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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Whativer do be makin' Pat come home with a tune loike that?" she asked. And she half rose as Pat's hand opened the door and the tall young fellow stepped in. The tiny lamp was very bright, and in its light the boy's eyes were brilliant. "Well, Pat!" exclaimed his mother. "The lamp's but a poor match for your eyes to-night. You've got news for me. What is it?"
"I meant well as usual." Something about him as he stood there alone in the lamp's white radiance stilled her anger by degrees. "Good-bye," she said with an effort. He nodded, replaced his hat, and turned away. "Good-bye, Louis," she said more gently. He retraced his steps, and stood beside the motor, hat off. She bent forward, generous, as always, and extended her hand.
British, Sikh, Mohammedan, and Ghoorka clustered close to him, and watched as his pencil traced the different positions and showed the movement that was to make the morrow's finish, their faces outlined in the lamp's yellow glow and their breath coming deep and slow as they agreed on how the greatest damage could be done the enemy before the last man died.
"Clear be damned!" said Kerry. "Are we nearly there?" "About a dozen paces and we shall see the lamp if it's been lighted." "And if not we shall stroll into the river, I suppose?" "No danger of that. Even if the lamp's out, we shall strike the iron pillar." "I don't doubt it," said Kerry grimly. They proceeded at a slow pace. Dull reports and a vague clangor were audible.
She lit the lamp and hastily drew down the white cotton blind and pinned it close to keep out the great pitiless staring Outside, which seemed to be peering in at her with a dozen white, mocking, merciless faces. In the lamp's dim light the shadows were blacker than ever; the big packing-box threw a shadow on the wall that was as black as the mouth of a tunnel in a mountain.
The reins stretched out from the careless hand of Mrs Clowes and vanished through a slit between the double doors, which had been fixed slightly open. Mrs Clowes's gaze, penetrating now and then the slit, could see the gleam of her lamp's ray on a horse's flank.
She waited through the months of the dreary winter till the one gleam of sunshine which had come into her hard young life had faded, till the warmth it had kindled in her heart died as a lamp's flame dies for lack of oil; died as a flower dies in the drought; died into anger for the man who had disturbed her peace, and when she thought she cared for him no more she went again to get her hair cut.
She watched his retreating figure as he and little Fairy walked down the tenebrose road to Gylingden, following them with a dismal gaze, as a benighted and wounded wayfarer in that 'Valley' would the pale lamp's disappearing that had for a few minutes, in a friendly hand, shone over his dreadful darkness.
"I must know what you want," she answered, settling the folds of her dress about her. "Of course, in making this marriage, you have weighed all the consequences? I take that for granted." As Nera spoke she leaned her head upon her hand; the rich beauty of her face was brought under the lamp's full light.
And I did not. Every one of her letters was answered sometimes, I remember, I wrote to her the whole night through, shading my window so that mother could not from her window see the reflection of my lamp's light on the ground and become anxious. But I destroyed those long and often agonized answers.
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