第23章 SILHOUETTES.(3)

It gathered strength like the sound of the oncoming of a wave upon a stony shore,until it broke in a Babel of vehement voices just outside.After a few moments,the hubbub ceased,and there came a furious ringing--then angry shouts demanding admittance.

Some of the women began to cry.My father came out into the hall,closing the room door behind him,and ordered them to be quiet,so sternly that they were stunned into silence.The furious ringing was repeated;and,this time,threats mingled among the hoarse shouts.

My mother's arm tightened around me,and I could hear the beating of her heart.

The voices outside the gate sank into a low confused mumbling.Soon they died away altogether,and the silence flowed back.

My father turned up the hall lamp,and stood listening.

Suddenly,from the back of the house,rose the noise of a great crashing,followed by oaths and savage laughter.

My father rushed forward,but was borne back;and,in an instant,the hall was full of grim,ferocious faces.My father,trembling a little (or else it was the shadow cast by the flickering lamp),and with lips tight pressed,stood confronting them;while we women and children,too scared to even cry,shrank back up the stairs.

What followed during the next few moments is,in my memory,only a confused tumult,above which my father's high,clear tones rise every now and again,entreating,arguing,commanding.I see nothing distinctly until one of the grimmest of the faces thrusts itself before the others,and a voice which,like Aaron's rod,swallows up all its fellows,says in deep,determined bass,"Coom,we've had enow chatter,master.Thee mun give 'un up,or thee mun get out o'th'way an'we'll search th'house for oursel'."

Then a light flashed into my father's eyes that kindled something inside me,so that the fear went out of me,and I struggled to free myself from my mother's arm,for the desire stirred me to fling myself down upon the grimy faces below,and beat and stamp upon them with my fists.Springing across the hall,he snatched from the wall where it hung an ancient club,part of a trophy of old armour,and planting his back against the door through which they would have to pass,he shouted,"Then be damned to you all,he's in this room!

Come and fetch him out."

(I recollect that speech well.I puzzled over it,even at that time,excited though I was.I had always been told that only low,wicked people ever used the word "damn,"and I tried to reconcile things,and failed.)The men drew back and muttered among themselves.It was an ugly-looking weapon,studded with iron spikes.My father held it secured to his hand by a chain,and there was an ugly look about him also,now,that gave his face a strange likeness to the dark faces round him.

But my mother grew very white and cold,and underneath her breath she kept crying,"Oh,will they never come--will they never come?"and a cricket somewhere about the house began to chirp.

Then all at once,without a word,my mother flew down the stairs,and passed like a flash of light through the crowd of dusky figures.How she did it I could never understand,for the two heavy bolts had both been drawn,but the next moment the door stood wide open;and a hum of voices,cheery with the anticipation of a period of perfect bliss,was borne in upon the cool night air.

My mother was always very quick of hearing.

Again,I see a wild crowd of grim faces,and my father's,very pale,amongst them.But this time the faces are very many,and they come and go like faces in a dream.The ground beneath my feet is wet and sloppy,and a black rain is falling.There are women's faces in the crowd,wild and haggard,and long skinny arms stretch out threateningly towards my father,and shrill,frenzied voices call out curses on him.Boys'faces also pass me in the grey light,and on some of them there is an impish grin.

I seem to be in everybody's way;and to get out of it,I crawl into a dark,draughty corner and crouch there among cinders.Around me,great engines fiercely strain and pant like living things fighting beyond their strength.Their gaunt arms whirl madly above me,and the ground rocks with their throbbing.Dark figures flit to and fro,pausing from time to time to wipe the black sweat from their faces.

The pale light fades,and the flame-lit night lies red upon the land.

The flitting figures take strange shapes.I hear the hissing of wheels,the furious clanking of iron chains,the hoarse shouting of many voices,the hurrying tread of many feet;and,through all,the wailing and weeping and cursing that never seem to cease.I drop into a restless sleep,and dream that I have broken a chapel window,stone-throwing,and have died and gone to hell.

At length,a cold hand is laid upon my shoulder,and I awake.The wild faces have vanished and all is silent now,and I wonder if the whole thing has been a dream.My father lifts me into the dog-cart,and we drive home through the chill dawn.

My mother opens the door softly as we alight.She does not speak,only looks her question."It's all over,Maggie,"answers my father very quietly,as he takes off his coat and lays it across a chair;"we've got to begin the world afresh."

My mother's arms steal up about his neck;and I,feeling heavy with a trouble I do not understand,creep off to bed.