He lay in bed. The gas was out, the stove was out, and according to his
custom he was reading himself to sleep by the light of a candle in a
sconce attached to the bed's head. His eyes ran along line after line
and down page after page, and transmitted nothing coherent to his brain.
Then there were steps on the stair. His father was at last coming to
bed. He was a little relieved, though he had been quite prepared to go
to sleep and leave his father below. Why not? The steps died at the
top of the stair, but an irregular creaking continued. After a pause
the door was pushed open; and after another pause the figure of his
father came into view, breathing loudly.
"Edwin, are you asleep?" Darius asked anxiously. Edwin wondered what
could be the matter, but he answered with lightness, "Nearly."
"I've not put th' light out down yon! Happen you'd better put it out."
There was in his father's voice a note of dependence upon him, of appeal
to him.
"Funny!" he thought, and said aloud, "All right."
He jumped up. His father thudded off deliberately to his own room,
apparently relieved of a fearful oppression, but still fixed in sadness.
On the previous night Edwin had extinguished the hall-gas and come last
to bed; and again to-night. But to-night with what a different
sentiment of genuine, permanent responsibility! The appealing
feebleness of his father's attitude seemed to give him strength. Surely
a man so weak and fallen from tyranny could not cause much trouble!
Edwin now had some hope that the unavoidable preliminary to the
invalid's retirement might be achieved without too much difficulty. He
braced himself.