OF HUMAN BONDAGE (An Autobiographical Novel) - Complete Edition - Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

Скачать книгу

down the bed-clothes, took him in her arms, and carried him downstairs. He was only half awake.

      "Your mother wants you," she said.

      She opened the door of a room on the floor below and took the child over to a bed in which a woman was lying. It was his mother. She stretched out her arms, and the child nestled by her side. He did not ask why he had been awakened. The woman kissed his eyes, and with thin, small hands felt the warm body through his white flannel nightgown. She pressed him closer to herself.

      "Are you sleepy, darling?" she said.

      Her voice was so weak that it seemed to come already from a great distance. The child did not answer, but smiled comfortably. He was very happy in the large, warm bed, with those soft arms about him. He tried to make himself smaller still as he cuddled up against his mother, and he kissed her sleepily. In a moment he closed his eyes and was fast asleep. The doctor came forwards and stood by the bed-side.

      "Oh, don't take him away yet," she moaned.

      The doctor, without answering, looked at her gravely. Knowing she would not be allowed to keep the child much longer, the woman kissed him again; and she passed her hand down his body till she came to his feet; she held the right foot in her hand and felt the five small toes; and then slowly passed her hand over the left one. She gave a sob.

      "What's the matter?" said the doctor. "You're tired."

      She shook her head, unable to speak, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

       The doctor bent down.

      "Let me take him."

      She was too weak to resist his wish, and she gave the child up. The doctor handed him back to his nurse.

      "You'd better put him back in his own bed."

      "Very well, sir." The little boy, still sleeping, was taken away. His mother sobbed now broken-heartedly.

      "What will happen to him, poor child?"

      The monthly nurse tried to quiet her, and presently, from exhaustion, the crying ceased. The doctor walked to a table on the other side of the room, upon which, under a towel, lay the body of a still-born child. He lifted the towel and looked. He was hidden from the bed by a screen, but the woman guessed what he was doing.

      "Was it a girl or a boy?" she whispered to the nurse.

      "Another boy."

      The woman did not answer. In a moment the child's nurse came back. She approached the bed.

      "Master Philip never woke up," she said. There was a pause. Then the doctor felt his patient's pulse once more.

      "I don't think there's anything I can do just now," he said. "I'll call again after breakfast."

      "I'll show you out, sir," said the child's nurse.

      They walked downstairs in silence. In the hall the doctor stopped.

      "You've sent for Mrs. Carey's brother-in-law, haven't you?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "D'you know at what time he'll be here?"

      "No, sir, I'm expecting a telegram."

      "What about the little boy? I should think he'd be better out of the way."

      "Miss Watkin said she'd take him, sir."

      "Who's she?"

      "She's his godmother, sir. D'you think Mrs. Carey will get over it, sir?"

      The doctor shook his head.

      II

       Table of Contents

       It was a week later. Philip was sitting on the floor in the drawing-room at Miss Watkin's house in Onslow gardens. He was an only child and used to amusing himself. The room was filled with massive furniture, and on each of the sofas were three big cushions. There was a cushion too in each arm-chair. All these he had taken and, with the help of the gilt rout chairs, light and easy to move, had made an elaborate cave in which he could hide himself from the Red Indians who were lurking behind the curtains. He put his ear to the floor and listened to the herd of buffaloes that raced across the prairie. Presently, hearing the door open, he held his breath so that he might not be discovered; but a violent hand pulled away a chair and the cushions fell down.

      "You naughty boy, Miss Watkin WILL be cross with you."

      "Hulloa, Emma!" he said.

      The nurse bent down and kissed him, then began to shake out the cushions, and put them back in their places.

      "Am I to come home?" he asked.

      "Yes, I've come to fetch you."

      "You've got a new dress on."

      It was in eighteen-eighty-five, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was of black velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt had three large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. She hesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she could not give the answer she had prepared.

      "Aren't you going to ask how your mamma is?" she said at length.

      "Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"

      Now she was ready.

      "Your mamma is quite well and happy."

      "Oh, I am glad."

      "Your mamma's gone away. You won't ever see her any more." Philip did not know what she meant.

      "Why not?"

      "Your mamma's in heaven."

      She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not quite understand, cried too. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with fair hair and large features. She came from Devonshire and, notwithstanding her many years of service in London, had never lost the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased her emotion, and she pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely the pity of that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quite unselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to strangers. But in a little while she pulled herself together.

      "Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you," she said. "Go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home."

      "I don't want to say good-bye," he answered, instinctively anxious to hide his tears.

      "Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."

      He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was waiting for him in the hall. He heard the sound of voices in the study behind the dining-room. He paused. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends, and it seemed to him—he was nine years old—that if he went in they would be sorry for him.

      "I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin."

      "I think you'd better," said Emma.

      "Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.

      He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma knocked at the door and walked in. He heard her speak.

      "Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you, miss."

      There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and Philip limped in. Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red face and dyed hair. In those days to dye the hair excited comment, and Philip had heard much gossip at home when his godmother's changed colour. She lived with an elder sister, who had resigned herself contentedly to old age. Two ladies, whom Philip did not know, were calling, and they looked at him curiously.

      "My poor child," said Miss Watkin, opening her arms.

      She began to cry. Philip understood now why she had not been in to luncheon and why she wore a black dress. She could not speak.

      "I've got to go home," said Philip, at last.

      He disengaged himself from Miss Watkin's arms, and

Скачать книгу