“I think so. How the wind howls!”
Mrs. Radcliffe sighed; Francis’s future seemed not to be very clear. Unless he could get on pretty quickly, and make a living for himself—
“When I am gone, Francis,” she said aloud, interrupting her own thoughts, “this will not be any home for you.”
“It has not been one for me for some years now, mother.”
“But if you do not get into work soon, and your own funds come to an end, you will have no home but this to turn to.”
“If I attempted to turn to it, Stephen would soon make it too hot for me, I expect.”
“That might not be all; not the worst,” she quickly answered, dropping her voice to a tone of fear, and glancing around as one in a fever.
Francis looked round too. He supposed she was seeking something.
“It is always scaring me, Francis,” she whispered. “There are times when I fancy I am going to see it enacted before my eyes. It puts me into a state of nervous dread not to be described.”
“See what enacted?” he asked.