But they knew her, they were all afraid of her.
The supper was finished, the table cleared, the stranger did not go. Two
of the young soldiers went off to bed, with their cheery:
'Good-night, Ma. Good-night, Maryann.'
The stranger talked a little to the sergeant about the war, which was in
its first year, about the new army, a fragment of which was quartered in
this district, about America.
The landlady darted looks at him from her small eyes, minute by minute
the electric storm welled in her bosom, as still he did not go. She was
quivering with suppressed, violent passion, something frightening and
abnormal. She could not sit still for a moment. Her heavy form seemed to
flash with sudden, involuntary movements as the minutes passed by, and
still he sat there, and the tension on her heart grew unbearable. She
watched the hands of the dock move on. Three of the soldiers had gone to
bed, only the crop-headed, terrier-like old sergeant remained.
The landlady sat behind the bar fidgeting spasmodically with the
newspaper. She looked again at the clock. At last it was five minutes to
ten.
'Gentlemen--the enemy!' she said, in her diminished, furious voice.
'Time, please. Time, my dears. And good-night all!'
The men began to drop out, with a brief good-night. It was a minute to
ten. The landlady rose.
'Come,' she said. 'I'm shutting the door.'
The last of the miners passed out.
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