There was a silence. Mabel sat on like one condemned, at the head of the table. Then a whistle was heard from the kitchen. The dog got up and barked sharply. Joe opened the door and shouted: 'Come on.' After a moment a young man entered. He was muffled in overcoat and a purple woollen scarf, and his tweed cap, which he did not remove, was pulled down on his head. He was of medium height, his face was rather long and pale, his eyes looked tired. 'Hello, Jack ! Well, Jack !' exclaimed Malcolm and Joe. Fred Henry merely said: 'Jack.' 'What's doing ?' asked the newcomer, evidently addressing Fred Henry. 'Same. We've got to be out by Wednesday. Got a cold ?' 'I have - got it bad, too.' 'Why don't you stop in ?' 'Me stop in ? When I can't stand on my legs, perhaps I shall have a chance.' The young man spoke huskily. He had a slight Scotch accent. 'It's a knock-out, isn't it,' said Joe, boisterously, 'if a doctor goes round croaking with a cold. Looks bad for the patients, doesn't it ?' The young doctor looked at him slowly. 'Anything the matter with you then ?' he asked sarcastically. 'Not as I know of. Damn your eyes, I hope not. Why ?' 'I thought you were very concerned about the patients, wondered if you might be one yourself.' 'Damn it, no, I've never been a patient to no flaming doctor, and hope I never shall be,' returned Joe. At this point Mabel rose from the table, and they all seemed to become aware of their existence. She began putting the dishes together. The young doctor looked at her, but did not address her. He had not greeted her. She went out the room with the tray, her face impassive and unchanged. 'When are you off then, all of you ?' asked the doctor. 'I'm catching the eleven-forty,' replied Malcolm. 'Are you goin' down wi' th' trap, Joe ?' 'Yes, I've told you I'm going down wi' th' trap, haven't I ?' 'We'd better be getting in then. So long, Jack, if I don't see you before I go,' said Malcolm, shaking hands. He went out, followed by Joe, who seemed to have his tail between his legs. 'Well, this is the devil's own,' exclaimed the doctor, when he was left alone with Fred Henry. 'Going before Wednesday, are you ?' 'That's the orders,' replied the other. 'Where, to Northampton ?' 'That's it.' 'The devil !' exclaimed Fergusson, with quiet chagrin. And there was silence between the two. 'All settled up, are you ?' asked Fergusson. 'About.' There was another pause. 'Well, I shall miss yer, Freddy, boy,' said the young doctor. 'And I shall miss thee, Jack,' returned the other. 'Miss you like hell,' mused the doctor. Fred Henry turned aside. There was nothing to say. Mabel came in again, to finish clearing the table. 'What are you going to do, then, Miss Pervin ?' asked Fergusson. 'Going to your sister's, are you ?' Mabel looked at him with her steady, dangerous eyes, that always made him uncomfortable, unsettling his superficial ease. 'No,' she said. 'Well, what in the name of fortune are you going to do ? Say what you mean to do,' cried Fred Henry, with futile intensity. But she only averted her head, and continued her work. She folded the white table-cloth, and put on the chenille cloth. 'The sulkiest bitch that ever trod !' muttered her brother. But she finished her task with perfectly impassive face, the young doctor watching her interestedly all the while. Then she went out. Fred Henry stared after her, clenching his lips, his blue eyes fixing in sharp antagonism, as he made a grimace of sour exasperation. 'You could bray her into bits, and that's all you'd get out of her,' he said, in a small, narrowed tone. The doctor smiled faintly. 'What's she going to do, then ?' he asked. 'Strike me if I know !' returned the other. There was a pause. Then the doctor stirred. 'I'll be seeing you to-night, shall I ?' he said to his friend. 'Ay - where's it to be ? Are we going over to Jessdale ?' 'I don't know. I've got such a cold on me. I'll come round to the "Moon and Stars", anyway.' 'Let Lizzie and May miss their night for once, eh ?' 'That's it - if I feel as I do now.' 'All's one -- '
The two young men went through the passage and down to the back door together. The house was large, but it was servantless now, and desolate. At the back was a small bricked house-yard and beyond that a big square, gravelled fine and red, and having stables on two sides. Sloping, dank, winter-dark fields stretched away on the open sides. But the stables were empty. Joseph Pervin, the father of the family, had been a man of no education, who had become a fairly large horse-dealer. The stables had been full of horses, there was a great turmoil and come-and-go of horses and of dealers and grooms. Then the kitchen was full of servants. But of late things has declined. The old man had married a second time, to retrieve his fortunes. Now he was dead and everything was gone to the dogs, there was nothing but debt and threatening. For months, Mabel had been servantless in the big house, keeping the home together in penury for her ineffectual brothers. She had kept house for ten years. But previously it was with unstinted means. Then, however brutal and coarse everything was, the sense of money had kept her proud, confident. The men might be foul-mouthed, the women in the kitchens might have bad reputations, her brothers might have illegitimate children. But so long as there was money, the girl felt herself established, and brutally proud, reserved. No company came to the house, save dealers and coarse men. Mabel had no associates of her own sex, after her sister went away. But she did not mind. She went regularly to church, she attended to her father. And she lived in the memory of her mother, who had died when she was fourteen, and whom she had loved. She had loved her father, too, in a different way, depending upon him, and feeling secure in him, until at the age of fifty-four he married again. And then she had set hard against him. Now he had died and left them all hopelessly in debt.She had suffered badly during the period of poverty. Nothing, however, could shake the curious, sullen, animal pride that dominated each member of the family. Now, for Mabel, the end had come. Still she would not cast about her. She would follow her own way just the same. She would always hold the keys of her own situation. Mindless and persistent, she endured from day to day. Why should she think ? Why should she answer anybody ? It was enough that this was the end, and there was no way out. She need not pass any more darkly along the main street of the small town, avoiding every eye. She need not pass any more darkly along the main street of the small town, avoiding every eye. She need not demean herself any more, going into the shops and buying the cheapest food. This was at an end. She thought of nobody, not even herself. Mindless and persistent, she seemed in a sort of ecstasy to be coming nearer to her fulfilment, her own glorification, approaching her dead mother, who was glorified. In the afternoon she took a little bag, with shears and sponge and a small scrubbing-brush, and went out. It was a grey, wintry day, with saddened, dark green fields and an atmosphere blackened by the smoke of foundries not far off. She went quickly, darkly along the causeway, heeding nobody, through the town to the churchyard.
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