Why should he sleep again beneath the old roof? Would he not be safer at the inn? Would not that be the best and surest way of settling the whole matter?
But it would not answer. He could offer no excuse without opening his parent’s eyes to the truth—to the fact of his having received warning.
No, he would go on, and make the best of it. He was sustained by a wondrous sense of power. Never in his life had he felt more secure than at that moment, and yet he did not doubt that a severe struggle—a dark ordeal—was before him.
Surely, the glory of Cordelia’s love, with all its possibilities for future joy and gladness, had not dawned upon him only to be swallowed up in a dire calamity at the hands of a pirate chief! No, no; he would not, he could not believe it!
He walked on and entered the cottage, turning at once into the comfortably furnished living-room as soon as he had deposited his cap and light cloak in the narrow hall.
He found the supper-table set, and his mother was evidently awaiting his coming, as he had told her that he would be at home to the evening meal.
The kettle was steaming on the crane; the teapot was on the hob; while a pan of newly baked rolls was set up against a flat-iron before the fire to keep warm.
“Am I late, mother?” the new-comer asked cheerily.
“Not at all, Percy. Supper is all ready: but I have not waited long. I didn’t expect you before.”
Never had she spoken more pleasantly, and never had she appeared more kind. Once she really smiled, though there was but little of warmth or light in it.