Some sparrows began quarreling
just outside his window. Roger rose and walked the room. Restlessly he went
into the hall. The old house appeared so strange in this light--as though
stripped bare--there was something gone. Softly he came to Deborah's door.
It was open wide, for the night had been warm, and she lay awake upon her
bed with her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She turned her head and saw him
there. He came in and sat down by her window. For a long time neither made
a sound. Then the great clock on the distant tower, which had been silent
through the night, resumed its deep and measured boom. It struck six times.
There was silence again. More and more taut grew his muscles, and suddenly
it felt to him as though Deborah's fierce agony were pounding into his very
soul. The slow, slow minutes throbbed away. At last he rose and left her.
There was a cold sweat on his brow.
"I'll go down and make her some coffee," he thought.
Down in the kitchen it was a relief to bang about hunting for the utensils.
On picnics up in the mountains his coffee had been famous. He made some now
and boiled some eggs, and they breakfasted in Deborah's room. She seemed
almost herself again. Later, while he was dressing, he saw her in the
doorway. She was looking at her father with bright and grateful,
affectionate eyes.
"Will you come to school with me to-day? I'd like you to see it," Deborah
said.
"Very well," he answered gruffly.
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