She came striding towards them， pigtails flapping. Sheglanced scornfully at Francis and spoke with ostentation to thenurse. “Hello， Nurse. Are you bringing Francis to the partythis evening？ Mabel and I are coming.” And she was off againdown the street in the direction of Mabel Warren’s home，consciously alone and self-sufficient in the long empty road.
“Such a nice girl，” the nurse said. But Francis was silent，feeling again the jump-jump of his heart， realizing how soonthe hour of the party would arrive. God had done nothing forhim， and the minutes flew.
They flew too quickly to plan any evasion， or even to preparehis heart for the coming ordeal. Panic nearly overcame himwhen， all unready， he found himself standing on the doorstep，with coat- collar turned up against a cold wind， and the nurse’selectric torch making a short trail through the darkness. Behindhim were the lights of the hall and the sound of a servantlaying the table for dinner， which his mother and father wouldeat alone. He was nearly overcome by the desire to run backinto the house and call out to his mother that he would not goto the party， that he dared not go. They could not make himgo. He could almost hear himself saying those final words，breaking down for ever the barrier of ignorance which savedhis mind from his parents’ knowledge. “I’m afraid of going. Iwon’t go. I daren’t go. They’ll make me hide in the dark， andI’m afraid of the dark. I’ll scream and scream and scream.”
He could see the expression of amazement on his mother’sface， and then the cold confidence of a grown-up’s retort.
“Don’t be silly. You must go. We’ve accepted Mrs Henne-Falcon’s invitation.”
But they couldn’t make him go； hesitating on the doorstepwhile the nurse’s feet crunched across the frost-covered grassto the gate， he knew that. He would answer： “You can say I’mill. I won’t go. I’m afraid of the dark.” And his mother： “Don’tbe silly. You know there’s nothing to be afraid of in the dark.”
But he knew the falsity of that reasoning； he knew how theytaught also that there was nothing to fear in death， and howfearfully they avoided the idea of it. But they couldn’t makehim go to the party. “I’ll scream. I’ll scream.”
“Francis， come along.” He heard the nurse’s voice acrossthe dimly phosphorescent lawn and saw the yellow circle ofher torch wheel from tree to shrub. “I’m coming，” he calledwith despair； he couldn’t bring himself to lay bare his lastsecrets and end reserve between his mother and himself， forthere was still in the last resort a further appeal possible to MrsHenne-Falcon. He comforted himself with that， as he advancedsteadily across the hall， very small， towards her enormousbulk. His heart beat unevenly， but he had control now overhis voice， as he said with meticulous accent， “Good evening，Mrs Henne-Falcon. It was very good of you to ask me to yourparty.” With his strained face lifted towards the curve of herbreasts， and his polite set speech， he was like an old witheredman. As a twin he was in many ways an only child. To addressPeter was to speak to his own image in a mirror， an image alittle altered by a flaw in the glass， so as to throw back less alikeness of what he was than of what he wished to be， what hewould be without his unreasoning fear of darkness， footstepsof strangers， the flight of bats in dusk-filled gardens.
“Sweet child，” said Mrs Henne-Falcon absent-mindedly，before， with a wave of her arms， as though the children werea flock of chickens， she whirled them into her programmeof entertainments： egg-and-spoon races， three-legged races，the spearing of apples， games which held for Francis nothingworse than humiliation. And in the frequent intervals whennothing was required of him and he could not stand alonein corners as far removed as possible from Mabel Warren’sscornful gaze， he was able to plan how he might avoid theapproaching terror of the dark. He knew there was nothing tofear until after tea， and not until he was sitting down in a poolof yellow radiance cast by the ten candles on Colin Henne-Falcon’s birthday cake did he become fully conscious of theimminence of what he feared. He heard Joyce’s high voicedown the table， “After tea we are going to play hide and seekin the dark.”
“Oh， no，” Peter said， watching Francis’s troubled face， “don’tlet’s. We play that every year.”
“But it’s in the programme，” cried Mabel Warren. “I sawit myself. I looked over Mrs Henne-Falcon’s shoulder. Fiveo’clock tea. A quarter to six to half past， hide and seek in thedark. It’s all written down in the programme.”
Peter did not argue， for if hide and seek had been insertedin Mrs Henne-Falcon’s programme， nothing which he couldsay would avert it. He asked for another piece of birthday cakeand sipped his tea slowly. Perhaps it might be possible to delaythe game for a quarter of an hour， allow Francis at least a fewextra minutes to form a plan， but even in that Peter failed， forchildren were already leaving the table in twos and threes. Itwas his third failure， and again he saw a great bird darken hisbrother’s face with its wings. But he upbraided himself silentlyfor his folly， and finished his cake encouraged by the memoryof that adult refrain， “There’s nothing to fear in the dark.” Thelast to leave the table， the brothers came together to the hall tomeet the mustering and impatient eyes of Mrs Henne- Falcon.
“And now，” she said， “we will play hide and seek in thedark.”
Peter watched his brother and saw the lips tighten. Francis，he knew， had feared this moment from the beginning of theparty， had tried to meet it with courage and had abandoned theattempt. He must have prayed for cunning to evade the game，which was now welcomed with cries of excitement by all theother children. “Oh， do let’s.” “We must pick sides.” “Is any ofthe house out of bounds？” “Where shall home be？”