"Yes."
"You're a very sensitive little Mummy."
"I wonder, Addie, if I'm so strange . . . because of a presentiment. . . ."
"A presentiment?"
"Don't you believe in them?"
"I don't know . . . I never have 'em . . ."
"Are you awfully matter-of-fact, Addie? . . . Or . . ."
"I don't know, Mamma. . . ."
"No, you're not matter-of-fact. . . . It's very strange, but you have a magnetism about you which matter-of-fact people never have. You calm one. When I lean against you, I grow calmer. . . . Listen, listen to it blowing!"
"Yes, it's very stormy. Let's listen to it together, Mamma. Perhaps we shall hear something . . . in the storm."
She looked into his eyes. His eyes were smiling. She did not know if he was serious or joking.
"Yes," she said, nestling closer in his arms, feeling that she still had him, that she had not yet lost him. "Let us listen to the storm . . . and see if we can hear anything . . . in the wind. . . ."
And they remained still, without speaking. The lamps were not lit; only the fire in the open hearth cast its dancing gleams and shadows on the walls. The wind tore on from very far away, out of mysterious cloud-laden skies. It shrieked round the
