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Updated: May 2, 2025
Come here, dear. What in the world have you been doing in the cellar all this time?" "Talking to dad." She came over and perched herself on the side of the bed. She looked down at her mother. Then she bent and kissed her. Mrs. Brewster looked incredibly girlish with the lamp's rosy glow on her face and her hair, warmly brown and profuse, rippling out over the pillow.
Zuleika had expected this, and hence was not surprised. At last her father resumed his seat, and when he again came within reach of the lamp's rays she saw that his visage was even more pallid than usual and that he was not a little agitated. She waited for him to speak, and in a few seconds he did so.
He felt for it along the wall, and soon laid his hand on it. Then again he peeped through to see Alice, who was now standing upright near the swivel. She had thrown her hair back from her face and neck; the lamp's flickering light seemed suddenly to have magnified her stature and enhanced her beauty. Her book lay on the tumbled wraps at her feet, and in either hand she grasped a swivel-shot.
We heard, and dimly saw, him engaged with a metallic object which he drew from under his coat. We were silent. Then we heard him say: "My lamp's went out darn these matches!" At last he seemed to light something. He unfolded a bit of paper before us and triumphantly across its surface he directed the rays of a bull's-eye lantern. This was his climax. We studied the paper.
Craye sank into it, looked full at Betty for a long minute; and by the lamp's yellow light Betty saw the tears rise, brim over and fall from the other woman's lashes. Then Lady St. Craye pulled out her handkerchief and began to cry in good earnest. It was quite easy. At first Betty looked on in cold contempt. Lady St. Craye had counted on that: she let herself go, wholly.
She came over and perched herself on the side of the bed. She looked down at her mother. Then she bent and kissed her. Mrs. Brewster looked incredibly girlish with the lamp's rosy glow on her face and her hair, warmly brown and profuse, rippling out over the pillow. Scarcely a thread of gray in it. "You know, mother, I think dad isn't well. He ought to go away."
This lamp, you must understand, was of some whitish translucent substance that was neither china nor glass, it had a shade of the same substance, a shade that did not protect the eyes of a reader in any measure, and it seemed admirably adapted to bring into pitiless prominence the fact that, after the lamp's trimming, dust and paraffin had been smeared over its exterior with a reckless generosity.
Constance, seeing that the fine expression of life with which her upturned eyes had glittered was gradually passing away, clasped her mother's hands within her own: suddenly they struggled for freedom, and as her eye followed the pointing of her parent's finger, she saw the lamp's last beam flicker for a moment, and then expire! Her mother, too, was dead!
But a bird raised its song and again was silent. It was a robin in an elder tree below the window. "Wait one moment," whispered Georges; "the lamp's frightening him. I'll put it out." And when he came back and took her waist again he added: "We'll relight it in a minute." Then as she listened to the robin and the boy pressed against her side, Nana remembered.
"The bricks are loose!" exclaimed Hughie. "Look here!" He rattled one with his finger. Kenny emitted a long low whistle of intense amazement. "Hughie, where's your knife?" he flung out wildly. "I think we're on the trail!" "The lamp's shaking!" warned Hannah. "Let me hold it." "Oh, my God!" gasped Hughie with the dot fever flaring in his honest eyes. "That ain't mortar. It's only ashes. Look!"
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