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The world was very silent, and the snow lay on the round cobbles of the steep street with a bright shining whiteness against the black houses and the dark night sky. Treliss' principal street was deserted; all down the hill red lights showed in the windows and voices could be heard, singing and laughing, because on Christmas Eve there would be parties and merrymakings.
Treliss, as it appeared in the holidays, seemed to Peter to change very little. His relations with his father were curiously passive during this time, and suggested, in their hint of future developments, something ominous and uneasy. Outwardly they his father, his grandfather, his aunt, Mrs.
Then suddenly he had touched Mr. Bannister's shoulder. He was looking at a wire letter rack, hanging by the superintendent's little office. There were some telegrams and many letters stretched behind the wire netting. One envelope was addressed Miss Norah Monogue, The Man at Arms Hotel. Treliss, Cornwall. "Miss Monogue ... Miss Monogue ... have you any one here called Miss Monogue?"
The sleeping fields, like grey cloths, stretched on every side of them and the white road cut into the heart of the distance. It was a quarter to eight and a blue dusk. The driver tilted the top hat over one ear and they were off. "I know this road as yer might say back'ards. Ask any one down along Treliss way.
I have been bewildered, I think, by all the things that have happened to me during this last year but I will never be bewildered again. Write to me from Spain and then as soon as you come back I will make amends for my wickedness. I am now and always, Your loving Peter. Mr. Zanti took the letter. "How is he?" asked Peter. "I found 'im down in Treliss. He wasn't 'appy.
As he moved through the dazzling, noisy rooms he was conscious that there, in the quiet, dark little conservatory, Maradick was sitting, motionless, seeing Treliss. On his way down to the supper room he was filled with annoyance at the thought of his interrupted conversation. He might never have his opportunity again.
Treliss was always a place of many customs, and, although now these ceremonies drag themselves along with all the mercenary self-consciousness that America and cheap trips from Manchester have given to the place, at this stage of Peter's history they were genuine and honest enough.
I know," he went on sinking his voice, "there was a time I had once in Cornwall when I was brought pretty close to things of that sort it doesn't leave you the same afterwards. There's a place down in Cornwall called Treliss...." "Treliss!" Peter almost shouted. "Why that's where I come from. I was born there that's my town " Before Maradick could reply Bobby Galleon burst into the conservatory.
Zachary Tan's shop became at last the word in Treliss for all that was strange and unusual the strongest link with London and other curious places. He had a little back room behind his shop, where he would welcome his friends, give them something to drink and talk about the world.
He wished that the wet, shining street were not so strangely like the sea-road at Treliss, and that the omnibuses at a distance did not murmur like the sea. People, black and funereal, were filling stands down Oxford Street; soldiers were already lining the way, the music of bands could be heard some streets away. He was in a thoroughly bad temper and scowled at the people who passed him.
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