It struck her with an odd sense of strangeness as she went in; she scarcely knew why; she told herself it was because of what she had heard of him lately. But all was as it should be. There were spring flowers on the table and mantelshelf, and a pleasant fire on the hearth. It was even reassuring after she had been there a minute or two.
Then she went to look at the smoking-room where she had sat with him and heard the curious noise of the cracking wood on the night of the thaw, when the boy had behaved so foolishly. Here, too, was a fire, a tall porter's chair drawn on one side with its back to the door, and a deep leather couch set opposite. There was a box of Laurie's cigarettes set ready on the table--candles, matches, flowers, the illustrated papers--yes, everything.
But she stood looking on it all for a few moments with an odd emotion. It was familiar, homely, domestic--yet it was strange. There was an air of expectation about it all.... Then on a sudden the emotions precipitated themselves in tenderness.... Ah! poor Laurie....
* * * * *
"It is all perfectly right," she said to the old lady.
"Are the cigarettes there?"
"Yes: I noticed them particularly."
"And flowers?"
"Yes, flowers too."
"What time is it, my dear? I can't see."
Maggie peered at the clock.
"It's just after six, Auntie. Will you have the candles?"
The old lady shook her head.
"No, my dear: my eyes can't stand the light. Why hasn't the boy come?"
"Why, it's hardly time yet. Shall I bring him up at once?"
"Just for two minutes," sighed the old lady. "My head's bad again."
"Poor dear," said Maggie.
"Sit down, my dearest, for a few minutes. You'll hear the wheels from here.... No, don't talk or read."
There, then, the two women sat waiting.
* * * * *
Outside the twilight was falling, layer on layer, over the spring garden, in a great stillness. The chilly wind of the afternoon had dropped, and there was scarcely a sound to be heard from the living things about the house that once more were renewing their strength. Yet over all, to the Catholic's mind at least, there lay a shadow of death, from associations with that strange anniversary that was passing, hour by hour....
As to what Maggie thought during those minutes of waiting, she could have given afterwards no coherent description. Matters were too complicated to think clearly; she knew so little; there were so many hypotheses. Yet one emotion dominated the rest--expectancy with a tinge of fear. Here she sat, in this peaceful room, with all the homely paraphernalia of convalescence about her--the fire, the bed laid invitingly open with a couple of books, and a reading-lamp on the little table at the side, the faint smell of sandalwood; and before the fire dozed a peaceful old lady full too of gentle expectation of her son, yet knowing nothing whatever of the vague perils that were about him, that had, indeed, whatever they were, already closed in on him.... And that son was approaching nearer every instant through the country lanes....