Page 127 - sons-and-lovers

At last, after more than two hours, they saw the lights of
an engine peering round, away down the darkness. A por-
ter ran out. The children drew back with beating hearts.
A great train, bound for Manchester, drew up. Two doors
opened, and from one of them, William. They flew to him.
He handed parcels to them cheerily, and immediately began
to explain that this great train had stopped for HIS sake at
such a small station as Sethley Bridge: it was not booked to
stop.
Meanwhile the parents were getting anxious. The table
was set, the chop was cooked, everything was ready. Mrs.
Morel put on her black apron. She was wearing her best
dress. Then she sat, pretending to read. The minutes were
a torture to her.
‘H’m!’ said Morel. ‘It’s an hour an’ a ha’ef.’
‘And those children waiting!’ she said.
‘Th’ train canna ha’ come in yet,’ he said.
‘I tell you, on Christmas Eve they’re HOURS wrong.’
They were both a bit cross with each other, so gnawed
with anxiety. The ash tree moaned outside in a cold, raw
wind. And all that space of night from London home! Mrs.
Morel suffered. The slight click of the works inside the clock
irritated her. It was getting so late; it was getting unbear-
able.
At last there was a sound of voices, and a footstep in the
entry.
‘Ha’s here!’ cried Morel, jumping up.
Then he stood back. The mother ran a few steps towards
the door and waited. There was a rush and a patter of feet,

1 Sons and Lovers