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almost left him. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light various objects in the home under
the trees took shape; but the only one on which his greedy gaze rested, long sought for and found at
last, was the great bed. On the bed lay Peter fast asleep.
Unaware of the tragedy being enacted above, Peter had continued, for a little time after the children
left, to play gaily on his pipes: no doubt rather a forlorn attempt to prove to himself that he did not
care. Then he decided not to take his medicine, so as to grieve Wendy. Then he lay down on the bed
outside the coverlet, to vex her still more; for she had always tucked them inside it, because you
never know that you may not grow chilly at the turn of the night. Then he nearly cried; but it struck
him how indignant she would be if he laughed instead; so he laughed a haughty laugh and fell asleep
in the middle of it.
Sometimes, though not often, he had dreams, and they were more painful than the dreams of other
boys. For hours he could not be separated from these dreams, though he wailed piteously in them.
They had to do, I think, with the riddle of his existence. At such times it had been Wendy's custom to
take him out of bed and sit with him on her lap, soothing him in dear ways of her own invention, and
when he grew calmer to put him back to bed before he quite woke up, so that he should not know of
the indignity to which she had subjected him. But on this occasion he had fallen at once into a
dreamless sleep. One arm dropped over the edge of the bed, one leg was arched, and the unfinished
part of his laugh was stranded on his mouth, which was open, showing the little pearls.
Thus defenceless Hook found him. He stood silent at the foot of the tree looking across the chamber
at his enemy. Did no feeling of compassion disturb his sombre breast? The man was not wholly evil;
he loved flowers (I have been told) and sweet music (he was himself no mean performer on the
harpsichord); and, let it be frankly admitted, the idyllic nature of the scene stirred him profoundly.
Mastered by his better self he would have returned reluctantly up the tree, but for one thing.
What stayed him was Peter's impertinent appearance as he slept. The open mouth, the drooping arm,
the arched knee: they were such a personification of cockiness as, taken together, will never again,
one may hope, be presented to eyes so sensitive to their offensiveness. They steeled Hook's heart. If
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Peter Pan Chapter 13 DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIRIES?
his rage had broken him into a hundred pieces every one of them would have disregarded the
incident, and leapt at the sleeper.
Though a light from the one lamp shone dimly on the bed, Hook stood in darkness himself, and at
the first stealthy step forward he discovered an obstacle, the door of Slightly's tree. It did not entirely
fill the aperture, and he had been looking over it. Feeling for the catch, he found to his fury that it
was low down, beyond his reach. To his disordered brain it seemed then that the irritating quality in
Peter's face and figure visibly increased, and he rattled the door and flung himself against it. Was his
enemy to escape him after all?
But what was that? The red in his eye had caught sight of Peter's medicine standing on a ledge within
easy reach. He fathomed what it was straightaway, and immediately knew that the sleeper was in his
power.
Lest he should be taken alive, Hook always carried about his person a dreadful drug, blended by
himself of all the death- dealing rings that had come into his possession. These he had boiled down
into a yellow liquid quite unknown to science, which was probably the most virulent poison in
existence.
Five drops of this he now added to Peter's cup. His hand shook, but it was in exultation rather than in
shame. As he did it he avoided glancing at the sleeper, but not lest pity should unnerve him; merely
to avoid spilling. Then one long gloating look he cast upon his victim, and turning, wormed his way
with difficulty up the tree. As he emerged at the top he looked the very spirit of evil breaking from
its hole. Donning his hat at its most rakish angle, he wound his cloak around him, holding one end in
front as if to conceal his person from the night, of which it was the blackest part, and muttering
strangely to himself, stole away through the trees.
Peter slept on. The light guttered [burned to edges] and went out, leaving the tenement in darkness;
but still he slept. It must have been not less than ten o'clock by the crocodile, when he suddenly sat
up in his bed, wakened by he knew not what. It was a soft cautious tapping on the door of his tree.
Soft and cautious, but in that stillness it was sinister. Peter felt for his dagger till his hand gripped it.
Then he spoke.
"Who is that?"
For long there was no answer: then again the knock.
"Who are you?"
No answer.
He was thrilled, and he loved being thrilled. In two strides he reached the door. Unlike Slightly's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]