Volume VII - Modernist Magazines Project

By Mrs. Murray Hickson 271directly into the box-room itself, on one side of which was a darkrecess holding a large cistern for water. To-night as I came tothe foot of the stairs, I could hear the water gurgling through thepipes into the great tank, and caught an intermittent sound of rainupon the window in the sloping roof. A light shone from thetop of the staircase ; evidently somebody was there before me, andI blew out my candle ere climbing the ladder. It was late, thehouse was very still, and I wondered who had thus invaded myterritory, for, as my bedroom was small, I kept many thingsstowed away in my big travelling trunk, and I often came up hereto fetch what, at the moment, I required. When my eyes werelevel with the floor of the box-room I stopped suddenly, and Iunderstood. The room had been turned into a bedchamber.Trunks and portmanteaus were piled along one side of the wall,and a small—very small—truckle bedstead stood underneath theskylight. One chair and a broken-down chest of drawerscompleted the furniture. A small square of looking-glasscracked across one corner, hung upon the wall. Martha herselrknelt beside the bed, her face hidden in the pillow. Her loosenedhair—crisp, and bright chestnut in colour—streamed over hercoarse white night-gown ; her bare feet, as she knelt, were thrustout from beneath the hem. I stood a moment, and then, for thegirl had neither heard nor seen me, crept cautiously down thesteep stairs back to the landing below. I would go without mybook to-night, for Martha was saying her prayers, and, to judge bythe convulsive movement of her shoulders, Martha was also crying.IIA week later our new lady-boarder arrived, and a very fine ladyshe was. We, the older occupants of the establishment, shrankinto