Matthew's bedroom, being at the back of the house and facing east, was better illuminated; as she silently entered it she saw, amongst the disordered confusion of bedclothes, the outlines of his regularly breathing form, and she too again breathed regularly with relief. His face looked leaden in the bluish pallor of the morning light; at the corners of his mouth dry sordes had formed, and his dark hair lay tangled upon his brow. Between his lips his tongue seemed to protrude slightly as though it had become too swollen and bulky for its normal confines, and with each respiration it acted as a dull sounding board for the hoarse passage of his breath.
Mamma gently restored the blankets and coverlet to a more orderly comfort, ventured even to stroke the tumbled locks of hair from his eyes but as, at her touch, he stirred uneasily and muttered, she drew back, quickly removing her hand, yet leaving it poised in mid-air above his head as though unconsciously she blessed him in his sleep. Her gaze, too, was like a benediction, maintained for many moments. At length, reluctantly, she slowly withdrew her eyes from his face and turned to go. On her way out of the room she observed that his coat, vest and trousers were strewn in disarray on the floor, that his shirt had been flung into one corner, his collar and tie into another and, as though glad to render him service, she stooped, picked up the scattered garments, folded them neatly upon a chair, looked again at his sleeping face and went quietly away.
Downstairs, everything lay exposed in the stale, repugnant ebb of the low tide of early daybreak; the night, receding like an ocean, had left the furniture disordered, the dead fire dirty with grey, powdered ashes, the pile of unwashed dishes cluttering the scullery sink obscenely, like wreckage upon a desolate shore.
In the usual way, before she stirred herself into jerky activity to lay and light the fire, blacklead the grate, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, boil the porridge and perform the endless necessities of the morning, she would first indulge herself with a cup of strong tea, feeling, in her own words, that it drew her together. The hot, fragrant liquid was like a healing draught, comforting her, warming her, clearing away the mists in her brain and resigning her to the hardships of another day.
This morning, however, although she hurriedly infused and poured out a cup of tea, she did not herself drink it but, having carefully cut and delicately buttered two thin slices of bread, she placed these, together with the tea, appetisingly upon a tray, which she then carried up to Matthew's room.
'Matt,' she whispered, touching him lightly upon the shoulder, 'here's some tea for ye, son. It'll freshen ye up.' Although she bent over him he still snored on, exuding with each breath the reeking odor of stale liquor, which disturbed her deeply, made her, in her agitation, speak more loudly. 'Matt! Here's something nice for ye!'
That was what she used to say to him, coaxingly, when he was a boy, and at her words he stirred, half awake, twisted impatiently, and with eyes still closed, muttered:
'Let me sleep, boy. Go to hell. Don't want any chota hazri'
Unhappily, she shook him.
'Matt, dear, this tea will do you good. It's nice for ye in the morning.'
At this he opened his eyes and surveyed her from under listless, stuporous lids; within his dark pupils she could see the dull, unhappy comprehension of his position slowly reawaken.
'It's you, is it,' he slurred. 'What you want wakenin' me like this. Let me sleep.'
'But the nice tea, dear! So refreshing. I went straight down and made it myself.'
'You're always flinging tea at me! Let me sleep, damn it all!' He hunched round his back at her and was at once asleep again.
Mamma looked miserably from his prone figure to the tray still in her hands, as though unable to comprehend his refusal or the full force of his abuse; then, moved by the thought that he might later reconsider his decision, she laid the tray down on a chair by the bedside, covered the cup warmly with the saucer, inverted the plate protectingly over the fresh bread, and turned disconsolately away.
He was on her mind all morning. The fire was kindled, the dishes were washed, the boots were brushed, the porridge bubbled; she took up her husband's shaving water, then began to lay the table whilst she thought of him, lamenting the words he had used to her, mourning the revealing odour of his breath, yet all the time excusing him in her mind. The shock of coming home, of his father's treatment, had upset him; as for his language, he had, poor boy, been in a rough land and had not been fully awakened when he spoke to her. Whilst she forgave him, the still house began to stir; light and heavy sounds vibrated through the ceiling, doors were opened and shut upstairs, and now, confronted by the fear that some further disturbance irneht arise between Brodie and her son, she listened anxiously for the noise of some sudden outburst, the clash of angry voices, even for the sound of a blow. To her intense relief none came, and, after Nessie had come downstairs and been hurriedly fed and packed off with her satchel of books, Brodie descended and began to breakfast in sombre, solitary silence. She had taken the utmost care that everything should be perfect for him this morning in order to lull him into a more amiable mood; was prepared, even,
to lie blatantly about Matt's coming in late: but although his mood seemed to her unpropitious, her fear proved to be unfounded and he departed without a single reference to his son.
When he had gone she breathed more easily and, her tranquillity further restored by a belated cup of tea, she prepared Grandma's breakfast and took it upstairs shortly before ten o'clock. When she had visited the old woman she tiptoed across the landing and listened with her ear to the door of Matt's room; hearing only the rise and fall of his breathing, she softly opened the door. She saw at once that nothing had been touched and, to her wounded feelings, it seemed as though the undisturbed tray mutely rebuked her, that the plate still investing the untouched bread and butter, and the saucer still uselessly covering the long since cold tea were like tokens of her folly and presumption. He still slept. Confusedly she wondered if his removal from what she considered to be an antipodean hemisphere might not have inverted the hours of his repose, and, in rendering him active at night and drowsy by day, have thus made it a necessity for him to sleep through certain hours of the forenoon. Unconvinced in mind but none the less eased a little in heart, feeling that if not this, perhaps some kindred reason existed for his behaviour, she did not disturb him and again passed quietly out of the room.
Hesitatingly she addressed herself to her household duties in an effort to divert her attention, but as the forenoon drew on, uneasiness gradually possessed her; she comprehended that if their son was still in bed when Brodie returned for dinner, a disastrous scene might take place. Anxiously she pricked her ears for the first evidence of his retarded activity and, towards noon, was rewarded by hearing the faint creak of his bed as it surrendered his body, the sound of his step upon the boards above. Hastily decanting water into a jug from the kettle which stood ready boiling, she rushed upstairs to leave it outside his door.
He was a long time dressing, but about quarter to one he carne slowly downstairs and entered the kitchen. She greeted him fondly.
'I'm that glad you've had a nice long sleep, dear, but you've had no breakfast. Will you have a bite before your dinner? Just say the word; it'll not be the least bother for me to get ye a ' It had been on her tongue to offer him the universal panacea a cup of tea but mercifully she recollected his remark of the morning in time and added, 'anything that's in the house.'
'I never eat much in the morning.' He was smartly dressed in a different suit from the day before, in a smooth, fawn hopsack with a puce shirt and natty brown tie to match; as he fingered the bow of his tie with white plastic fingers that trembled slightly, he eyed her doubtfully, judging erroneously from her adulatory manner that she could not fully have realised his discomfiture of the night before.
'I miss the fresh fruit my servants used to bring me,' he asserted, feeling that some further explanatory remark might be required of him.
'You'll have some nice apples to-morrow, Matt,' she replied eagerly. 'Ill put in the order sure. If ye just tell me what you'd like, or the kind of food you've been used to outbye, I'll do my best to get it for ye.'
His attitude repudiated the idea of such sour wizened apples as she might obtain for him in this unproductive land; he waved his hand eloquently and retorted shortly:
'I meant mangos, fairy bananas, pineapple. Nothing but the best is any use to me.'
'Well, son, we'll do our utmost, anyway,' she replied bravely, although somewhat out of countenance at the grandiloquence of his remark. 'I've got a nice dinner for ye, now. Then, if ye feel like it afterwards, I was thinking maybe we might have a bit stroll together.'
'I'm going out for tiffin' he answered coldly, as though her suggestion was ridiculous and to be seen walking with her decrepit, outlandish figure the last thought his superior mind woyld entertain,
Her face fell and she stammered:
'I I had such nice nourishin' broth for ye, boy, as sweet as anything.'
'Give it to the old man,' he retorted bitterly. 'Give him a bucketful. He can stand it.' He paused for a moment,
