made his
way, with the help of an omnibus, to the hall.
Copyrights
There & Back from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
