Читать книгу The Peacock Feather. A Romance онлайн

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And then he stopped suddenly in his meditations, for the water in the pot was boiling.

When Peter had finished his meal he pulled a brier-wood pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco, and lit it. He also lit a candle, which he set in one of the copper candlesticks and placed upon the table. Then once more he drew his book from the brown-paper covering.

For a time he sat very still, only moving a hand to turn the pages. The candle-light threw his shadow large and grotesque on the dingy wall behind him. Occasionally the shadow wavered as the candle flickered in the draught from the broken window. The fire had died down to a few glowing spots set in a bed of grey ashes. Outside the rain fell steadily, and the wind still creaked the branches of the fir-trees.

At last Peter closed the book. He rolled his piece of sacking into a bundle to form a pillow, and [Pg 34]stretched himself on the stone floor before the hearth. It was preferable, he considered, to the mildewy bed.

“I wonder,” he mused, “who were the former owners of this place. No doubt they are long since dead. Well, if so, on their souls, and on all Christian souls, sweet Jesu, have mercy!” He made the sign of the Cross.