The old places had changed little , whatever he might fear of the people who lived in them . There was the school he had attended , a small , low-eaved , white-washed building set back from the main road among green spruces . Beyond it , amid tall elms , was the old church with its square tower hung with ivy . He felt glad to see it ; he had expected to see a new church , offensively spick-and-span and modern , for this church had been old when he was a boy . He recalled the many times he had walked to it on the peaceful Sunday afternoons , sometimes with his mother , sometimes with Joyce . The sun set far out to sea and sucked down with it all the light out of the winnowed dome of sky . The stars came out singly and crystal clear over the far purple curves of the hills . Suddenly , glancing over his shoulder , he saw through an arch of black fir boughs a young moon swung low in a lake of palely tinted saffron sky . He smiled a little , remembering that in boyhood it had been held a good omen to see the new moon over the right shoulder . Down in the valley the lights began to twinkle out here and there like earth-stars . He would wait until he saw the kitchen light from the window of his old home . Then he would go . He waited until the whole valley was zoned with a glittering girdle , but no light glimmered out through his native trees . Why was it lacking , that light he had so often hailed at dark , coming home from boyish rambles on the hills ? He felt anxious and dissatisfied , as if he could not go away until he had seen it . When it was quite dark he descended the hill resolutely . He must know why the homelight had failed him . When he found himself in the old garden his heart grew sick and sore with disappointment and a bitter homesickness . It needed but a glance , even in the dimness of the summer night , to see that the old house was deserted and falling to decay . The kitchen door swung open on rusty hinges ; the windows were broken and lifeless ; weeds grew thickly over the yard and crowded wantonly up to the very threshold through the chinks of the rotten platform .
Cuthbert Marshall sat down on the old red sandstone step of the door and bowed his head XXXXX his hands .
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