Maggie obeyed, wondering; but her father gave no further orders, and only sat listening for Tom’s footfall on the gravel, apparently irritated by the wind, which had risen, and was roaring so as to drown all other sounds. There was a strange light in his eyes that rather frightened Maggie; she began to wish that Tom would come, too.
“There he is, then,” said Mr Tulliver, in an excited way, when the knock came at last. Maggie went to open the door, but her mother came out of the kitchen hurriedly, saying, “Stop a bit, Maggie; I’ll open it.”
Mrs Tulliver had begun to be a little frightened at her boy, but she was jealous of every office others did for him.
“Your supper’s ready by the kitchen-fire, my boy,” she said, as he took off his hat and coat. “You shall have it by yourself, just as you like, and I won’t speak to you.”
“I think my father wants Tom, mother,” said Maggie; “he must come into the parlour first.”
Tom entered with his usual saddened evening face, but his eyes fell immediately on the open Bible and the inkstand, and he glanced with a look of anxious surprise at his father, who was saying,—
“Come, come, you’re late; I want you.”
“Is there anything the matter, father?” said Tom.
“You sit down, all of you,” said Mr Tulliver, peremptorily.
“And, Tom, sit down here; I’ve got something for you to write i’ the Bible.”