So George had the fires alight, got in a man to help him, and they swept and scoured and aired till it was dark. In a day or two the plasterer could mend the ceiling.
Priscilla had left, and, excepting the servant, who was upstairs, George was alone. He looked round, walked about—what was it? Was he tired? It could not be that; he was never tired. He left as soon as he could and went back to the shop. After telling the tale of the calamity which had befallen him he announced—it was now supper-time—that he was going to stay all night. Mother, father, and sister were delighted to have him—“It looked like old times again;” but George was not in much of a mood for talking, and at ten o’clock went upstairs; his early departure being, of course, set down to the worry he had gone through. He turned into bed. Generally speaking he thought no more of sleep than he did of breathing; it came as naturally as the air into his lungs; but what was this new experience? Half an hour, an hour, after he had laid down he was still awake, and worse than awake; for his thoughts were of a different cast from his waking thoughts; fearful forebodings; a horror of great darkness. He rose and bathed his head in cold water, and lay down again; but it was of no use, and he walked about his room. What an epoch is the first sleepless night—the night when the first wrench has been given us by the Destinies to loosen us from the love of life; when we have first said to ourselves that there are worse things than death!
George’s father always slept well, but the mother stirred at the slightest sound. She heard her boy on the other side of the wall pacing to and fro, and she slipped out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to listen. Presently she knocked gently.
“George, my dear, aren’t you well?”
“Yes, mother; nothing the matter.”
“Let me in.”
He let her in, and sat down. The moon shone brightly, and there was no need for any other light.
The mother came and sat beside her child.
“George, my dear, there is something on you mind? What is it?—tell me.”
“Nothing, mother; nothing indeed.”