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centuries of quiescence, a rock rends itself from
the mountain and hurtles crashing into the valley,
one fold of the shawl loosened and swung to and
fro. Then again peace descended; and the
shadow wavered; light bent to its own image in
adoration on the bedroom wall,;  when and Mrs.
McNab, tearing the veil of silence with hands
that had stood in the wash-tub, grinding it with
boots that had crunched the shingle, came as
directed to open all windows, and dust the
bedrooms.

5


    As she lurched (for she rolled like a ship at sea)
and leered (for her eyes fell on nothing directly,
but with a sidelong glance that deprecated the
scorn and anger of the world -- she was witless,
she knew it), as she clutched the banisters and
hauled herself upstairs and rolled from room to
room, she sang. Rubbing the glass of the long
looking-glass and leering sideways at her swinging
figure a sound issued from her lips -- something
that had been gay twenty years before on the
stage perhaps, had been hummed and danced to,
but now, coming from the toothless, bonneted,
care-taking woman, was robbed of meaning, was
like the voice of witlessness, humour, persistency
itself, trodden down but springing up again, so

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