rotund;
dark
,
where
Griffiths
had
been
merrily
mottled
;
strange
,
where
Griffiths
had
been
a
part
of
home
,
a
condition
of
life
.
He
sat
back
in
his
chair
as
though
his
heart
had
stopped
.
When
the
butler
who
is
not
Griffiths
had
left
the
room
he
spoke
gruffly
.
"
Stupid
of
me
,
I
know
;
but
where
is
Griffiths
?
"
"
Dead
seven
years
ago
,
"
said
Kitty
,
her
eyes
on
her
plate
.
He
sighed
deeply
in
a
shuddering
horror
.
"
I
'm
sorry
.
He
was
a
good
man
.
"
I
cleared
my
throat
.
"
There
are
new
people
here
,
Chris
,
but
they
love
you
as
the
old
ones
did
.
"
He
forced
himself
to
smile
at
us
both
,
to
a
gay
response
.
"
As
if
I
did
n't
know
that
to-night
!
"
But
he
did
not
know
it
.
Even
to
me
he
would
give
no
trust
,
because
it
was
Jenny
the
girl
who
had
been
his
friend
and
not
Jenny
the
woman
.
All
the
inhabitants
at
this
new
tract
of
time
were
his
enemies
,
all
its
circumstances
his
prison-bars
.
There
was
suspicion
in
the
gesture
with
which
,
when
we
were
back
in
the
drawing-room
he
picked
up
the
flannel
from
the
work-table
.
"
Whose
is
this
?
"
he
said
curiously
.
His
mother
had
been
a
hard-riding
woman
,
not
apt
with
her
needle
.
"
Clothes
for
one
of
the
cottages
,
"
answered
Kitty
,
breathlessly
.
"
We
—
we
've
a
lot
of
responsibilities
,
you
and
I
.
With
all
of
the
land
you
've
bought
,
there
are
ever
so
many
people
to
look
after
.
"
He
moved
his
shoulders
uneasily
,
as
if
under
a
yoke
,
and
,
after
he
had
drunk
his
coffee
,
pulled
up
one
of
the
blinds
and
went
out
to
pace
the
flagged
walk
under
the
windows
.
Kitty
huddled
carelessly
by
the
fire
,
her
hands
over
her
face
,
unheeding
by
its
red
glow
she
looked
not
so
virginal
and
bride-like
;
so
I
think
she
was
too
distracted
even
to
plan
.
I
went
to
the
piano
.
Through
this
evening
of
sentences
cut
short
because
their
completed
meaning
was
always
sorrow
,
of
normal
life
dissolved
to
tears
,
the
chords
of
Beethoven
sounded
serenely
.
"
So
you
like
Jenny
,
"
said
Kitty
,
suddenly
,
"
to
play
Beethoven
when
it
's
the
war
that
's
caused
all
this
.
I
could
have
told
that
you
would
have
chosen
to
play
German
music
this
night
of
all
nights
.
"
So
I
began
a
saraband
by
Purcell
,
a
jolly
thing
that
makes
one
see
a
plump
,
sound
woman
dancing
on
a
sanded
floor
in
some
old
inn
,
with
casks
of
good
ale
all
about
her
and
a
world
of
sunshine
and
May
lanes
without
.
As
I
played
I
wondered
if
things
like
this
happened
when
Purcell
wrote
such
music
,
empty
of
everything
except
laughter
and
simple
greeds
and
satisfactions
and
at
worst
the
wail
of
unrequited
love
.
Why
had
modern
life
brought
forth
these
horrors
,
which
made
the
old
tragedies
seem
no
more
than
nursery-shows
?
And
the
sky
also
is
different
.
Behind
Chris
's
head
,
as
he
halted
at
the
open
window
,
a
search-light
turned
all
ways
in
the
night
,
like
a
sword
brandished
among
the
stars
.
"
Kitty
.
"
"
Yes
,
Chris
.
"
She
was
sweet
and
obedient
and
alert
.
"
I
know
my
conduct
must
seem
to
you
perversely
insulting
,
"
—
behind
him
the
search-light
wheeled
while
he
gripped
the
sides
of
the
window
,
—
"
but
if
I
do
not
see
Margaret
Allington
I
shall
die
.
"
She
raised
her
hands
to
her
jewels
,
and
pressed
the
cool
globes
of
her
pearls
into
her
flesh
.
"
She
lives
near
here
,
"
she
said
easily
.
"
I
will
send
the
car
down
for
her
to-morrow
.
You
shall
see
as
much
of
her
as
you
like
.
"
His
arms
fell
to
his
sides
.
"
Thank
you
,
"
he
muttered
;
"
you
're
all
being
so
kind
—
"
He
disengaged
himself
into
the
darkness
.
I
was
amazed
at
Kitty
's
beautiful
act
and
more
amazed
to
find
that
it
had
made
her
face
ugly
.
Her
eyes
snapped
as
they
met
mine
.
"
That
dowd
!
"
she
said
,
keeping
her
voice
low
,
so
that
he
might
not
hear
it
as
he
passed
to
and
fro
before
the
window
.
"
That
dowd
!
"
This
sudden
abandonment
of
beauty
and
amiability
meant
so
much
in
our
Kitty
,
whose
law
of
life
is
grace
,
that
I
went
over
and
kissed
her
.
"
Dear
,
you
're
taking
things
all
the
wrong
way
,
"
I
said
.
"
Chris
is
ill
—
"
"
He
's
well
enough
to
remember
her
all
right
,
"
she
replied
unanswerably
.
Her
silver
shoe
tapped
the
floor
;
she
pinched
her
lips
for
some
moments
.
"
After
all
,
I
suppose
I
can
sit
down
to
it
.
Other
women
do
.
Teddy
Rex
keeps
a
Gaiety
girl
,
and
Mrs.
Rex
has
to
grin
and
bear
it
.
"
She
shrugged
in
answer
to
my
silence
.
"
What
else
is
it
,
do
you
think
?
It
means
that
Chris
is
a
man
like
other
men
.
But
I
did
think
that
bad
women
were
pretty
.
I
suppose
he
's
had
so
much
to
do
with
pretty
ones
that
a
plain
one
's
a
change
.
"
"
Kitty
!
Kitty
!
how
can
you
!
"
But
her
little
pink
mouth
went
on
manufacturing
malice
.
"
This
is
all
a
blind
,
"
she
said
at
the
end
of
an
unpardonable
sentence
.
"
He
's
pretending
.
"
I
,
who
had
felt
his
agony
all
the
evening
like
a
wound
in
my
own
body
,
was
past
speech
then
,
and
I
did
not
care
what
I
did
to
stop
her
.
I
gripped
her
small
shoulders
with
my
large
hands
,
and
shook
her
till
her
jewels
rattled
and
she
scratched
my
fingers
and
gasped
for
breath
.
But
I
did
not
mind
so
long
as
she
was
silent
.
Chris
spoke
from
the
darkness
.
"
Jenny
!
"
I
let
her
go
.
He
came
in
and
stood
over
us
,
running
his
hand
through
his
hair
unhappily
.
"
Let
's
all
be
decent
to
each
other
,
"
he
said
heavily
.
"
It
's
all
such
a
muddle
,
and
it
's
so
rotten
for
all
of
us
—
"
Kitty
shook
herself
neat
and
stood
up
.
"
Why
do
n't
you
say
,
'
Jenny
,
you
must
n't
be
rude
to
visitors
'
?
It
's
how
you
feel
,
I
know
.
"
She
gathered
up
her
needlework
.
"
I
'm
going
to
bed
.
It
's
been
a
horrid
night
.
"
She
spoke
so
pathetically
,
like
a
child
who
has
n't
enjoyed
a
party
as
much
as
it
had
thought
it
would
,
that
both
of
us
felt
a
stir
of
tenderness
toward
her
as
she
left
the
room
.
We
smiled
sadly
at
each
other
as
we
sat
down
by
the
fire
,
and
I
perceived
that
,
perhaps
because
I
was
flushed
and
looked
younger
,
he
felt
more
intimate
with
me
than
he
had
yet
done
since
his
return
.
Indeed
,
in
the
warm
,
friendly
silence
that
followed
he
was
like
a
patient
when
tiring
visitors
have
gone
and
he
is
left
alone
with
his
trusted
nurse
;
smiled
under
drooped
lids
and
then
paid
me
the
high
compliment
of
disregard
.
His
limbs
relaxed
,
he
sank
back
into
his
chair
.
I
watched
him
vigilantly
,
and
was
ready
at
that
moment
when
thought
intruded
into
his
drowsings
and
his
face
began
to
twitch
.
I
asked
:
"
You
ca
n't
remember
her
at
all
?
"
"
Oh
,
yes
,
"
he
said
,
without
raising
his
eyelids
,
"
in
a
sense
.
I
know
how
she
bows
when
you
meet
her
in
the
street
,
how
she
dresses
when
she
goes
to
church
.
I
know
her
as
one
knows
a
woman
staying
in
the
same
hotel
,
just
like
that
.
"
"
It
's
a
pity
you
ca
n't
remember
Kitty
.
All
that
a
wife
should
be
she
's
been
to
you
.
"
He
sat
forward
,
warming
his
palms
at
the
blaze
and
hunching
his
shoulders
as
though
there
were
a
draft
.
His
silence
compelled
me
to
look
at
him
,
and
I
found
his
eyes
,
cold
and
incredulous
and
frightened
,
on
me
.
"
Jenny
,
is
this
true
?
"
"
That
Kitty
's
been
a
good
wife
?
"
"
That
Kitty
is
my
wife
,
that
I
am
old
,
that
"
—
he
waved
a
hand
at
the
altered
room
—
"
all
this
.
"
"
It
is
all
true
.
She
is
your
wife
,
and
this
place
is
changed
,
and
it
's
better
and
jollier
in
all
sorts
of
ways
,
believe
me
,
and
fifteen
years
have
passed
.
Why
,
Chris
,
ca
n't
you
see
that
I
have
grown
old
?
"
My
vanity
could
hardly
endure
his
slow
stare
,
but
I
kept
my
fingers
clasped
on
my
lap
.
"
You
see
?
"
He
turned
away
with
an
assenting
mutter
;
but
I
saw
that
deep
down
in
him
,
not
to
be
moved
by
any
material
proof
,
his
spirit
was
incredulous
.
"
Tell
me
what
seems
real
to
you
,
"
I
begged
.
"
Chris
,
be
a
pal
.
I
'll
never
tell
.
"
"
M-m-m
,
"
he
said
.
His
elbows
were
on
his
knees
,
and
his
hands
stroked
his
thick
tarnished
hair
.
I
could
not
see
his
face
,
but
I
knew
that
his
skin
was
red
and
that
his
gray
eyes
were
wet
and
bright
.
Then
suddenly
he
lifted
his
chin
and
laughed
,
like
a
happy
swimmer
breaking
through
a
wave
that
has
swept
him
far
inshore
.
He
glowed
with
a
radiance
that
illuminated
the
moment
till
my
blood
tingled
and
I
began
to
rub
my
hands
together
and
laugh
,
too
.
"
Why
,
Monkey
Island
's
real
.
But
you
do
n't
know
old
Monkey
.
Let
me
tell
you
.
"
CHAPTER
III
CHRIS
told
the
story
lingeringly
,
in
loving
detail
.
From
Uncle
Ambrose
's
gates
,
it
seems
,
one
took
the
path
across
the
meadow
where
Whiston
's
cows
are
put
to
graze
,
passed
through
the
second
stile
—
the
one
between
the
two
big
alders
—
into
a
long
straight
road
that
ran
across
the
flat
lands
to
Bray
.
After
a
mile
or
so
there
branched
from
it
a
private
road
that
followed
a
line
of
noble
poplars
down
to
the
ferry
.
Between
two
of
them
—
he
described
it
meticulously
,
as
though
it
were
of
immense
significance
—
there
stood
a
white
hawthorn
.
In
front
were
the
dark-green
,
glassy
waters
of
an
unvisited
back-water
,
and
beyond
them
a
bright
lawn
set
with
many
walnut-trees
and
a
few
great
chestnuts
,
well
lighted
with
their
candles
,
and
to
the
left
of
that
a
low
,
white
house
with
a
green
dome
rising
in
its
middle
,
and
a
veranda
with
a
roof
of
hammered
iron
that
had
gone
verdigris-color
with
age
and
the
Thames
weather
.
This
was
the
Monkey
Island
Inn
.
The
third
Duke
of
Marlborough
had
built
it
for
a
"
folly
,
"
and
perching
there
with
nothing
but
a
line
of
walnut-trees
and
a
fringe
of
lawn
between
it
and
the
fast
,
full
,
shining
Thames
,
it
had
an
eighteenth-century
grace
and
silliness
.
Well
,
one
sounded
the
bell
that
hung
on
a
post
,
and
presently
Margaret
in
a
white
dress
would
come
out
of
the
porch
and
would
walk
to
the
stone
steps
down
to
the
river
.
Invariably
,
as
she
passed
the
walnut-tree
that
overhung
the
path
,
she
would
pick
a
leaf
,
crush
it
,
and
sniff
the
sweet
scent
;
and
as
she
came
near
the
steps
she
would
shade
her
eyes
and
peer
across
the
water
.
"
She
is
a
little
near-sighted
;
you
ca
n't
imagine
how
sweet
it
makes
her
look
,
"
Chris
explained
.
(
I
did
not
say
that
I
had
seen
her
,
for
,
indeed
,
this
Margaret
I
had
never
seen
.
)
A
sudden
serene
gravity
would
show
that
she
had
seen
one
,
and
she
would
get
into
the
four-foot
punt
that
was
used
as
a
ferry
and
bring
it
over
very
slowly
,
with
rather
stiff
movements
of
her
long
arms
,
to
exactly
the
right
place
.
When
she
had
got
the
punt
up
on
the
gravel
her
serious
brow
would
relax
,
and
she
would
smile
at
one
and
shake
hands
and
say
something
friendly
,
like
,
"
Father
thought
you
'd
be
over
this
afternoon
,
it
being
so
fine
;
so
he
's
saved
some
duck
's
eggs
for
tea
.
"
And
then
one
took
the
pole
from
her
and
brought
her
back
to
the
island
,
though
probably
one
did
not
mount
the
steps
to
the
lawn
for
a
long
time
.
It
was
so
good
to
sit
in
the
punt
by
the
landing-stage
while
Margaret
dabbled
her
hands
in
the
black
waters
and
forgot
her
shyness
as
one
talked
.
"
She
's
such
good
company
.
She
's
got
an
accurate
mind
that
would
have
made
her
a
good
engineer
,
but
when
she
picks
up
facts
she
kind
of
gives
them
a
motherly
hug
.
She
's
charity
and
love
itself
.
"
(
Again
I
did
not
say
that
I
had
seen
her
.
)
If
people
drifted
in
to
tea
,
one
had
to
talk
to
her
while
she
cut
the
bread
and
butter
and
the
sandwiches
in
the
kitchen
,
but
in
this
year
of
floods
few
visitors
cared
to
try
the
hard
rowing
below
Bray
Lock
.
So
usually
one
sat
down
there
in
the
boat
,
talking
with
a
sense
of
leisure
,
as
though
one
had
all
the
rest
of
one
's
life
in
which
to
carry
on
this
conversation
,
and
noting
how
the
reflected
ripple
of
the
water
made
a
bright
,
vibrant
,
mark
upon
her
throat
,
and
other
effects
of
the
scene
upon
her
beauty
,
until
the
afternoon
grew
drowsy
,
and
she
said
,
"
Father
will
be
wanting
his
tea
.
"
And
they
would
go
up
and
find
old
Allington
,
in
white
ducks
,
standing
in
the
fringe
of
long
grasses
and
cow-parsley
on
the
other
edge
of
the
island
,
looking
to
his
poultry
or
his
rabbits
.
He
was
a
little
man
,
with
a
tuft
of
copper-colored
hair
rising
from
the
middle
of
his
forehead
like
a
clown
's
curl
,
who
shook
hands
hard
and
explained
very
soon
that
he
was
a
rough
diamond
.
Then
they
all
had
tea
under
the
walnut-tree
where
the
canary
's
cage
was
hanging
,
and
the
ducks
'
eggs
would
be
brought
out
,
and
Mr.
Allington
would
talk
much
Thames-side
gossip
:
how
the
lock-keeper
at
Teddington
had
had
his
back
broken
by
a
swan
,
mad
as
swans
are
in
May
;
how
they
would
lose
their
license
at
the
Dovetail
Arms
if
they
were
not
careful
;
and
how
the
man
who
kept
the
inn
by
Surly
Hall
was
like
to
die
,
because
after
he
had
been
cursing
his
daughter
for
two
days
for
having
run
away
with
a
soldier
from
Windsor
Barracks
,
he
had
suddenly
seen
her
white
face
in
a
clump
of
rushes
in
the
river
just
under
the
hole
in
the
garden
fence
.
Margaret
would
sit
quiet
,
round-eyed
at
the
world
's
ways
,
and
shy
because
of
Chris
.
So
they
would
sit
on
that
bright
lawn
until
the
day
was
dyed
with
evening
blue
,
and
Mr.
Allington
was
more
and
more
often
obliged
to
leap
into
the
punt
to
chase
his
ducks
,
which
had
started
on
a
trip
to
Bray
Lock
,
or
to
crawl
into
the
undergrowth
after
rabbits
similarly
demoralized
by
the
dusk
.
Then
Chris
would
say
he
had
to
go
,
and
they
would
stand
in
a
communing
silence
while
the
hearty
voice
of
Mr.
Allington
shouted
from
midstream
or
under
the
alder-boughs
a
disregarded
invitation
to
stay
and
have
a
bite
of
supper
.
In
the
liquefaction
of
colors
which
happens
on
a
summer
evening
,
when
the
green
grass
seemed
like
a
precious
fluid
poured
out
on
the
earth
and
dripping
over
to
the
river
,
and
the
chestnut
candles
were
no
longer
proud
flowers
,
but
just
wet
,
white
lights
in
the
humid
mass
of
the
tree
,
when
the
brown
earth
seemed
just
a
little
denser
than
the
water
,
Margaret
also
participated
.
Chris
explained
this
part
of
his
story
stumblingly
;
but
I
,
too
,
have
watched
people
I
loved
in
the
dusk
,
and
I
know
what
he
meant
.
As
she
sat
in
the
punt
while
he
ferried
himself
across
it
was
no
longer
visible
that
her
fair
hair
curled
differently
and
that
its
rather
wandering
parting
was
a
little
on
one
side
;
that
her
straight
brows
,
which
were
a
little
darker
than
her
hair
,
were
nearly
always
contracted
in
a
frown
of
conscientious
speculation
;
that
her
mouth
and
chin
were
noble
,
yet
as
delicate
as
flowers
;
that
her
shoulders
were
slightly
hunched
because
her
young
body
,
like
a
lily-stem
,
found
it
difficult
to
manage
its
own
tallness
.
She
was
then
just
a
girl
in
white
who
lifted
a
white
face
or
drooped
a
dull-gold
head
.
Then
she
was
nearer
to
him
than
at
any
other
time
.
That
he
loved
her
in
this
twilight
,
which
obscured
all
the
physical
details
which
he
adored
,
seemed
to
him
a
guarantee
that
theirs
was
a
changeless
love
which
would
persist
if
she
were
old
or
maimed
or
disfigured
.
He
stood
beside
the
crazy
post
where
the
bell
hung
and
watched
the
white
figure
take
the
punt
over
the
black
waters
,
mount
the
gray
steps
,
and
assume
some
of
their
grayness
,
become
a
green
shade
in
the
green
darkness
of
the
foliage-darkened
lawn
,
and
he
exulted
in
that
guarantee
.
How
long
this
went
on
he
had
forgotten
;
but
it
continued
for
some
time
before
there
came
the
end
of
his
life
,
the
last
day
he
could
remember
.
I
was
barred
out
of
that
day
.
His
lips
told
me
of
its
physical
appearances
,
while
from
his
wet
,
bright
eyes
and
his
flushed
skin
,
his
beautiful
signs
of
a
noble
excitement
,
I
tried
to
derive
the
real
story
.
It
seemed
that
the
day
when
he
bicycled
over
to
Monkey
Island
,
happy
because
Uncle
Ambrose
had
gone
up
to
town
and
he
could
stay
to
supper
with
the
Allingtons
,
was
the
most
glorious
day
the
year
had
yet
brought
.
The
whole
world
seemed
melting
into
light
.
Cumulus-clouds
floated
very
high
,
like
lumps
of
white
light
,
against
a
deep
,
glowing
sky
,
and
dropped
dazzling
reflections
on
the
beaming
Thames
.
The
trees
moved
not
like
timber
,
shocked
by
wind
,
but
floatingly
,
like
weeds
at
the
bottom
of
a
well
of
sunshine
.
When
Margaret
came
out
of
the
porch
and
paused
,
as
she
always
did
,
to
crush
and
smell
the
walnut-leaf
and
shade
her
eyes
with
her
hand
,
her
white
dress
shone
like
silver
.
She
brought
the
punt
across
and
said
very
primly
,
"
Dad
will
be
disappointed
;
he
's
gone
up
to
town
on
business
,
"
and
answered
gravely
,
"
That
is
very
kind
of
you
,
"
when
he
took
the
punt-pole
from
her
and
said
laughingly
:
"
Never
mind
.
I
'll
come
and
see
you
all
the
same
.
"
(
I
could
see
them
as
Chris
spoke
,
so
young
and
pale
and
solemn
,
with
the
intense
light
spilling
all
around
them
.
)
That
afternoon
they
did
not
sit
in
the
punt
by
the
landing-stage
,
but
wandered
about
the
island
and
played
with
the
rabbits
and
looked
at
the
ducks
and
were
inordinately
silent
.
For
a
long
time
they
stood
in
the
fringe
of
rough
grass
on
the
other
side
of
the
island
,
and
Margaret
breathed
contentedly
that
the
Thames
was
so
beautiful
.
Past
the
spit
of
sand
at
the
far
end
of
the
island
,
where
a
great
swan
swanked
to
the
empty
reach
that
it
would
protect
its
mate
against
all
comers
,
the
river
opened
to
a
silver
breadth
between
flat
meadows
stretching
back
to
far
rows
of
pin-thick
black
poplars
,
until
it
wound
away
to
Windsor
behind
a
line
of
high
trees
whose
heads
were
bronze
with
unopened
buds
,
and
whose
flanks
were
hidden
by
a
head
of
copper-beech
and
crimson
and
white
hawthorn
.
Chris
said
he
would
take
her
down
to
Dorney
Lock
in
the
skiff
,
and
she
got
in
very
silently
and
obediently
;
but
as
soon
as
they
were
out
in
midstream
she
developed
a
sense
of
duty
,
and
said
she
could
not
leave
the
inn
with
just
that
boy
to
look
after
it
.
And
then
she
went
into
the
kitchen
and
,
sucking
in
her
lower
lip
for
shyness
,
very
conscientiously
cut
piles
of
bread
and
butter
in
case
some
visitors
came
to
tea
.
Just
when
Chris
was
convincing
her
of
the
impossibility
of
any
visitors
arriving
they
came
,
a
fat
woman
in
a
luscious
pink
blouse
and
an
old
chap
who
had
been
rowing
in
a
tweed
waistcoat
.
Chris
went
out
,
though
Margaret
laughed
and
trembled
and
begged
him
not
to
,
and
waited
on
them
.
It
should
have
been
a
great
lark
,
but
suddenly
he
hated
them
,
and
when
they
offered
him
a
tip
for
pushing
the
boat
off
,
he
snarled
absurdly
and
ran
back
,
miraculously
relieved
,
to
the
bar-parlor
.
Still
Margaret
would
not
leave
the
island
.
"
Supposing
,
"
she
said
,
"
that
Mr.
Learoyd
comes
for
his
ale
.
"
But
she
consented
to
walk
with
him
to
the
wild
part
of
the
island
,
where
poplars
and
alders
and
willows
grew
round
a
clearing
in
which
white
willow-herb
and
purple
figwort
and
here
and
there
a
potato-flower
,
last
ailing
consequence
of
one
of
Mr.
Allington
's
least
successful
enterprises
,
fought
down
to
the
fringe
of
iris
on
the
river
's
lip
.
In
this
gentle
jungle
was
a
rustic
seat
,
relic
of
a
reckless
aspiration
on
the
part
of
Mr.
Allington
to
make
this
a
pleasure-garden
,
and
on
it
they
sat
until
a
pale
moon
appeared
above
the
green
corn-field
on
the
other
side
of
the
river
.
"
Not
six
yet
,
"
he
said
,
taking
out
his
watch
.
"
Not
six
yet
,
"
she
repeated
.
Words
seemed
to
bear
more
significance
than
they
had
ever
borne
before
.
Then
a
heron
flapped
gigantic
in
front
of
the
moon
,
and
swung
in
wide
circles
round
the
willow-tree
before
them
.
"
Oh
,
look
!
"
she
cried
.
He
seized
the
hand
she
flung
upward
and
gathered
her
into
his
arms
.
They
were
so
for
long
,
while
the
great
bird
's
wings
beat
about
them
.
Afterward
she
pulled
at
his
hand
.
She
wanted
to
go
back
across
the
lawn
and
walk
round
the
inn
,
which
looked
mournful
,
as
unlit
houses
do
by
dusk
.
They
passed
beside
the
green-and-white
stucco
barrier
of
the
veranda
and
stood
on
the
three-cornered
lawn
that
shelved
high
over
the
stream
at
the
island
's
end
,
regarding
the
river
,
which
was
now
something
more
wonderful
than
water
,
because
it
had
taken
to
its
bosom
the
rose
and
amber
glories
of
the
sunset
smoldering
behind
the
elms
and
Bray
church-tower
.
Birds
sat
on
the
telegraph
wires
that
spanned
the
river
as
the
black
notes
sit
on
a
staff
of
music
.
Then
she
went
to
the
window
of
the
parlor
and
rested
her
cheek
against
the
glass
,
looking
in
.
The
little
room
was
sad
with
twilight
,
and
there
was
nothing
to
be
seen
but
Margaret
's
sewing-machine
on
the
table
and
the
enlarged
photograph
of
Margaret
's
mother
over
the
mantel-piece
,
and
the
views
of
Tintern
Abbey
framed
in
red
plush
,
and
on
the
floor
,
the
marigold
pattern
making
itself
felt
through
the
dusk
,
Mr.
Allington
's
carpet
slippers
.
"
Think
of
me
sitting
in
there
,
"
she
whispered
,
"
not
knowing
you
loved
me
.
"
Then
they
went
into
the
bar
and
drank
milk
,
while
she
walked
about
fingering
familiar
things
with
an
absurd
expression
of
exaltation
,
as
though
that
day
she
was
fond
of
everything
,
even
the
handles
of
the
beer-engine
.
When
there
had
descended
on
them
a
night
as
brilliant
as
the
day
he
drew
her
out
into
the
darkness
,
which
was
sweet
with
the
scent
of
walnut-leaves
,
and
they
went
across
the
lawn
,
bending
beneath
the
chestnut-boughs
,
not
to
the
wild
part
of
the
island
,
but
to
a
circle
of
smooth
turf
divided
from
it
by
a
railing
of
wrought
iron
.
On
this
stood
a
small
Greek
temple
,
looking
very
lovely
in
the
moonlight
.
He
had
never
brought
Margaret
here
before
,
because
Mr.
Allington
had
once
told
him
,
spatulate
forefinger
at
his
nose
,
that
it
had
been
built
for
the
"
dook
"
for
his
excesses
,
and
it
was
in
the
quality
of
his
love
for
her
that
he
could
not
bear
to
think
of
her
in
association
with
anything
base
.
But
to-night
there
was
nothing
anywhere
but
beauty
.
He
lifted
her
in
his
arms
and
carried
her
within
the
columns
,
and
made
her
stand
in
a
niche
above
the
altar
.
A
strong
stream
of
moonlight
rushed
upon
her
there
;
by
its
light
he
could
not
tell
if
her
hair
was
white
as
silver
or
yellow
as
gold
,
and
again
he
was
filled
with
exaltation
because
he
knew
that
it
would
not
have
mattered
if
it
had
been
white
.
His
love
was
changeless
.
Lifting
her
down
from
the
niche
,
he
told
her
so
.
And
as
he
spoke
,
her
warm
body
melted
to
nothingness
in
his
arms
.
The
columns
that
had
stood
so
hard
and
black
against
the
quivering
tide
of
moonlight
and
starlight
seemed
to
totter
and
dissolve
.
He
was
lying
in
a
hateful
world
where
barbed-wire
entanglements
showed
impish
knots
against
a
livid
sky
full
of
blooming
noise
and
splashes
of
fire
and
wails
for
water
,
and
his
back
was
hurting
intolerably
.
Chris
fell
to
blowing
out
the
candles
,
and
I
,
perhaps
because
the
egotistical
part
of
me
was
looking
for
something
to
say
that
would
make
him
feel
me
devoted
and
intimate
,
could
not
speak
.
Suddenly
he
desisted
,
stared
at
a
candle-flame
,
and
said
:
"
If
you
had
seen
the
way
she
rested
her
cheek
against
the
glass
and
looked
into
the
little
room
you
'd
understand
that
I
ca
n't
say
,
'
Yes
,
Kitty
's
my
wife
,
and
Margaret
somehow
just
nothing
at
all
.
'
"
"
Of
course
you
ca
n't
,
"
I
murmured
sympathetically
.
We
gripped
hands
,
and
he
brought
down
on
our
conversation
the
finality
of
darkness
.
CHAPTER
IV
NEXT
morning
it
appeared
that
the
chauffeur
had
taken
the
car
up
to
town
to
get
a
part
replaced
,
and
Margaret
could
not
be
brought
from
Wealdstone
till
the
afternoon
.
It
fell
to
me
to
fetch
her
.
"
At
least
,
"
Kitty
had
said
,
"
I
might
be
spared
that
humiliation
.
"
Before
I
started
I
went
to
the
pond
on
the
hill
's
edge
.
It
is
a
place
where
autumn
lives
for
half
the
year
,
for
even
when
the
spring
lights
tongues
of
green
fire
in
the
undergrowth
,
and
the
valley
shows
sunlit
between
the
tree-trunks
,
here
the
pond
is
fringed
with
yellow
bracken
and
tinted
bramble
,
and
the
water
flows
amber
over
last
winter
's
leaves
.
Through
this
brown
gloom
,
darkened
now
by
a
surly
sky
,
Chris
was
taking
the
skiff
,
standing
in
the
stern
and
using
his
oar
like
a
gondolier
.
He
had
come
down
here
soon
after
breakfast
,
driven
from
the
house
by
the
strangeness
of
all
but
the
outer
walls
,
and
discontented
with
the
grounds
because
everything
but
this
wet
,
intractable
spot
bore
the
marks
of
Kitty
's
genius
.
After
lunch
there
had
been
another
attempt
to
settle
down
,
but
with
a
grim
glare
at
a
knot
of
late
Christmas
roses
bright
in
a
copse
that
fifteen
years
ago
had
been
dark
he
went
back
to
the
russet-eaved
boat-house
and
this
play
with
the
skiff
.
It
was
a
boy
's
sport
,
and
it
was
dreadful
to
see
him
turn
a
middle-aged
face
as
he
brought
the
boat
inshore
.
"
I
'm
just
going
down
to
fetch
Margaret
,
"
I
said
.
He
thanked
me
for
it
.
"
But
,
Chris
,
I
must
tell
you
.
I
've
seen
Margaret
.
She
came
up
here
,
so
kind
and
sweet
,
to
tell
us
you
were
wounded
.
She
's
the
greatest
dear
in
the
world
,
but
she
's
not
as
you
think
of
her
.
She
's
old
,
Chris
.
She
is
n't
beautiful
any
longer
.
She
's
drearily
married
.
She
's
seamed
and
scored
and
ravaged
by
squalid
circumstances
.
You
ca
n't
love
her
when
you
see
her
.
"
"
Did
n't
I
tell
you
last
night
,
"
he
said
,
"
that
that
does
n't
matter
?
"
He
dipped
his
oar
to
a
stroke
that
sent
him
away
from
me
.
"
Bring
her
soon
.
I
shall
wait
for
her
down
here
.
"
Wealdstone
is
not
,
in
its
way
,
a
bad
place
;
it
lies
in
the
lap
of
open
country
,
and
at
the
end
of
every
street
rise
the
green
hills
of
Harrow
and
the
spires
of
Harrow
School
.
But
all
the
streets
are
long
and
red
and
freely
articulated
with
railway
arches
,
and
factories
spoil
the
skyline
with
red
,
angular
chimneys
,
and
in
front
of
the
shops
stood
little
women
with
backs
ridged
by
cheap
stays
,
who
tapped
their
upper
lips
with
their
forefingers
and
made
other
feeble
,
doubtful
gestures
,
as
though
they
wanted
to
buy
something
and
knew
that
if
they
did
they
would
have
to
starve
some
other
appetite
.
When
we
asked
them
the
way
they
turned
to
us
faces
sour
with
thrift
.
It
was
a
town
of
people
who
could
not
do
as
they
liked
.
And
here
Margaret
lived
in
a
long
road
of
red-brick
boxes
,
flecked
here
and
there
with
the
pink
blur
of
almond-blossom
,
which
debouched
in
a
flat
field
where
green
grass
rose
up
rank
through
clay
mold
blackened
by
coal-dust
from
the
railway
.
Mariposa
,
which
was
the
last
house
in
the
road
,
did
not
even
have
an
almond-tree
.
In
the
front
garden
,
which
seemed
to
be
imperfectly
reclaimed
from
the
greasy
field
,
yellow
crocus
and
some
sodden
squills
just
winked
,
and
the
back
,
where
a
man
was
handling
a
spade
without
mastery
,
presented
the
austere
appearance
of
an
allotment
.
And
not
only
did
Margaret
live
in
this
place
;
she
also
belonged
to
it
.
When
she
opened
the
door
she
gazed
at
me
with
watering
eyes
,
and
in
perplexity
stroked
her
disordered
hair
with
a
floury
hand
.
Her
face
was
sallow
with
heat
,
and
beads
of
perspiration
glittered
in
the
deep
,
dragging
line
between
her
nostrils
and
the
corners
of
her
mouth
.
She
said
:
"
He
's
home
?
"
I
nodded
.
She
pulled
me
inside
and
slammed
the
door
.
"
Is
he
well
?
"
she
asked
.
"
Quite
,
"
I
answered
.
Her
tense
stare
relaxed
.
She
rubbed
her
hands
on
her
overall
and
said
:
"
You
'll
excuse
me
.
It
's
the
girl
's
day
out
.
If
you
'll
step
into
the
parlor
—
"
So
in
her
parlor
I
sat
and
told
her
how
it
was
with
Chris
and
how
greatly
he
desired
to
see
her
.
And
as
I
spoke
of
his
longing
I
turned
my
eyes
away
from
her
,
because
she
was
sitting
on
a
sofa
,
upholstered
in
velveteen
of
a
sickish
green
,
which
was
so
low
that
her
knees
stuck
up
in
front
of
her
,
and
she
had
to
clasp
them
with
her
seamed
,
floury
hands
.
I
could
see
that
the
skin
of
her
face
was
damp
.
And
my
voice
failed
me
as
I
looked
round
the
room
,
because
I
saw
just
what
Margaret
had
seen
that
evening
fifteen
years
ago
when
she
had
laid
her
cheek
to
the
parlor
window
at
Monkey
Island
.
There
was
the
enlarged
photograph
of
Margaret
's
mother
over
the
mantelpiece
,
on
the
walls
were
the
views
of
Tintern
Abbey
framed
in
red
plush
,
between
the
rickety
legs
of
the
china
cupboard
was
the
sewing-machine
,
and
tucked
into
the
corner
between
my
chair
and
the
fender
were
a
pair
of
carpet
slippers
.
All
her
life
long
Margaret
,
who
in
her
time
had
partaken
of
the
supreme
dignity
of
a
requited
love
,
had
lived
with
men
who
wore
carpet
slippers
in
the
house
.
I
turned
my
eyes
away
again
,
and
this
time
looked
down
the
garden
at
the
figure
that
was
not
so
much
digging
as
exhibiting
his
incapacity
to
deal
with
a
spade
.
He
was
sneezing
very
frequently
,
and
his
sneezes
made
the
unbuckled
straps
at
the
back
of
his
waistcoat
wag
violently
.
I
supposed
him
to
be
Mr.
William
Grey
.
I
had
finished
the
statement
of
our
sad
case
,
and
I
saw
that
though
she
had
not
moved
,
clasping
her
knees
in
a
set
,
hideous
attitude
,
the
tears
were
rolling
down
her
cheeks
.
"
Oh
,
do
n't
!
Oh
,
do
n't
!
"
I
exclaimed
,
standing
up
.
Her
tear-stained
immobility
touched
the
heart
.
"
He
's
not
so
bad
;
he
'll
get
quite
well
.
"
"
I
know
,
I
know
,
"
she
said
miserably
.
"
I
do
n't
believe
that
anything
bad
could
be
allowed
to
happen
to
Chris
for
long
.
And
I
'm
sure
,
"
she
said
kindly
,
"
you
're
looking
after
him
beautifully
.
But
when
a
thing
you
had
thought
had
ended
fifteen
years
ago
starts
all
over
again
,
and
you
're
very
tired
—
"
She
drew
a
hand
across
her
tears
,
her
damp
skin
,
her
rough
,
bagging
overall
.
"
I
'm
hot
.
I
've
been
baking
.
You
ca
n't
get
a
girl
nowadays
that
understands
the
baking
.
"
Her
gaze
became
remote
and
tender
,
and
she
said
in
a
manner
that
was
at
once
argumentative
and
narrative
,
as
though
she
were
telling
the
whole
story
to
a
neighbor
over
the
garden
wall
:
"
I
suppose
I
ought
to
say
that
he
is
n't
right
in
his
head
,
and
that
I
'm
married
,
so
we
'd
better
not
meet
;
but
,
oh
,
"
she
cried
,
and
I
felt
as
though
,
after
much
fumbling
with
damp
matches
and
many
doubts
as
to
whether
there
was
any
oil
in
the
wick
,
I
had
lit
the
lamp
at
last
,
"
I
want
to
see
him
so
!
It
's
wrong
,
I
know
it
's
wrong
,
but
I
am
so
glad
Chris
wants
to
see
me
,
too
!
"
"
You
'll
do
him
good
.
"
I
found
myself
raising
my
voice
to
the
pitch
she
had
suddenly
attained
as
though
to
keep
her
at
it
.
"
Come
now
!
"
She
dipped
suddenly
to
compassion
.
"
But
the
young
lady
?
"
she
asked
timidly
.
"
She
was
upset
the
last
time
.
I
've
often
wondered
if
I
did
right
in
going
.
Even
if
Chris
has
forgotten
,
he
'll
want
to
do
what
's
right
.
He
could
n't
bear
to
hurt
her
.
"
"
That
's
true
,
"
I
said
.
"
You
do
know
our
Chris
.
He
watches
her
out
of
the
corner
of
his
eye
,
even
when
he
's
feeling
at
his
worst
,
to
see
she
is
n't
wincing
.
But
she
sent
me
here
to-day
.
"
"
Oh
!
"
cried
Margaret
,
glowing
,
"
she
must
have
a
lovely
nature
!
"
I
lost
suddenly
the
thread
of
the
conversation
.
I
could
not
talk
about
Kitty
.
She
appeared
to
me
at
that
moment
a
faceless
figure
with
flounces
,
just
as
most
of
the
servants
at
Baldry
Court
appear
to
me
as
faceless
figures
with
caps
and
aprons
.
There
were
only
two
real
people
in
the
world
,
Chris
and
this
woman
whose
personality
was
sounding
through
her
squalor
like
a
beautiful
voice
singing
in
a
darkened
room
,
and
I
was
absorbed
in
a
mental
vision
of
them
.
You
know
how
the
saints
and
the
prophets
are
depicted
in
the
steel
engravings
in
old
Bibles
;
so
they
were
standing
,
in
flowing
white
robes
on
rocks
against
a
pitch-black
sky
,
a
strong
light
beating
on
their
eyes
upturned
in
ecstasy
and
their
hand
outstretched
to
receive
the
spiritual
blessing
of
which
the
fierce
rays
were
an
emanation
.
Into
that
rapt
silence
I
desired
to
break
,
and
I
whispered
irrelevantly
,
"
Oh
,
nothing
,
nothing
is
too
good
for
Chris
!
"
while
I
said
to
myself
,
"
If
she
really
were
like
that
,
solemn
and
beatified
!
"
and
my
eyes
returned
to
look
despairingly
on
her
ugliness
.
But
she
really
was
like
that
.
She
had
responded
to
my
irrelevant
murmur
of
adoration
by
just
such
a
solemn
and
beatified
appearance
as
I
had
imagined
.
Her
grave
eyes
were
upturned
,
her
worn
hands
lay
palm
upward
on
her
knees
,
as
though
to
receive
the
love
of
which
her
radiance
was
an
emanation
.
And
then
,
at
a
sound
in
the
kitchen
,
she
snatched
my
exaltation
from
me
by
suddenly
turning
dull
.
"
I
think
that
's
Mr.
Grey
come
in
from
his
gardening
.
You
'll
excuse
me
.
"
Through
the
open
door
I
heard
a
voice
saying
in
a
way
which
suggested
that
its
production
involved
much
agitation
of
a
prominent
Adam
's
apple
:
"
Well
,
dear
,
seeing
you
had
a
friend
,
I
thought
I
'd
better
slip
up
and
change
my
gardening
trousers
.
"
I
do
not
know
what
she
said
to
him
,
but
her
voice
was
soft
and
comforting
and
occasionally
girlish
and
interrupted
by
laughter
,
and
I
perceived
from
its
sound
that
with
characteristic
gravity
she
had
accepted
it
as
her
mission
to
keep
loveliness
and
excitement
alive
in
his
life
.
"
An
old
friend
of
mine
has
been
wounded
,
"
was
the
only
phrase
I
heard
;
but
when
she
drew
him
out
into
the
garden
under
the
window
she
had
evidently
explained
the
situation
away
,
for
he
listened
docilely
as
she
said
:
"
I
've
made
some
rock-cakes
for
your
tea
.
And
if
I
'm
late
for
supper
,
there
's
a
dish
of
macaroni
cheese
you
must
put
in
the
oven
and
a
tin
of
tomatoes
to
eat
with
it
.
And
there
is
a
little
rhubarb
and
shape
.
"
She
told
them
off
on
her
fingers
,
and
then
whisked
him
round
and
buckled
the
wagging
straps
at
the
back
of
his
waistcoat
.
He
was
a
lank
man
,
with
curly
gray
hairs
growing
from
every
place
where
it
is
inadvisable
that
hairs
should
grow
,
—
from
the
inside
of
his
ears
,
from
his
nostrils
,
on
the
back
of
his
hands
,
—
but
he
looked
pleased
when
she
touched
him
,
and
he
said
in
a
devoted
way
:
"
Very
well
,
dear
.
Do
n't
worry
about
me
.
I
'll
trot
along
after
tea
and
have
a
game
of
draughts
with
Brown
.
"
She
answered
:
"
Yes
,
dear
.
And
now
get
on
with
those
cabbages
.
You
're
going
to
keep
me
in
lovely
cabbages
,
just
as
you
did
last
year
,
wo
n't
you
,
darling
?
"
She
linked
arms
with
him
and
took
him
back
to
his
digging
.
When
she
came
back
into
the
parlor
again
she
was
wearing
that
yellowish
raincoat
,
that
hat
with
hearse
plumes
nodding
over
its
sticky
straw
,
that
gray
alpaca
skirt
.
I
first
defensively
clenched
my
hands
.
It
would
have
been
such
agony
to
the
finger-tips
to
touch
any
part
of
her
apparel
.
And
then
I
thought
of
Chris
,
to
whom
a
second
before
I
had
hoped
to
bring
a
serene
comforter
.
I
perceived
clearly
that
that
ecstatic
woman
lifting
her
eyes
and
her
hands
to
the
benediction
of
love
was
Margaret
as
she
existed
in
eternity
;
but
this
was
Margaret
as
she
existed
in
time
,
as
the
fifteen
years
between
Monkey
Island
and
this
damp
day
in
Ladysmith
Road
had
irreparably
made
her
.
Well
,
I
had
promised
to
bring
her
to
him
.
She
said
:
"
I
'm
ready
,
"
and
against
that
simple
view
of
her
condition
I
had
no
argument
.
But
when
she
paused
by
the
painted
drainpipe
in
the
hall
and
peered
under
contracted
brows
for
that
unveracious
tortoiseshell
handle
,
I
said
hastily
:
"
Oh
,
do
n't
trouble
about
an
umbrella
.
"
"
I
'll
maybe
need
it
walking
home
,
"
she
pondered
.
"
But
the
car
will
bring
you
back
.
"
"
Oh
,
that
will
be
lovely
,
"
she
said
,
and
laughed
nervously
,
looking
very
plain
.
"
Do
you
know
,
I
know
the
way
we
're
coming
together
is
terrible
,
but
I
ca
n't
think
of
a
meeting
with
Chris
as
anything
but
a
kind
of
treat
.
I
've
got
a
sort
of
party
feeling
now
.
"
As
she
held
the
gate
open
for
me
she
looked
back
at
the
house
.
"
It
's
a
horrid
little
house
,
is
n't
it
?
"
she
asked
.
She
evidently
desired
sanction
for
a
long-suppressed
discontent
.
"
It
is
n't
very
nice
,
"
I
agreed
.
"
They
put
cows
sometimes
into
the
field
at
the
back
,
"
she
went
on
,
as
if
conscientiously
counting
her
blessings
.
"
I
like
that
;
but
otherwise
it
is
n't
much
.
"
"
But
it
's
got
a
very
pretty
name
,
"
I
said
,
laying
my
hand
on
the
raised
metal
letters
that
spelled
"
Mariposa
"
across
the
gate
.
"
Ah
,
is
n't
it
!
"
she
exclaimed
,
with
the
smile
of
the
inveterate
romanticist
.
"
It
's
Spanish
,
you
know
,
for
butterfly
.
"
Once
we
were
in
the
automobile
,
she
became
a
little
sullen
with
shyness
,
because
she
felt
herself
so
big
and
clumsy
,
her
clothes
so
coarse
,
against
the
fine
upholstery
,
the
silver
vase
of
Christmas
roses
,
and
all
the
deliberate
delicacy
of
Kitty
's
car
.
She
was
afraid
of
the
chauffeur
,
as
the
poor
are
always
afraid
of
men-servants
,
and
ducked
her
head
when
he
got
out
to
start
the
car
.
To
recall
her
to
ease
and
beauty
I
told
her
that
though
Chris
had
told
me
all
about
their
meeting
,
he
knew
nothing
of
their
parting
,
and
that
I
wished
very
much
to
hear
what
had
happened
.
In
a
deep
,
embarrassed
voice
she
began
to
tell
me
about
Monkey
Island
.
It
was
strange
how
both
Chris
and
she
spoke
of
it
as
though
it
were
not
a
place
,
but
a
magic
state
which
largely
explained
the
actions
performed
in
it
.
Strange
,
too
,
that
both
of
them
should
describe
meticulously
the
one
white
hawthorn
that
stood
among
the
poplars
by
the
ferry-side
.
I
suppose
a
thing
that
one
has
looked
at
with
some
one
one
loves
acquires
forever
after
a
special
significance
.
She
said
that
her
father
had
gone
there
when
she
was
fourteen
.
After
Mrs.
Arlington
had
been
taken
away
by
a
swift
and
painful
death
the
cheer
of
his
Windsor
hostelry
had
become
intolerable
to
the
man
;
he
regarded
the
whole
world
as
her
grave
,
and
the
tipsy
sergeants
in
scarlet
,
the
carter
crying
for
a
pint
of
four-half
,
and
even
the
mares
dipping
their
mild
noses
to
the
trough
in
the
courtyard
seemed
to
be
defiling
it
by
their
happy
,
simple
appetites
.
So
they
went
to
Monkey
Island
,
the
utter
difference
of
which
was
a
healing
,
and
settled
down
happily
in
its
green
silence
.
All
the
summer
was
lovely
;
quiet
,
kind
people
,
schoolmasters
who
fished
,
men
who
wrote
books
,
married
couples
who
still
loved
solitude
,
used
to
come
and
stay
in
the
bright
little
inn
.
And
all
the
winter
was
lovely
,
too
;
her
temperament
could
see
an
adventure
in
taking
up
the
carpets
because
the
Thames
was
coming
into
the
coffee-room
.
That
was
the
tale
of
her
life
for
four
years
.
With
her
head
on
one
side
,
and
the
air
of
judging
this
question
by
the
light
of
experience
,
she
pronounced
that
she
had
then
been
happy
.
Then
one
April
afternoon
Chris
landed
at
the
island
,
and
by
the
first
clean
,
quick
movement
of
tying
up
his
boat
made
her
his
slave
.
I
could
imagine
that
it
would
be
so
.
He
was
wonderful
when
he
was
young
;
he
possessed
in
great
measure
the
loveliness
of
young
men
,
which
is
like
the
loveliness
of
the
spry
foal
or
the
sapling
,
but
in
him
it
was
vexed
into
a
serious
and
moving
beauty
by
the
inhabiting
soul
.
When
the
sunlight
lay
on
him
,
disclosing
the
gold
hairs
on
his
brown
head
,
or
when
he
was
subject
to
any
other
physical
pleasure
,
there
was
always
reserve
in
his
response
to
it
.
From
his
eyes
,
which
,
though
gray
,
were
somehow
dark
with
speculation
,
one
perceived
that
he
was
distracted
by
participation
in
some
spiritual
drama
.
To
see
him
was
to
desire
intimacy
with
him
,
so
that
one
might
intervene
between
this
body
,
which
was
formed
for
happiness
,
and
this
soul
,
which
cherished
so
deep
a
faith
in
tragedy
.
Well
,
she
gave
Chris
ducks
'
eggs
for
tea
.
"
No
one
ever
had
ducks
'
eggs
like
father
did
.
It
was
his
way
of
feeding
them
.
It
did
n't
pay
,
of
course
,
but
they
were
good
.
"
Before
the
afternoon
was
out
he
had
snared
them
all
with
the
silken
net
of
his
fine
manners
;
he
had
talked
to
father
about
his
poultry
and
had
walked
about
the
runs
and
shown
an
intelligent
interest
,
and
then
,
as
on
many
succeeding
days
,
he
had
laid
his
charm
at
the
girl
's
feet
.
"
But
I
thought
he
must
be
some
one
royal
,
and
when
he
kept
on
coming
,
I
thought
it
must
be
for
the
ducks
'
eggs
.
"
Then
her
damp
,
dull
skin
flushed
suddenly
to
a
warm
glory
,
and
she
began
to
stammer
.
"
I
know
all
about
that
,
"
I
said
quickly
.
I
was
more
afraid
that
I
should
feel
envy
or
any
base
passion
in
the
presence
of
this
woman
than
I
have
ever
been
of
anything
else
in
my
life
.
"
I
want
to
hear
how
you
came
to
part
.
"
"
Oh
,
"
she
cried
,
"
it
was
the
silliest
quarrel
!
We
had
known
how
we
felt
for
just
a
week
.
Such
a
week
!
Lovely
weather
we
had
,
and
father
had
n't
noticed
anything
.
I
did
n't
want
him
to
,
because
I
thought
father
might
want
the
marriage
soon
and
think
any
delay
a
slight
on
me
,
and
I
knew
we
would
have
to
wait
.
Eh
!
I
can
remember
saying
to
myself
,
'
Perhaps
five
years
,
'
trying
to
make
it
as
bad
as
could
be
so
that
if
we
could
marry
sooner
it
would
be
a
lovely
surprise
.
"
She
repeated
with
soft
irony
,
"
Perhaps
five
years
!
"
"
Well
,
then
,
one
Thursday
afternoon
I
'd
gone
on
the
back-water
with
Bert
Batchard
,
nephew
to
Mr.
Batchard
who
keeps
the
inn
at
Surly
Hall
.
I
was
laughing
out
loud
because
he
did
row
so
funny
!
He
's
a
town
chap
,
and
he
was
handling
those
oars
for
all
the
world
as
though
they
were
teaspoons
.
The
old
dinghy
just
sat
on
the
water
like
a
hen
on
its
chicks
and
did
n't
move
,
and
he
so
sure
of
himself
!
I
just
sat
and
laughed
and
laughed
.
Then
all
of
a
sudden
,
clang
!
clang
!
the
bell
at
the
ferry
.
And
there
was
Chris
,
standing
up
there
among
the
poplars
,
his
brows
straight
and
black
,
and
not
a
smile
on
him
.
I
felt
very
bad
.
We
picked
him
up
in
the
dinghy
and
took
him
across
,
and
still
he
did
n't
smile
.
He
and
I
got
on
the
island
,
and
Bert
,
who
saw
there
was
something
wrong
,
said
,
'
Well
,
I
'll
toddle
off
.
'
And
there
I
was
on
the
lawn
with
Chris
,
and
he
angry
and
somehow
miles
away
.
I
remember
him
saying
,
'
Here
am
I
coming
to
say
good-by
,
because
I
must
go
away
to-night
,
and
I
find
you
larking
with
that
bounder
.
'
And
I
said
:
'
O
Chris
,
I
've
known
Bert
all
my
life
through
him
coming
to
his
uncle
for
the
holidays
,
and
we
were
n't
larking
.
It
was
only
that
he
could
n't
row
.
'
And
he
went
on
talking
,
and
then
it
struck
me
he
was
n't
trusting
me
as
he
would
trust
a
girl
of
his
own
class
,
and
I
told
him
so
,
and
he
went
on
being
cruel
.
Oh
,
do
n't
make
me
remember
the
things
we
said
to
each
other
!
It
does
n't
help
.
At
last
I
said
something
awful
,
and
he
said
:
'
Very
well
;
I
agree
.
I
'll
go
,
'
and
he
walked
over
to
the
boy
,
who
was
chopping
wood
,
and
got
him
to
take
him
over
in
the
punt
.
As
he
passed
me
he
turned
away
his
face
.
Well
,
that
's
all
.
"
I
had
got
the
key
at
last
.
There
had
been
a
spring
at
Baldry
Court
fifteen
years
ago
that
was
desolate
for
all
that
there
was
beautiful
weather
.
Chris
had
lingered
with
Uncle
Ambrose
in
his
Thames-side
rectory
as
he
had
never
lingered
before
,
and
old
Mr.
Baldry
was
filling
the
house
with
a
sense
of
hot
,
apoplectic
misery
.
All
day
he
was
up
in
town
at
the
office
,
and
without
explanation
he
had
discontinued
his
noontide
habit
of
ringing
up
his
wife
.
All
night
he
used
to
sit
in
the
library
looking
over
his
papers
and
ledgers
;
often
in
the
mornings
the
housemaids
would
find
him
asleep
across
his
desk
,
very
red
,
yet
looking
dead
.
The
men
he
brought
home
to
dinner
treated
him
with
a
kindness
and
consideration
which
were
not
the
tributes
that
that
victorious
and
trumpeting
personality
was
accustomed
to
exact
,
and
in
the
course
of
conversation
with
them
he
dropped
braggart
hints
of
impending
ruin
which
he
would
have
found
it
humiliating
to
address
to
us
directly
.
At
last
there
came
a
morning
when
he
said
to
Mrs.
Baldry
across
the
breakfast-table
:
"
I
've
sent
for
Chris
.
If
the
boy
's
worth
his
salt
—
"
It
was
an
appalling
admission
,
like
the
groan
of
an
old
ship
as
her
timbers
shiver
,
from
a
man
who
doubted
the
capacity
of
his
son
,
as
fathers
always
doubt
the
capacity
of
the
children
born
of
their
old
age
.
It
was
that
evening
,
as
I
went
down
to
see
the
new
baby
at
the
lodge
,
that
I
met
Chris
coming
up
the
drive
.
Through
the
blue
twilight
his
white
face
had
had
a
drowned
look
.
I
remembered
it
well
,
because
my
surprise
that
he
passed
me
without
seeing
me
had
made
me
perceive
for
the
first
time
that
he
had
never
seen
me
at
all
save
in
the
most
cursory
fashion
.
On
the
eye
of
his
mind
,
I
realized
thenceforward
,
I
had
hardly
impinged
.
That
night
he
talked
till
late
with
his
father
,
and
in
the
morning
he
had
started
for
Mexico
to
keep
the
mines
going
,
to
keep
the
firm
's
head
above
water
and
Baldry
Court
sleek
and
hospitable
—
to
keep
everything
bright
and
splendid
save
only
his
youth
,
which
ever
after
that
was
dulled
by
care
.
Something
of
this
I
told
Margaret
,
to
which
she
answered
,
"
Oh
,
I
know
all
that
,
"
and
went
on
with
her
story
.
On
Sunday
,
three
days
after
their
quarrel
,
Mr.
Allington
was
found
dead
in
his
bed
.
"
I
wanted
Chris
so
badly
;
but
he
never
came
,
he
never
wrote
,
"
and
she
fell
into
a
lethargic
disposition
to
sit
all
day
and
watch
the
Thames
flow
by
,
from
which
she
was
hardly
roused
by
finding
that
her
father
had
left
her
nothing
save
an
income
of
twenty
pounds
a
year
from
unrealizable
stock
.
She
negotiated
the
transfer
of
the
lease
of
the
inn
to
a
publican
,
and
,
after
exacting
a
promise
from
the
new
hostess
that
she
would
forward
all
letters
that
might
come
,
embarked
upon
an
increasingly
unfortunate
career
as
a
mother
's
help
.
First
she
fell
into
the
hands
of
a
noble
Irish
family
in
reduced
circumstances
,
whose
conduct
in
running
away
and
leaving
her
in
a
Brighton
hotel
with
her
wages
and
her
bill
unpaid
still
distressed
and
perplexed
her
.
"
Why
did
they
do
it
?
"
she
asked
.
"
I
liked
them
so
.
The
baby
was
a
darling
,
and
Mrs.
Murphy
had
such
a
nice
way
of
speaking
.
But
it
almost
makes
one
think
evil
of
people
when
they
do
a
thing
like
that
.
"
After
two
years
of
less
sensational
,
but
still
uneasy
,
adventures
,
she
had
come
upon
a
large
and
needy
family
called
Watson
who
lived
at
Chiswick
,
and
almost
immediately
Mr.
William
Grey
,
who
was
Mrs.
Watson
's
brother
,
had
begun
a
courtship
that
I
suspected
of
consisting
of
an
incessant
whining
up
at
her
protective
instinct
.
"
Mr.
Grey
,
"
she
said
softly
,
as
though
stating
his
chief
aim
to
affection
,
"
has
never
been
very
successful
.
"
And
still
no
letter
ever
came
.
So
,
five
years
after
she
left
Monkey
Island
,
she
married
Mr.
William
Grey
.
Soon
after
their
marriage
he
lost
his
job
and
was
for
some
time
out
of
work
;
later
he
developed
a
weak
chest
that
needed
constant
attention
.
"
But
it
all
helped
to
pass
the
time
,
"
she
said
cheerfully
and
without
irony
.
So
it
happened
that
it
was
not
till
two
years
after
that
she
had
the
chance
of
revisiting
Monkey
Island
.
At
first
there
was
no
money
,
and
later
there
was
the
necessity
of
seeking
the
healthful
breezes
of
Brighton
or
Bognor
or
Southend
,
which
were
the
places
in
which
Mr.
Grey
's
chest
oddly
elected
to
thrive
.
And
when
these
obstacles
were
removed
,
she
was
lethargic
;
also
she
had
heard
that
the
inn
was
not
being
managed
as
it
ought
to
be
,
and
she
could
not
have
borne
to
see
the
green
home
of
her
youth
defiled
.
But
then
there
had
come
a
time
when
she
had
been
very
much
upset
,
—
she
glared
a
little
wildly
at
me
as
she
said
this
,
as
if
she
would
faint
if
I
asked
her
any
questions
,
—
and
then
she
had
suddenly
become
obsessed
with
a
desire
to
see
Monkey
Island
once
more
.
"
Well
,
when
we
got
to
the
ferry
,
Mr.
Grey
says
,
'
But
mercy
,
Margaret
,
there
's
water
all
round
it
!
'
and
I
said
,
'
William
,
that
's
just
it
.
'
"
They
found
that
the
island
was
clean
and
decorous
again
,
for
it
had
only
recently
changed
hands
.
"
Father
and
daughter
the
new
people
are
,
just
like
me
and
dad
,
and
Mr.
Taylor
's
something
of
dad
's
cut
,
too
,
but
he
comes
from
the
North
.
But
Miss
Taylor
's
much
handsomer
than
I
ever
was
;
