He had
learned this trick when he was a young boy, and climbing lightly inside
he closed the window behind him and fastened the catch.
He knew of course every hall and room of the house, but the moment he
entered it he felt that it was deserted. The air was close and heavy,
showing that no fresh breeze had blown through it for days. It was
impossible that his mother or the faithful colored woman could have lived
there so long a time with closed doors and shuttered windows.
When he passed into the main part of his home, and touched a door
or chair, a fine dust grated slightly under his fingers. Here was
confirmation, if further confirmation was needed. Dust on chairs
and tables and sofas in the house in which his mother was present.
Impossible! Such a thing could not occur with her there. It was not the
white dust of the road or fields, but the black dust that gathers in
closed chambers.
He went up to his mother's room, and, opening one of the shutters a few
inches, let in a little light. It was in perfect order. Everything
was in its place. Upon the dresser was a little vase containing some
shrivelled flowers.
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