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"Open the door and look at me," he said, "and see if I can do you any harm." She opened the door, and stood on the threshold, barring the way. He was leaning against the doorpost with his head against it, as she had often seen her husband lean when he was talking to her on a summer evening. Something in his attitude, so like her husband's, touched her strangely.
So he told his story, and, at the end, the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they emerged in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into some business premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers," on the doorpost, and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk in the counting-house. "Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.
The noise increased the rushing sound came stronger and stronger the river rose higher, and roared louder; it overleaped the lintel of the door the fire on the floor hissed for a moment, and then expired in smouldering wreaths of white smoke the discoloured torrent gurgled into the chapel, and reached the altar piece; and while the cries from the hillside were highest, and bitterest, and most despairing, it suddenly filled the chapel to the top of the low doorpost; and although the large tapers which had been lit near the altar piece were as yet unextinguished, like meteors sparkling on a troubled sea, all was misery and consternation.
Just within the door Tressa sat as silent as her father. In all her silent moments now she was building, building. Conrad home a father far from the harsh influences of this rough life where man fought man as well as nature, and quite as brutally. The rapping of her father's pipe against the doorpost interrupted her dreams. "On Thursday!" he said. "I've spoken to Murphy.
One morning I saw, through the windows of my bedroom, that a large pond not far off was covered with wild ducks. In an instant I took my gun from the corner, ran downstairs, and out of the house in such a hurry that I imprudently struck my face against the doorpost.
He held his head defiantly erect, and he gave scorn for scorn and shrug for shrug. From the open window of "Ye Whyte Beare" a jolly, rolling peal of laughter told him that young Morgan was within, and two boar-hounds tethered to the doorpost proclaimed that the Blakeney yeoman purposed hunting other game than the timid deer that day.
The skirts of the fury were touching him even now; a sudden gust swept by; to draw breath for the moment was impossible, and his unsteady balance would soon have been overthrown; he was forced to cling to the doorpost, still holding the baby close. But the quiet, comprehending expression never left his face; he knew what was to be done, and he meant to do it; there might be time.
It was not an unmixed dread, for sometimes she brought a good story and the family enjoyed it. The usual row took place as to who should go to the door and return the tract. It was finally decided that I should face the ordeal. My preparation was to wash my feet, rake my hair into order and soap it down, cover up a few holes and await the gentle knock on the doorpost.
He hurriedly laid aside the pick, which, in his first impulse, he had taken to the door of the loft with him, and descended the stairs. The old man was standing at the door of his office awaiting him. As Mulrady approached, he trembled violently, and clung to the doorpost for support. "I had to come over, Mulrady," he said, in a choked voice; "I could stand it there no longer.
She was embarrassed. I, too, felt a little awkward. I poked my stick into the path. "I kept looking out for you, year after year," I said. "You mean in Europe?" murmured Miss Spencer. "In Europe, of course! Here, apparently, you are easy enough to find." She leaned her hand against the unpainted doorpost, and her head fell a little to one side.
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