might have had as much to do with the pale early light as with the size of the

room or the bareness of its walls. For my father had opened his curtains and was

sitting, shaved and in full uniform, on the edge of his bed from where evidently

he had been watching the sky turn to dawn. At least one assumed he had been

watching the sky, there being little else to view from his small window other

than roof-tiles and guttering. The oil lamp beside his bed had been

extinguished, and when I saw my father glance disapprovingly at the lamp I had

brought to guide me up the rickety staircase, I quickly lowered the wick. Having

done this, I noticed all the more the effect of the pale light coming into the

room and the way it lit up the edges of my father's craggy, lined, still awesome

features.

 

"Ah," I said, and gave a short laugh, "I might have known Father would be up and

ready for the day."

 

"I've been up for the past three hours," he said, looking me up and down rather

coldly.

 

"I hope Father is not being kept awake by his arthritic troubles."

 

"I get all the sleep I need."

 

My father reached forward to the only chair in the room, a small wooden one, and

placing both hands on its back, brought himself to his feet. When I saw him

stood upright before me, I could not be sure to what extent he was hunched over