Of Human Bondage | Page 6

be sold."
The boy slipped out of the room. Mr. Carey was unused to work, and
he turned to his correspondence with resentment. On one side of the
desk was a bundle of bills, and these filled him with irritation. One
especially seemed preposterous. Immediately after Mrs. Carey's death
Emma had ordered from the florist masses of white flowers for the
room in which the dead woman lay. It was sheer waste of money.
Emma took far too much upon herself. Even if there had been no
financial necessity, he would have dismissed her.
But Philip went to her, and hid his face in her bosom, and wept as
though his heart would break. And she, feeling that he was almost her
own son--she had taken him when he was a month old--consoled him
with soft words. She promised that she would come and see him
sometimes, and that she would never forget him; and she told him

about the country he was going to and about her own home in
Devonshire--her father kept a turnpike on the high-road that led to
Exeter, and there were pigs in the sty, and there was a cow, and the cow
had just had a calf--till Philip forgot his tears and grew excited at the
thought of his approaching journey. Presently she put him down, for
there was much to be done, and he helped her to lay out his clothes on
the bed. She sent him into the nursery to gather up his toys, and in a
little while he was playing happily.
But at last he grew tired of being alone and went back to the bed-room,
in which Emma was now putting his things into a big tin box; he
remembered then that his uncle had said he might take something to
remember his father and mother by. He told Emma and asked her what
he should take.
"You'd better go into the drawing-room and see what you fancy."
"Uncle William's there."
"Never mind that. They're your own things now."
Philip went downstairs slowly and found the door open. Mr. Carey had
left the room. Philip walked slowly round. They had been in the house
so short a time that there was little in it that had a particular interest to
him. It was a stranger's room, and Philip saw nothing that struck his
fancy. But he knew which were his mother's things and which belonged
to the landlord, and presently fixed on a little clock that he had once
heard his mother say she liked. With this he walked again rather
disconsolately upstairs. Outside the door of his mother's bed-room he
stopped and listened. Though no one had told him not to go in, he had a
feeling that it would be wrong to do so; he was a little frightened, and
his heart beat uncomfortably; but at the same time something impelled
him to turn the handle. He turned it very gently, as if to prevent anyone
within from hearing, and then slowly pushed the door open. He stood
on the threshold for a moment before he had the courage to enter. He
was not frightened now, but it seemed strange. He closed the door
behind him. The blinds were drawn, and the room, in the cold light of a
January afternoon, was dark. On the dressing-table were Mrs. Carey's
brushes and the hand mirror. In a little tray were hairpins. There was a
photograph of himself on the chimney-piece and one of his father. He
had often been in the room when his mother was not in it, but now it
seemed different. There was something curious in the look of the chairs.

The bed was made as though someone were going to sleep in it that
night, and in a case on the pillow was a night-dress.
Philip opened a large cupboard filled with dresses and, stepping in,
took as many of them as he could in his arms and buried his face in
them. They smelt of the scent his mother used. Then he pulled open the
drawers, filled with his mother's things, and looked at them: there were
lavender bags among the linen, and their scent was fresh and pleasant.
The strangeness of the room left it, and it seemed to him that his
mother had just gone out for a walk. She would be in presently and
would come upstairs to have nursery tea with him. And he seemed to
feel her kiss on his lips.
It was not true that he would never see her again. It was not true simply
because it was impossible. He climbed up on the bed and put his head
on the pillow. He lay there quite still.

IV
Philip parted from Emma with tears, but the journey