serioussubject
,
why
—
why
—
there
's
no
use
in
going
far
afield
for
what
one
has
ready
to
one
's
hand
.
"
"
Where
?
"
asks
St.
John
,
thoroughly
mystified
by
the
Delphic
obscurity
of
his
papa
's
remark
,
looking
vaguely
round
the
room
,
out
on
the
terrace
,
at
the
laughing
,
tumbling
fountain
,
at
the
garden
roller
.
"
Where
?
"
repeats
Sir
Thomas
,
rather
irritated
at
his
son
's
obtuseness
.
"
Why
,
here
!
not
five
yards
off
!
in
this
very
house
!
"
Then
,
seeing
him
still
look
puzzled
:
"
God
bless
my
soul
,
sir
!
where
are
your
wits
to-day
?
How
can
you
do
better
than
Conny
?
That
bit
of
land
of
hers
down
at
Four
Oaks
dovetails
into
ours
as
neatly
as
possible
;
it
seems
as
if
it
were
intended
by
Providence
,
"
ends
Sir
Thomas
,
piously
.
St.
John
gives
a
long
,
low
whistle
.
"
Conny
!
"
he
repeats
,
in
unfeigned
surprise
.
"
I
should
as
soon
have
thought
of
marrying
my
mother
.
Why
,
we
have
been
like
brother
and
sister
all
our
lives
.
"
"
Fiddlesticks
!
"
says
Sir
Thomas
,
gruffly
.
"
She
is
no
more
your
sister
than
I
am
.
When
I
was
young
,
if
people
were
born
brothers
and
sisters
they
called
themselves
so
,
and
if
they
were
not
they
did
not
.
I
hate
your
adopted
brother
and
sister
and
father
and
motherhoods
.
"
"
Conny
!
"
ejaculates
St.
John
,
again
,
reflectively
.
The
idea
is
thoroughly
new
,
certainly
,
but
it
does
not
altogether
displease
him
.
He
is
thinking
of
her
approvingly
,
as
the
one
woman
whom
,
above
all
others
,
it
would
be
impossible
for
him
to
love
.
After
all
,
it
is
not
a
wife
for
him
that
is
required
;
God
knows
,
he
has
no
desire
for
such
an
appendage
;
it
is
a
mother
for
the
heir
to
Felton
that
is
wanted
;
and
for
that
purpose
she
will
do
as
well
as
another
—
better
than
most
,
indeed
,
being
statelier
,
fairer
,
of
better
growth
.
If
she
can
transmit
to
her
progeny
her
own
straight
features
,
instead
of
Sir
Thomas
's
bottle
nose
,
or
St.
John
's
long
nondescript
one
,
so
much
the
better
for
them
.
"
Well
?
"
says
Sir
Thomas
,
impatiently
,
strutting
up
and
down
,
with
his
hands
under
his
green-coat
tails
.
"
If
she
have
no
objection
,
neither
have
I
;
'
one
woman
is
as
good
as
another
,
if
not
better
,
'
as
the
Irishman
said
,
"
answers
the
young
man
,
indifferently
.
"
Well
,
Sir
Thomas
,
"
rising
and
looking
excessively
bored
,
"
I
suppose
I
may
go
now
,
may
n't
I
?
I
promised
Bellew
to
go
down
to
the
kennels
with
him
,
and
as
it
is
past
twelve
o'clock
,
I
'm
afraid
my
bliss
cannot
well
be
consummated
to-day
.
"
He
wants
an
heir
,
and
she
wants
diamonds
,
and
so
the
bargain
is
struck
.
"
She
is
good
to
look
at
,
and
she
does
not
pretend
to
care
two
straws
about
me
—
both
causes
for
special
thankfulness
,
"
he
says
to
himself
,
with
a
sort
of
sardonic
philosophy
,
after
his
decisive
interview
with
his
betrothed
.
"
'
On
this
day
two
years
I
married
:
Whom
the
Lord
loveth
He
chasteneth
.
'
Will
Byron
's
summary
of
wedded
felicity
be
mine
also
?
Probably
.
I
suppose
one
may
think
oneself
tolerably
lucky
nowadays
if
one
steer
clear
of
Sir
James
Wilde
,
and
if
one
's
children
do
not
bear
a
very
striking
resemblance
to
one
's
neighbour
.
"
"
And
I
know
he
's
Mary
's
cousin
;
For
my
firstborn
son
and
heir
Much
resembles
that
young
guardsman
,
With
the
selfsame
curly
hair
.
"
Meanwhile
Esther
's
little
holiday
is
succeeded
by
no
others
;
it
remains
one
green
oasis
,
with
well
and
palmtrees
,
among
long
stretches
of
shifting
,
blinding
,
desert
sand
.
Mr.
Linley
,
indeed
,
has
been
to
call
,
and
has
been
rewarded
for
his
attention
by
a
three-quarters-of-an-hour
téte-à-téte
with
Mrs.
Blessington
.
Esther
is
aware
of
his
presence
;
is
visited
,
indeed
,
by
a
small
and
contemptible
desire
to
go
down
and
chat
with
the
young
fellow
;
feels
a
weak
craving
for
the
touch
of
a
friendly
hand
,
for
the
greeting
of
admiring
eyes
and
courteous
words
.
But
,
being
dimly
conscious
that
the
small
acquaintance
she
has
already
had
with
him
has
made
Gerard
conceive
an
even
worse
opinion
of
her
than
he
had
before
nourished
,
she
restrains
herself
,
in
her
great
,
desire
to
prove
to
him
that
she
is
not
the
insatiable
greedy
coquette
he
falsely
thinks
her
;
and
stays
upstairs
in
the
cold
,
in
her
great
bare
barrack
,
curled
up
on
the
broad
paintless
window-seat
,
and
vainly
trying
to
read
"
Pamela
"
—
the
hairbreadth
escapes
from
RUIN
(
in
big
letters
)
,
in
the
shape
of
a
handsome
and
generous
master
,
of
that
most
austerely
virtuous
and
priggish
of
waiting-maids
being
one
of
the
newest
works
of
fiction
in
the
Blessington
library
.
And
St.
John
hears
of
Linley
's
visit
,
and
does
not
hear
of
Esther
's
little
self-abnegation
;
and
,
too
proud
to
ask
any
questions
about
the
matter
,
pictures
to
himself
soft
willades
,
challenging
smiles
,
hand-pressures
,
under
the
purblind
eyes
of
the
old
lady
,
and
,
so
picturing
,
eats
his
heart
out
with
a
dumb
gnawing
jealousy
.
One
evening
,
in
one
of
her
late
lonely
saunters
(
Miss
Blessington
never
accompanies
her
on
her
walks
)
,
Esther
has
strayed
outside
the
park
paling
into
the
road
,
lured
by
the
splendour
of
a
great
holly-bush
,
all
afire
with
thousand
clustered
berries
,
amid
the
dark
glister
of
varnished
leaves
.
Now
,
although
having
well
understood
(
as
"
Johnny
and
his
sister
Jane
,
While
walking
down
a
shady
lane
,
"
unfortunately
for
themselves
,
did
not
)
that
"
Fruit
in
lanes
is
seldom
good
,
"
Esther
has
coveted
those
berries
.
Fond
of
bright
colours
as
a
child
or
a
savage
,
she
has
been
wrestling
obstinately
with
the
stout
tough
stems
,
and
has
come
off
ultimately
victor
,
with
only
one
very
considerable
scratch
,
and
several
lesser
ones
on
each
bare
hand
.
This
spoil
,
robbed
from
niggard
winter
,
will
make
the
old
rat
palace
at
home
so
bravely
,
warmly
gay
.
As
she
strolls
slowly
along
,
considering
her
treasures
,
the
sound
of
a
trotting
horse
on
the
road
behind
her
reaches
her
ears
.
She
turns
,
and
sees
a
glimmer
of
scarlet
flashing
through
the
misty
light
.
Is
it
St.
John
coming
back
from
hunting
?
If
St.
John
have
a
figure
light
and
spare
as
a
jockey
's
,
have
a
large
red
moustache
,
and
a
small
questioning
retroussé
face
,
this
is
he
;
if
he
have
not
,
this
is
not
he
.
"
How
de-do
,
Miss
Craven
?
"
says
Linley
,
throwing
himself
off
his
horse
,
and
coming
towards
her
with
ready
right
;
hand
heartily
outstretched
.
"
Could
not
imagine
who
you
were
.
I
thought
,
perhaps
,
you
were
the
spirit
of
a
departed
Blessington
,
and
as
I
am
rather
nervous
,
and
frightened
out
of
my
wits
at
ghosts
,
I
had
half
a
mind
to
turn
and
flee
.
"
"
Only
curiosity
got
the
better
of
fear
,
"
she
says
,
smiling
up
at
him
,
or
rather
down
on
him
,
through
the
steaming
January
evening
;
"
you
thought
I
might
prove
human
,
after
all
?
"
"
Why
did
not
you
come
and
see
me
the
other
day
when
I
came
to
call
upon
you
?
"
he
asks
,
walking
along
beside
her
;
"
I
believe
you
were
at
home
all
the
time
.
"
In
his
heart
he
does
not
in
the
least
believe
it
.
She
does
not
answer
;
but
,
without
thinking
of
what
she
is
doing
,
picks
off
the
berries
,
the
procuring
of
which
had
cost
her
so
many
wounds
,
and
strews
them
along
the
road
.
"
Were
you
really
at
home
?
"
he
repeats
,
a
misgiving
as
to
such
having
been
the
case
crossing
his
mind
,
and
giving
his
vanity
a
slight
prick
.
"
Yes
,
I
was
.
"
"
And
knew
I
was
there
all
the
time
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
A
prey
to
Mrs.
Blessington
—
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
And
never
came
to
my
rescue
?
"
"
Did
you
expect
the
butler
and
housekeeper
to
come
and
entertain
you
?
"
she
asks
,
a
little
bitterly
.
"
Have
you
forgotten
what
I
told
you
the
other
day
—
that
I
am
Mrs.
Blessington
's
valet
?
I
have
as
little
concern
with
her
visitors
as
the
kitchen-maids
have
.
"
"
But
I
was
not
her
visitor
,
"
objects
the
young
fellow
,
stoutly
—
"
at
least
"
(
laughing
)
"
I
was
,
but
Heaven
knows
I
did
not
mean
to
be
!
However
,
'
God
tempers
the
wind
to
the
shorn
lamb
,
'
and
I
obtained
a
great
deal
of
information
gratis
upon
a
subject
on
which
I
really
never
had
reflected
as
seriously
as
,
it
appears
,
I
ought
to
have
done
—
"
"
Draughts
and
sandbags
!
I
know
what
you
are
going
to
say
,
"
interrupts
Esther
,
breaking
into
a
childish
lighthearted
laugh
.
"
We
do
hear
a
great
deal
about
them
;
but
I
do
n't
mind
now
;
I
'm
used
to
it
.
I
fall
into
a
sort
of
waking
trance
when
the
subject
is
first
broached
,
and
say
'
Yes
'
and
'
No
,
'
and
'
H
'm
'
and
'
Oh
,
'
at
stated
intervals
;
it
does
just
as
well
as
listening
all
through
.
"
Linley
laughs
too
.
He
is
always
glad
of
an
excuse
for
laughing
.
Life
has
been
to
him
as
yet
only
laughable
or
smileable
.
"
Not
a
bad
plan
,
"
he
says
,
commendingly
;
"
but
,
really
now
,
I
flattered
myself
I
struck
out
one
or
two
very
original
thoughts
on
the
subject
of
sash-windows
;
I
said
several
rather
brilliant
things
,
only
she
did
not
seem
to
see
them
.
I
hoped
she
would
have
found
my
conversation
so
improving
that
she
would
have
asked
me
to
come
again
;
but
she
did
not
do
anything
of
the
kind
.
"
"
They
never
ask
anybody
to
Blessington
,
"
says
Esther
,
feeling
the
string
of
her
tongue
loosed
,
and
experiencing
,
despite
herself
,
great
enjoyment
in
having
some
one
to
chatter
to
,
at
whom
it
is
not
necessary
to
bawl
,
and
who
does
not
answer
her
monosyllabically
with
fade
chilly
smiles
.
"
They
are
too
old
to
care
for
society
;
like
Barzillai
the
Gileadite
,
they
cannot
hear
any
more
'
the
voice
of
singing
men
and
singing
women
.
'
They
have
the
clergyman
and
his
wife
to
dine
on
Christmas
Day
,
and
there
their
gaiety
for
the
year
begins
and
ends
.
"
"
And
yours
too
?
"
"
And
mine
too
.
But
I
do
n't
wish
for
gaiety
,
"
she
answers
,
gravely
,
with
an
involuntary
glance
at
her
crape
,
which
has
grown
very
brown
,
and
rusty
,
and
shabby
genteel
.
"
It
must
be
an
awful
fate
being
shut
up
with
those
two
old
mummies
,
"
says
Linley
,
compassionately
,
his
pity
for
Miss
Craven
made
vivid
by
his
personal
recollections
of
Mrs.
Blessington
's
conversational
power
.
"
I
had
rather
live
in
a
lighthouse
,
or
sweep
a
crossing
,
by
long
odds
.
"
"
So
would
I
,
"
she
answers
,
drily
,
"
if
any
one
would
set
on
foot
a
subscription
to
buy
me
a
broom
.
"
"
You
have
Miss
Blessington
now
as
a
companion
,
at
all
events
,
"
rejoins
he
,
glad
to
fix
on
any
bright
spot
in
his
poor
new
acquaintance
's
mud-coloured
life
.
"
Yes
;
she
is
pleasant
to
look
at
.
"
"
And
to
talk
to
.
"
"
She
never
talks
.
"
"
And
Gerard
?
He
is
not
particularly
pleasant
to
look
at
,
certainly
—
"
"
Not
particularly
,
"
she
assents
;
feeling
a
hot
glow
steal
all
over
her
,
as
at
an
insult
to
herself
.
"
But
when
he
is
not
in
one
of
his
sulks
,
as
he
was
the
other
day
—
do
you
remember
?
—
he
is
not
a
bad
fellow
,
as
fellows
go
.
"
"
Is
n't
he
?
"
He
looks
at
her
with
surprise
.
"
Why
,
surely
,
living
in
the
same
house
with
him
,
you
ought
to
know
him
,
at
least
as
well
as
I
do
?
"
"
I
never
speak
to
him
,
and
he
never
speaks
to
me
,
"
she
answers
,
shortly
.
Linley
bursts
out
laughing
.
"
Good
heavens
!
what
a
horrible
picture
you
draw
!
You
remind
one
of
Mr.
Watts
's
pretty
little
hymn
—
"
'
Where'er
I
take
my
walks
abroad
How
many
poor
I
see
!
And
as
I
never
speaks
to
them
They
never
speak
to
me
.
'
"
Esther
laughs
;
but
anyone
listening
might
have
heard
a
melancholy
ring
in
her
merriment
.
"
Does
nobody
speak
to
anybody
then
at
Blessington
?
asks
the
young
man
,
aghast
at
the
state
of
things
as
revealed
by
his
companion
's
answers
.
"
Mr.
Blessington
roars
at
Mrs.
Blessington
,
and
Mrs.
Blessington
roars
at
Mr.
Blessington
,
and
I
roar
at
them
both
.
"
"
And
the
other
two
—
do
not
they
speak
?
"
"
We
are
,
none
of
us
,
much
addicted
to
conversation
,
"
she
answers
,
grimly
;
"
but
,
en
revanche
,
what
we
do
say
we
say
very
loud
.
"
"
Are
you
all
deaf
,
then
?
"
"
No
;
but
when
one
lives
with
deaf
people
,
one
gets
into
the
habit
of
thinking
that
the
whole
world
is
hard
of
hearing
;
one
bawls
at
everyone
.
"
"
What
an
exhausting
process
!
"
he
says
,
with
a
shrug
;
"
takes
a
great
deal
out
of
you
,
does
n't
it
?
"
"
A
good
deal
;
lately
,
I
have
generally
ended
the
day
without
any
voice
at
all
.
I
do
n't
mind
making
short
remarks
at
the
top
of
my
voice
,
but
shouting
out
six
columns
of
the
Times
,
as
is
daily
my
pleasing
task
,
is
rather
fatiguing
.
"
"
How
inhuman
of
them
to
allow
you
!
"
he
cries
,
indignantly
,
looking
at
the
slender
,
fragile
figure
,
at
the
childish
face-so
appealing
,
so
touching
in
its
utter
paleness
,
now
that
he
sees
it
without
the
temporary
rose-flush
of
excitement
.
"
Not
at
all
,
"
she
answers
,
simply
;
"
they
pay
me
for
it
.
"
"
It
would
require
very
high
pay
to
indemnify
any
one
for
the
sacrifice
of
the
best
years
of
their
lives
to
those
two
old
fossils
;
I
thought
I
was
entitled
to
something
considerable
for
standing
the
old
woman
for
three-quarters
of
an
hour
the
other
day
without
uttering
a
groan
,
"
answers
the
young
man
,
more
seriously
than
he
generally
takes
the
trouble
of
saying
anything
.
"
My
pay
is
fifty
pounds
a
year
,
"
she
answers
,
frankly
,
"
if
you
call
that
high
.
"
Fifty
pounds
!
It
would
not
find
him
in
cigars
.
He
has
thrown
away
five
times
that
sum
,
before
now
,
at
lansquenet
at
one
sitting
.
Involuntarily
his
thoughts
glance
back
over
his
own
life
—
the
luxurious
sybarite
life
in
which
,
hitherto
,
the
heaviest
misfortunes
have
been
a
too-prolonged
frost
,
a
disease
among
the
grouse
,
the
coming
in
second
at
a
steeplechase
,
or
the
pressure
of
a
heavy
helmet
on
his
forehead
when
on
duty
on
a
hot
summer
afternoon
.
Involuntarily
,
he
compares
this
life
of
his
with
the
existence
of
the
slight
frail
child
beside
him
:
but
the
comparison
is
disagreeable
,
and
so
he
stifles
it
,
as
he
always
stifles
,
on
principle
,
every
painful
thought
,
as
a
sin
against
his
religion
of
ease
.
"
Fifty
pounds
!
—
what
a
pittance
!
"
he
ejaculates
.
"
Do
you
think
so
?
"
she
answers
,
surprised
.
"
I
think
it
is
a
good
deal
.
Considering
that
they
find
me
in
food
and
lodging
,
and
that
I
do
for
them
only
what
any
charity-
school
boy
could
do
nearly
as
well
,
it
is
surely
enough
.
"
Her
companion
differs
widely
in
opinion
from
her
,
but
"
When
ignorance
is
bliss
'
Tis
folly
to
be
wise
;
"
and
reflecting
that
it
is
fortunate
that
she
is
satisfied
,
on
whatever
insufficient
grounds
her
satisfaction
rests
,
he
drops
the
subject
,
and
continues
his
catechism
on
a
different
head
.
"
Have
you
no
amusement
of
any
kind
—
none
?
"
"
Oh
dear
,
yes
!
We
drive
into
Shelford
every
day
in
a
close
carriage
,
with
all
the
windows
up
.
"
"
Terrific
!
And
what
do
you
do
when
you
get
there
?
"
"
We
come
back
again
.
"
"
And
have
you
no
visitors
?
Does
no
one
ever
come
to
call
?
"
"
Yes
;
you
came
the
other
day
.
"
"
And
am
I
a
solitary
instance
of
would-be
sociability
?
"
"
Not
quite
.
Mr.
Blessington
gets
into
a
panic
about
himself
,
sometimes
,
and
thinks
that
he
is
drawing
near
his
latter
end
;
and
he
bids
us
all
good-bye
;
and
he
cries
,
and
we
cry
,
and
then
Mr.
Brand
,
the
doctor
,
comes
and
reassures
us
.
"
"
I
had
no
idea
that
there
was
anything
the
matter
with
the
old
gentleman
.
"
"
No
more
there
is
.
He
has
no
more
idea
of
dying
really
than
you
have
;
less
,
probably
.
You
may
break
your
neck
out
hunting
,
and
he
cannot
well
break
his
out
of
his
armchair
.
When
a
person
has
got
into
such
a
confirmed
habit
of
living
as
he
has
,
"
she
concludes
,
drily
,
"
they
find
it
extremely
difficult
to
break
themselves
of
it
.
"
He
smiles
.
"
After
all
,
"
she
continues
,
thoughtfully
,
"
since
it
is
wear-and-tear
of
mind
,
brain
and
heart-work
,
that
drives
people
to
the
churchyard
,
I
do
n't
see
any
reason
why
mere
sleeping
and
eating
machines
should
not
go
on
for
ever
.
"
It
would
be
impossible
to
imagine
a
more
innocent
dialogue
than
the
foregoing
,
would
not
it
?
But
the
interlocutors
have
involuntarily
fallen
into
a
very
gentle
saunter
,
as
two
people
that
,
finding
each
other
's
society
agreeable
,
are
in
no
haste
to
part
.
With
his
horse
's
bridle
carelessly
thrown
over
his
arm
,
a
small
muddy
scarlet
gentleman
strolls
along
with
his
face
turned
with
interest
towards
his
companion
,
who
is
chattering
away
to
him
freely
and
readily
—
not
as
having
any
particular
partiality
for
him
,
but
as
being
something
young
,
friendly
,
compassionate
.
This
is
the
picture
—
invested
by
twilight
with
an
air
of
mystery
that
it
would
not
have
worn
in
daylight
—
that
salutes
the
eyes
of
a
second
and
larger
scarlet
gentleman
,
splashing
home
through
the
puddles
on
a
tired
horse
.
As
he
passes
them
,
Gerard
(
for
it
is
he
)
pulls
up
his
horse
into
a
walk
,
for
he
would
not
have
the
incivility
to
cover
any
woman
with
dirt
,
even
though
the
woman
in
question
be
a
vile
greedy
coquette
,
to
whose
insatiable
vanity
all
men
are
meat
.
Then
,
raising
his
hat
stiffly
,
he
rides
on
without
speaking
.
As
he
trots
homeward
through
the
dusk
,
the
thought
flashes
into
his
writhing
heart
:
"
It
was
an
assignation
!
She
arranged
it
with
him
on
the
day
he
came
to
call
.
Damnable
flirt
!
Is
not
she
satisfied
with
two
ruined
lives
?
Is
she
fool
enough
to
think
that
Linley
will
marry
her
?
A
nice
time
of
night
for
a
respectable
young
woman
to
be
out
walking
with
a
man
she
has
only
seen
twice
in
her
life
!
And
I
heard
her
tell
Mrs.
Blessington
the
other
day
that
she
never
went
outside
the
park-gates
!
Liar
!
What
man
was
ever
deep
enough
to
be
up
to
a
Woman
's
tricks
?
She
'll
go
to
the
dogs
,
as
sure
as
fate
,
if
she
is
left
to
herself
!
Pshaw
!
I
daresay
she
knows
the
way
there
already
.
She
is
so
young
;
shall
I
warn
her
?
Shall
I
speak
to
her
?
Not
I
.
Thank
God
,
it
is
no
business
of
mine
!
"
"
Gerard
!
"
says
Linley
,
as
,
having
passed
them
,
he
strikes
into
a
brisk
trot
—
looking
as
if
he
were
going
to
his
own
funeral
,
and
just
about
to
join
the
cortège
.
"
Certainly
being
in
love
do
n't
improve
him
;
he
is
not
half
the
fellow
he
was
last
season
.
"
But
Esther
,
in
the
moment
of
his
passing
them
,
had
caught
a
glimpse
of
the
eager
white
anger
of
his
face
,
and
she
hardly
hears
.
"
I
'm
afraid
Mr.
Gerard
thought
it
odd
my
being
out
so
late
,
"
she
says
,
trembling
with
recollected
fear
of
those
altered
,
wrathful
eyes
.
"
Well
,
and
if
he
did
?
"
cries
Linley
,
impatiently
.
"
It
is
very
late
,
"
she
says
,
looking
round
into
the
dusk
;
"
it
must
be
,
by
the
light
.
I
never
noticed
how
dark
it
has
grown
since
you
overtook
me
.
"
"
It
is
no
darker
than
it
was
before
Gerard
passed
us
,
"
he
answers
,
rather
nettled
.
"
No
,
but
—
"
"
Why
,
how
scared
you
look
!
"
he
interrupts
her
.
"
You
do
n't
mean
to
say
you
are
afraid
of
him
?
"
(
incredulously
.
)
"
If
I
were
you
,
I
do
n't
think
I
should
pay
much
deference
to
the
opinion
of
a
person
who
,
as
you
say
,
never
has
the
civility
even
to
speak
to
you
.
"
She
is
silent
.
"
It
is
the
authority
of
his
eye
that
awes
you
,
I
suppose
?
"
says
the
young
man
,
vexed
and
sneering
:
—
"
'
An
eye
like
Mars
'
,
to
threaten
and
command
.
'
"
Threaten
!
Yes
—
I
can
testify
to
that
I
"
Hearing
his
words
,
Esther
recovers
her
self-possession
,
and
speaks
with
some
dignity
:
"
You
are
quite
wrong
.
Mr.
Gerard
's
opinion
has
no
influence
whatever
on
my
sayings
or
doings
;
it
would
be
very
ridiculous
if
it
had
.
It
was
merely
that
his
look
of
surprise
reminded
me
of
what
I
ought
to
have
recollected
without
reminding
,
that
I
should
have
been
home
an
hour
ago
.
"
"
Wanted
again
,
I
suppose
?
"
says
the
young
man
,
with
the
air
of
an
aggrieved
person
.
"
I
wish
you
were
not
in
quite
such
request
;
you
are
always
being
wanted
.
"
"
There
is
a
stile
close
here
,
"
says
Esther
,
evidently
in
a
hurry
to
be
off
;
"
if
I
cross
it
,
and
make
a
short-cut
across
the
park
,
I
shall
be
home
twenty
minutes
sooner
than
if
I
went
by
the
road
.
Good-bye
.
"
"
Good-bye
,
"
he
says
,
reluctantly
.
"
I
'm
not
a
blood-thirsty
fellow
generally
,
but
I
wish
that
Gerard
had
broken
his
neck
over
that
bullfinch
that
he
came
to
grief
over
to
day
,
before
he
had
come
poking
his
ugly
nose
here
,
where
nobody
wanted
him
;
at
least
I
did
not
,
and
,
to
judge
by
your
face
,
neither
did
you
.
Well
!
when
are
we
to
meet
again
,
I
wonder
?
"
"
Never
!
—
some
time
or
other
—
soon
!
"
answers
Esther
,
hastily
and
contradictorily
,
running
up
the
gamut
of
adverbs
in
search
of
the
one
most
likely
to
obtain
her
release
.
Having
gained
that
object
,
she
jumps
over
the
stile
,
and
disappears
into
a
sea
of
mist
.
Meanwhile
St.
John
,
having
arrived
at
Blessington
,
and
given
up
his
horse
to
a
groom
,
enters
the
house
;
but
the
confinement
of
roof
and
walls
is
insupportable
to
him
.
So
he
goes
out
again
,
and
,
walking
up
the
avenue
,
stations
himself
at
the
gate
.
There
,
resting
his
arms
on
the
topmost
bar
,
he
stands
,
straining
his
eyes
down
the
road
by
which
he
expects
to
see
Esther
and
her
companion
make
their
appearance
.
"
They
will
defer
their
parting
to
the
last
moment
—
that
is
of
course
,
"
he
says
to
himself
,
in
his
lonely
pain
.
"
Well
,
"
taking
out
his
watch
and
minuting
them
,
in
order
to
drink
the
cup
of
his
jealous
misery
to
the
dregs
,
"
it
is
not
more
than
a
mile
and
a
half
from
here
to
the
place
where
I
passed
them
;
let
us
see
how
long
a
time
they
will
manage
to
be
in
doing
the
distance
.
"
He
has
not
long
to
wait
.
Before
five
minutes
are
over
he
hears
the
sound
of
a
horse
's
feet
.
"
Linley
must
not
see
him
watching
them
,
"
he
thinks
,
with
a
sort
of
shame
at
himself
,
and
so
steps
back
into
the
shade
of
a
great
tree
.
Linley
rides
by
alone
.
His
face
is
turned
towards
the
house
,
in
whose
great
black
facade
the
lighted
windows
make
oblong-shaped
red
glories
;
his
eyes
are
trying
to
fix
upon
Esther
's
casement
.
Of
course
he
hits
upon
the
wrong
one
,
and
directs
his
sentimental
gaze
towards
the
apartment
where
,
with
wig
off
and
teeth
out
,
Mrs.
Blessington
,
aided
by
her
maid
,
is
slowly
moving
through
the
stages
of
her
dinner
toilette
.
"
She
must
have
taken
the
short-cut
across
the
park
,
"
thinks
Gerard
,
with
a
sense
of
unwilling
relief
.
"
Afraid
of
my
telling
tales
of
her
escapade
,
I
suppose
.
"
He
retraces
his
steps
down
the
avenue
,
and
,
following
a
back
road
that
skirts
the
kitchen-garden
,
reaches
another
gate
that
leads
into
the
park
,
and
there
stands
and
waits
again
.
The
short-cut
has
proved
rather
a
long
one
.
Part
of
the
park
has
been
fenced
off
,
to
keep
the
deer
and
the
Scotch
cattle
separate
;
a
gate
which
she
had
reckoned
upon
finding
open
,
she
discovers
to
be
padlocked
,
and
has
to
make
a
long
circuit
round
to
another
gate
.
As
she
toils
weary-footed
through
the
wet
grass
,
vague
alarms
assail
him
that
watches
for
her
.
Can
any
evil
have
come
to
her
in
the
darkness
?
Most
improbably
in
that
still
,
safe
park
.
After
a
while
,
and
when
his
reasonless
fears
are
beginning
to
gather
more
strongly
about
his
heart
,
he
hears
the
sound
as
of
some
one
running
pantingly
.
Esther
is
not
so
good
at
running
as
she
was
in
the
old
Glan-yr-Afon
days
.
She
has
been
flying
along
in
hot
haste
,
with
a
mixed
fear
of
Scotch
bulls
and
goblins
in
pursuit
.
As
she
approaches
the
gate
,
Gerard
opens
it
for
her
.
Seeing
it
swing
open
without
any
apparent
cause
,
she
gives
a
great
nervous
start
;
then
,
discovering
the
motive
cause
of
the
phenomenon
,
drops
into
a
walk
.
"
It
is
rather
late
,
Mr.
Gerard
,
I
'm
afraid
,
is
n't
it
so
?
"
she
asks
,
with
some
hesitation
at
this
disobedience
to
his
command
of
silence
.
And
yet
,
surely
,
if
he
had
meant
not
to
speak
to
her
,
he
would
not
have
come
thither
.
Two
speech-gifted
human
beings
could
hardly
be
expected
to
meet
with
less
civility
than
two
pigs
,
who
would
at
least
exchange
a
grunt
.
He
looks
at
his
watch
again
.
"
It
is
ten
minutes
to
six
,
"
he
replies
with
punctilious
politeness
.
"
Is
it
really
?
I
had
no
idea
how
the
time
went
,
"
she
says
,
apologetically
,
"
until
your
look
of
—
of
—
surprise
reminded
me
.
"
The
line
of
defence
she
has
hit
upon
is
unlucky
.
"
Really
!
"
he
answers
,
stiffly
.
"
I
had
not
noticed
how
the
light
had
gone
,
nor
anything
about
the
matter
,
"
she
continues
,
innocently
,
floundering
at
every
word
into
deeper
disgrace
.
"
I
daresay
not
,
"
he
replies
,
freezingly
.
She
had
addressed
him
,
penitent
and
humble
,
willing
to
take
a
scolding
in
all
submissiveness
,
but
the
chill
brevity
of
his
answers
turns
her
meekness
to
gall
.
"
When
one
is
in
pleasant
company
,
"
she
remarks
,
with
a
rather
hysterical
laugh
,
"
one
forgets
the
flight
of
time
.
"
"
Undoubtedly
,
"
replies
Gerard
,
endeavouring
to
conceal
his
anger
under
an
appearance
of
calmness
,
and
unable
to
manage
more
than
one
word
at
a
time
.
"
If
one
has
not
taken
a
vow
of
perpetual
silence
,
it
is
a
great
relief
to
have
a
little
conversation
with
a
person
who
is
neither
deaf
nor
dumb
,
"
she
says
,
emboldened
by
exasperation
.
"
An
immense
relief
,
no
doubt
,
"
he
answers
,
in
deep
displeasure
.
"
And
yet
,
if
you
will
allow
me
,
"
he
continues
,
unable
to
resist
the
temptation
to
lecture
her
—
"
who
am
so
much
older
than
you
,
and
can
have
no
interest
in
the
matter
but
your
own
advantage
—
to
give
an
opinion
,
I
should
recommend
your
choosing
a
fitter
time
of
day
for
your
meetings
,
even
with
so
desirable
and
congenial
a
companion
as
Mr.
Linley
"
"
Beggars
must
not
be
choosers
,
"
she
answers
,
sulkily
.
"
You
seem
to
forget
how
very
small
a
portion
of
the
day
I
have
at
my
own
disposal
.
"
He
draws
himself
up
to
his
full
height
,
and
a
stern
expression
makes
his
lip
thin
.
"
I
was
right
,
"
he
says
internally
;
"
it
was
no
accident
!
"
Then
aloud
:
"
I
apologise
,
Miss
Craven
,
for
interfering
in
your
affairs
,
in
which
,
God
knows
,
I
have
small
concern
.
I
only
thought
that
,
as
you
are
so
young
,
you
might
not
be
aware
that
nocturnal
walks
with
a
man
of
Linley
's
character
are
not
advantageous
to
any
woman
's
reputation
.
"
"
I
know
nothing
about
his
character
,
"
retorts
she
,
defiantly
;
"
I
daresay
it
is
as
good
as
other
people
's
.
All
I
know
is
,
that
he
is
very
kind
and
civil
to
me
,
which
is
what
nobody
else
is
nowadays
.
"
Then
,
to
avoid
the
disgrace
of
seeming
to
court
his
compassion
by
tears
,
she
darts
from
his
side
,
and
rushes
to
that
harbour
of
refuge
—
her
great
,
bare
sleeping-chamber
.
CHAPTER
XXXVII
.
TIME
goes
by
.
Since
Joshua
,
God-bidden
,
commanded
sun
and
moon
to
stand
still
,
who
has
been
able
to
stop
it
?
Gerard
still
remains
at
Blessington
—
remains
,
despite
the
six-o'clock
dinners
;
despite
the
inarticulate
and
inharmonious
mumblings
with
which
old
Blessington
takes
away
the
appetites
of
such
as
feast
with
him
;
despite
the
utter
failure
of
his
endeavours
to
draw
from
the
mind
of
his
betrothed
any
ideas
but
such
as
Le
Follet
and
Le
Journal
des
Demoiselles
had
just
put
into
it
.
Latterly
he
has
abandoned
the
attempt
,
has
taken
to
reading
the
Times
,
Field
,
anything
in
the
evening
,
instead
;
has
even
,
in
his
despair
—
modern
works
of
fiction
being
,
as
I
have
before
observed
,
unknown
at
Blessington
—
waded
through
two
chapters
and
a
half
of
"
Pamela
,
"
which
Esther
had
inadvertently
left
on
the
table
.
Sometimes
,
to
his
own
surprise
,
he
catches
himself
wishing
that
his
wedding-day
were
over
.
"
When
we
are
married
,
we
need
never
speak
to
one
another
,
"
he
reflects
.
"
Thank
God
,
we
shall
not
be
so
poor
as
to
be
obliged
to
keep
together
from
economy
;
a
dinner
of
herbs
and
hatred
,
or
,
worse
still
,
indifference
therewith
,
would
be
hard
to
digest
;
she
may
go
her
way
,
and
I
mine
.
I
will
get
up
a
great
stock
of
beads
,
and
looking-glasses
,
and
red
calico
,
and
make
an
expedition
to
Central
Africa
;
learn
some
euphonious
African
tongue
,
all
made
up
of
Ms
and
Ns
;
and
carefully
abstain
from
engaging
in
arguments
upon
the
immortality
of
the
soul
with
intelligent
natives
.
"
Now
and
again
conscience
's
voice
thunders
at
him
in
the
recesses
of
his
soul
:
"
You
are
paltering
with
temptation
.
Arise
!
—
flee
!
—
begone
!
"
But
he
,
strong
in
the
innocence
of
his
acts
and
words
,
replies
doughtily
:
"
Temptation
is
there
none
for
me
here
.
The
occupations
of
my
life
are
such
as
they
would
be
at
home
;
I
am
struggling
to
know
and
like
better
her
with
whom
my
life
is
to
be
passed
.
As
to
that
other
woman
,
I
see
her
rarely
,
speak
to
her
never
,
look
at
her
as
seldom
as
it
is
possible
to
me
.
"
And
,
in
the
meantime
,
that
other
woman
droops
like
an
unwatered
flower
,
day
by
day
.
When
the
mainspring
of
a
watch
is
broken
,
must
it
not
stop
?
If
hope
,
the
mainspring
of
life
,
be
broken
,
must
not
life
stop
—
not
all
at
once
,
as
the
watch
does
,
but
by
gentle
yet
sure
degrees
?
A
slow
fire
burns
in
the
child
's
veins
;
before
this
man
had
come
,
she
had
peace
—
a
sad
stagnant
peace
,
indeed
,
but
still
peace
.
Now
she
lives
in
a
state
of
perpetual
concealed
excitement
.
True
,
they
meet
but
rarely
,
speak
to
each
other
never
;
but
the
same
roof
covers
them
both
.
From
her
outlook
in
the
China
Gallery
,
she
can
watch
his
going
forth
in
the
morning
,
his
coming
back
at
evening
.
At
breakfast
and
dinner
he
sits
opposite
to
her
;
she
can
study
his
face
,
with
stealthy
care
,
lest
she
may
be
observed
,
while
he
drives
heavily
through
slow
trite
talk
with
her
that
fills
the
place
in
his
life
that
,
for
a
golden
day
,
from
one
sundown
to
another
,
was
Esther
's
.
Sometimes
they
meet
upon
the
stairs
;
her
black
dress
lightly
touches
him
,
as
they
pass
one
another
dumbly
.
At
night
she
lies
awake
,
waiting
to
catch
the
sound
of
his
footfall
in
the
gallery
past
her
door
;
has
to
wait
long
hours
often
;
for
he
,
unknowing
that
any
one
takes
note
of
his
vigils
,
sits
in
the
smoking-room
far
into
the
small
hours
,
puffing
out
of
his
well-coloured
meerschaum
great
volumes
of
smoke
—
wishing
,
not
seldom
,
I
think
,
that
he
could
puff
away
Constance
,
his
beloved
,
into
smoke
volumes
and
thin
air
.
Fed
by
no
kindly
words
,
nourished
only
upon
neglect
and
cold
looks
,
Esther
's
love
for
Gerard
yet
strikes
out
great
roots
downwards
—
shoots
forth
strong
branches
upwards
.
A
tree
of
far
statelier
growth
it
stands
than
in
the
days
when
the
soft
gales
and
gentle
streams
of
answering
love
fanned
and
watered
it
.
Who
cares
for
what
they
can
have
?
Who
cries
for
the
moon
?
It
is
the
intermediate
something
—
the
something
that
lies
just
a
handbreadth
beyond
the
utmost
stretch
of
our
most
painfully-strained
arms
,
that
we
eat
out
our
hearts
in
longing
for
.
Esther
never
goes
beyond
the
park
palings
now
,
deterred
by
the
fear
of
being
waylaid
by
Linley
.
She
need
not
have
been
alarmed
.
As
long
as
she
came
naturally
in
his
way
,
he
was
delighted
to
see
her
:
as
we
stoop
and
pick
gladly
the
fruit
that
drops
off
the
tree
at
our
feet
.
He
had
even
,
on
a
day
when
the
frost
forbade
hunting
,
and
when
he
had
got
tired
of
skating
,
taken
the
unwonted
trouble
of
riding
over
to
Blessington
,
to
warm
himself
at
the
fire
of
those
great
black
eyes
,
that
have
still
for
him
the
charm
of
novelty
upon
them
;
but
women
,
many
and
fair
,
came
too
readily
to
his
hand
to
make
him
very
keen
in
the
chase
of
any
one
individual
woman
.
In
former
generations
men
used
to
be
the
pursuers
,
women
the
pursued
.
In
this
generation
we
,
who
have
set
right
most
things
,
have
set
right
this
also
.
Now
,
the
hares
pursue
the
harriers
,
the
foxes
the
hounds
,
and
the
doves
swoop
upon
the
falcons
.
During
these
latter
evenings
Mr.
Blessington
has
been
very
alert
and
wakeful
—
has
insisted
on
being
read
to
from
tea
to
bed-time
—
a
liberal
hour
.
But
,
however
hoarse
and
voiceless
the
young
reader
may
be
,
Gerard
never
now
comes
to
the
rescue
,
never
interferes
,
though
the
frequent
teasing
cough
of
the
"
damnable
flirt
"
goes
through
his
heart
like
a
sword
.
With
steady
certainty
,
through
frost
and
thaw
,
rain
and
shine
,
through
all
the
alternations
of
an
English
winter
,
the
young
girl
's
health
declines
.
To
all
but
herself
is
this
fact
evident
,
and
she
,
unaccustomed
to
illness
—
never
having
seen
the
signs
of
premature
decay
in
others
—
thinks
it
is
but
a
little
weariness
,
a
little
languor
,
a
nothing
.
It
will
pass
when
the
swooned
world
revives
into
spring
and
the
buttercups
come
.
Sunday
is
here
again
,
the
initial
letter
in
the
week
's
alphabet
:
"
The
Sundays
of
man
's
life
,
Threaded
together
on
Time
's
string
,
Make
bracelets
to
adorn
the
wife
Of
the
eternal
glorious
King
.
"
Ah
me
!
the
languid
,
yawning
Sundays
of
most
of
us
will
make
but
sorry
bracelets
for
any
one
,
methinks
.
Sunday
—
the
day
on
which
the
Shelford
shopboys
and
shopgirls
walk
about
gloriously
apparelled
,
arm-in-arm
,
man
and
maid
,
filling
their
lungs
with
country
air
,
—
day
on
which
the
gentlefolks
,
such
as
are
men
of
them
,
debarred
from
horse
and
hound
and
cue
,
smoke
a
cigar
or
two
more
than
usual
over
the
instructive
pages
of
Messieurs
De
Kock
,
Sue
,
Balzac
,
etc.
;
while
such
as
are
women
,
being
for
the
most
part
piously
disposed
,
hold
Goulburn
's
"
Thoughts
on
Personal
Religion
,
"
or
Hannay
's
"
Last
Day
of
Our
Lord
's
Passion
,
"
open
on
their
velvet
laps
,
and
kill
a
reputation
between
each
paragraph
.
On
this
especial
Sunday
Esther
has
risen
,
feeling
feebler
,
more
nerveless
than
usual
.
Something
in
the
influence
of
the
weather
—
soft
,
sodden
,
sunless
—
weighs
upon
her
with
untold
oppression
.
She
would
fain
not
go
to
church
,
remain
at
home
,
and
lie
on
her
bed
;
but
this
cannot
be
.
Foremost
in
importance
,
in
indispensability
,
among
her
duties
are
these
Sunday
ones
.
If
the
weather
be
tolerable
,
Mr.
Blessington
is
always
scrupulously
punctual
in
attending
Divine
worship
.
Leaning
on
his
valet
's
arm
,
he
totters
up
the
church
,
in
his
old
tail-coat
,
tightly
buttoned
over
his
sunken
chest
,
and
,
arrived
at
the
Blessington
pew
,
is
deposited
in
a
little
nook
thereof
,
partitioned
(
in
some
quirk
of
his
,
while
he
could
yet
see
)
from
the
rest
.
In
thia
nook
there
is
room
for
two
people
—
to
wit
,
for
Mr.
Blessington
,
and
for
the
happy
person
who
is
to
guide
his
devotions
.
And
to
conduct
Mr.
Blessington
's
prayers
and
praises
is
,
I
assure
you
,
no
sinecure
.
Almost
entirely
deaf
,
almost
entirely
blind
,
he
is
yet
resolute
to
take
a
part
in
the
services
by
no
means
less
prominent
than
the
clerk
's
.
It
is
,
therefore
,
his
attendant
's
duty
to
shout
the
responses
in
his
ear
,
in
order
to
give
him
some
clue
to
the
portion
of
the
ritual
which
has
been
arrived
at
and
to
check
him
with
elbowings
and
nudgings
,
when
his
aberrations
from
the
right
path
become
so
flagrantly
noticeable
as
to
distract
the
attention
of
the
other
worshippers
.
But
too
often
,
however
,
the
attempts
at
repression
on
the
part
of
the
acolyte
are
so
much
labour
lost
.
In
the
region
of
darkness
and
silence
in
which
his
infirmities
have
placed
him
,
the
old
man
frequently
becomes
impatient
of
the
slow
progress
of
the
service
as
notified
to
him
by
the
roars
of
his
companion
.
Not
seldom
he
proclaims
,
in
a
voice
distinctly
audible
throughout
the
building
,
the
point
at
which
,
according
to
his
reckoning
,
priest
and
people
should
have
arrived
.
"
And
with
thy
spirit
,
"
cries
the
squire
,
with
unction
in
his
deep
,
tremulous
bass
,
while
the
sleek
young
rector
's
gentle
"
The
Lord
be
with
you
"
does
not
follow
till
five
minutes
later
.
In
the
Creed
there
is
but
one
course
to
pursue
:
to
start
him
,
if
possible
,
fair
—
happy
,
indeed
,
if
he
does
not
insist
on
turning
to
the
altar
somewhere
towards
the
close
of
the
second
lesson
or
beginning
of
the
Jubilate
,
—
to
start
him
fair
,
I
say
.
and
then
in
despair
,
give
him
his
head
.
Fervently
,
loudly
,
rapidly
,
he
announces
his
belief
in
the
articles
of
the
Christian
faith
,
while
parson
,
clerk
,
and
congregation
toil
after
him
in
vain
.
Occasionally
—
especially
at
such
portions
of
the
service
as
refer
to
our
need
of
forgiveness
,
our
sinfulness
,
our
mortality
,
—
he
breaks
out
into
senile
tears
;
too
deaf
to
hear
his
own
penitent
sobs
,
he
has
no
idea
of
the
loudness
with
which
they
reverberate
through
the
church
.
Strangers
,
hearing
,
perk
their
heads
up
above
their
pews
,
and
then
fling
them
down
again
on
their
pocket-handkerchiefs
convulsed
with
inextinguishable
laughter
;
but
the
greater
part
of
the
assemblage
are
used
to
these
spasms
of
grotesque
devotion
—
it
is
only
"
t'oud
squoire
.
"
Esther
always
draws
a
long
breath
of
relief
when
"
Lord
,
have
mercy
upon
us
!
Christ
,
have
mercy
upon
us
!
Lord
,
have
mercy
upon
us
!
"
has
been
safely
tided
over
without
any
unusually
noisy
burst
of
lamentation
.
On
the
Sunday
I
speak
of
"
t'oud
squoire
's
"
prayers
were
more
unruly
than
usual
.
Whether
it
was
that
Esther
's
weakened
voice
was
unable
to
guide
them
into
the
right
channel
,
or
to
whatever
other
cause
assignable
,
certain
it
is
that
his
vagaries
were
more
painfully
evident
—
ludicrously
to
the
congregation
,
distressingly
to
his
family
—
than
on
any
former
Sunday
within
the
memory
of
man
.
Many
heads
turn
towards
the
Blessington
pew
;
even
the
rector
—
meekest
among
M.A.s.
—
looks
now
and
again
with
gentle
reproach
at
the
old
man
,
who
is
,
with
such
aggressive
loudness
,
usurping
his
office
of
leading
the
devotions
of
his
flock
.
A
proud
woman
is
Esther
Craven
when
the
Liturgy
comes
to
a
close
.
In
the
sermon
there
are
,
thank
God
,
no
responses
for
the
congregation
to
make
;
it
is
not
even
customary
to
cry
,
"
Hear
,
hear
!
"
"
Hallelujah
!
"
"
More
power
to
you
!
"
at
intervals
.
In
the
sermon
,
therefore
,
the
old
gentleman
composes
himself
to
sleep
,
and
there
is
peace
.
The
Blessington
pulpit
is
to-day
occupied
by
a
stranger
—
a
Boanerges
,
or
Son
of
Thunder
,
in
the
shape
of
a
muscular
,
half-educated
,
fluent
Irishman
—
a
divine
who
would
fain
flog
his
hearers
to
heaven
,
show
them
the
way
upwards
by
the
light
of
hell
's
flambeaux
—
one
of
that
too
numerous
class
who
revel
in
disgusting
descriptions
,
and
similes
drawn
from
our
mortality
.
It
is
impossible
to
help
listening
to
him
,
and
difficult
to
help
being
sick
.
Esther
listens
,
trembling
,
while
he
descants
with
minute
relish
on
"
the
worm
that
never
dies
.
"
The
worm
that
never
dies
!
Surely
,
a
terrible
picture
enough
,
in
its
simple
bareness
,
without
enlargement
thereupon
!
With
imagination
rendered
more
vivid
,
and
reason
weakened
by
sickness
,
the
unhappy
girl
pictures
that
worm
gnawing
at
her
brother
's
heart
—
gnawing
,
crawling
,
torturing
eternally
.
She
covers
her
face
with
her
hands
;
it
is
too
horrible
!
A
sort
of
sick
feeling
comes
over
her
—
a
giddy
faintness
.
If
she
can
but
reach
the
open
air
!
She
rises
unsteadily
,
opens
the
pew-door
,
and
walks
as
in
a
mist
down
the
aisle
,
between
the
two
rows
of
questioning
faces
,
and
so
out
.
As
she
passes
through
the
church-door
she
staggers
slightly
,
and
catches
at
the
wall
for
support
.
Gerard
,
watching
her
anxiously
,
sees
her
unsteady
gait
,
and
the
involuntary
gesture
of
reaching
out
for
some
stay
for
her
tottering
figure
.
Instantly
,
without
giving
thought
to
the
light
in
which
his
beloved
may
regard
his
proceeding
,
he
,
rising
,
quickly
follows
the
young
girl
.
She
has
just
managed
to
reach
a
flat
tombstone
,
and
there
sits
,
with
her
face
turned
thirstily
westwards
,
whence
a
small
soft
wind
blows
fitfully
.
"
You
are
ill
,
"
he
says
,
bending
solicitously
over
her
,
and
laying
aside
in
that
compassionate
mment
the
armour
of
his
coldness
.
She
does
not
answer
for
awhile
;
then
,
drawing
a
long
breath
,
and
trying
to
smile
:
"
The
church
was
so
close
,
"
she
says
,
sighingly
;
"
and
that
smell
of
escaped
gas
always
makes
me
feel
faint
,
and
—
and
"
(
with
a
shudder
)
—
"
that
dreadful
man
—
with
his
metaphors
all
taken
from
the
charnelhouse
!
"
"
I
wish
he
were
there
himself
,
with
all
my
heart
,
"
answers
Gerard
,
devoutly
;
"
he
might
there
frame
metaphors
to
his
taste
at
his
leisure
.
"
"
And
it
is
so
terrible
to
think
that
it
is
all
true
,
is
n't
it
?
"
she
says
,
fixing
her
great
awestruck
eyes
upon
his
face
,
as
if
trying
to
find
comfort
and
reassurance
there
;
"
that
the
reality
exceeds
even
his
revolting
word-painting
;
that
we
shall
be
loathsome
,
all
of
us
!
—
you
and
I
and
everybody
—
young
and
old
,
beautiful
and
ugly
!
How
could
God
be
so
cruel
as
to
let
us
know
it
beforehand
?
"
"
Knowing
it
beforehand
is
better
than
knowing
it
at
the
time
,
which
,
at
least
,
we
are
spared
,
"
replies
St.
John
,
composedly
.
"
But
are
we
?
"
she
cries
,
eagerly
:
"
that
is
the
question
!
Latterly
I
have
been
beset
by
a
fearful
idea
that
death
is
but
a
long
catalepsy
.
In
a
catalepsy
,
you
know
,
a
person
seems
utterly
without
consciousness
or
volition
;
breath
is
suspended
,
and
all
the
vital
functions
;
and
yet
he
feels
and
sees
and
hears
more
acutely
than
when
in
strong
health
.
Why
may
not
death
,
too
,
be
a
catalepsy
?
"
"
Absurd
!
"
he
says
.
"
My
poor
child
,
it
is
thoughts
like
these
,
gone
wild
,
that
fill
madhouses
.
According
to
your
theory
,
at
what
point
of
time
does
your
catalepsy
end
?
When
we
are
dissolved
into
minutest
particles
of
dust
does
each
atom
still
feel
and
suffer
?
"
"
My
theory
,
as
you
call
it
,
will
not
hold
water
,
I
know
,
"
she
answers
gravely
,
"
but
it
does
not
haunt
me
any
the
less
.
There
are
times
when
one
cannot
reason
—
one
can
only
fear
.
"
"
You
should
not
give
way
to
these
morbid
fancies
,
"
he
says
,
chidingly
;
"
they
are
making
you
ill.
"
"
Am
I
ill
,
do
you
think
?
Do
I
look
ill
?
"
she
asks
,
with
startled
eagerness
.
The
havoc
worked
in
face
and
figure
by
the
last
few
months
is
too
directly
under
his
eyes
for
him
to
answer
anything
but
truthfully
,
"
Very
ill.
"
"
You
do
n't
think
I
'm
going
to
die
?
"
she
says
,
lowering
her
voice
,
and
laying
her
hand
on
his
arm
,
while
her
great
feverish
eyes
burn
into
his
very
soul
.
"
People
are
not
any
the
more
likely
to
die
for
being
thin
and
weak
,
are
they
?
Creaky
doors
hang
the
longest
.
"
"
Die
!
—
God
forbid
!
"
he
replies
,
trying
to
speak
lightly
.
"
Let
us
banish
death
from
our
talk
.
I
suppose
it
is
this
place
of
tombs
that
has
made
him
take
such
a
leading
part
in
it
.
Come
,
you
are
not
at
all
fit
to
go
back
into
church
,
and
I
am
not
anxious
to
hear
the
tail-end
of
that
wormy
discourse
.
The
smell
of
brimstone
is
quite
strong
enough
in
my
nostrils
already
.
Let
us
go
home
!
"
So
they
return
to
the
house
,
and
he
still
shows
no
inclination
to
leave
her
.
He
draws
a
chair
for
her
near
an
open
window
,
and
stands
with
his
hand
resting
on
the
back
.
It
is
almost
like
the
old
times
—
the
old
times
that
he
thinks
of
,
"
As
dead
men
of
good
days
,
Ere
the
wrong
side
of
death
was
theirs
,
when
God
Was
friends
with
them
.
"
Something
in
the
recollection
of
those
days
makes
soft
his
voice
,
which
is
not
wont
to
be
soft
.
"
You
are
not
fit
for
this
life
,
"
he
says
,
stooping
down
his
face
towards
her
small
wan
one
.
"
It
requires
a
tough
seasoned
woman
,
in
middle
life
.
Tell
me
why
you
have
undertaken
it
?
Why
are
you
not
—
not
married
?
"
She
turns
away
,
crimsoning
painfully
.
"
Because
no
one
has
asked
me
,
I
suppose
,
"
she
answers
,
trying
to
speak
banteringly
.
"
But
you
were
engaged
when
—
when
we
parted
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
And
you
are
not
now
?
"
With
ungovernable
,
unaccountable
impatience
,
he
awaits
the
slow
brief
answer
.
"
No.
"
"
Had
he
then
—
h
'm
!
h
'm
!
—
discovered
anything
?
"
Gerard
asks
,
finding
some
difficulty
in
framing
the
question
politely
.
She
fires
up
quickly
.
"
Discovered
anything
!
"
she
repeats
,
indignantly
.
"
Do
you
think
it
is
impossible
for
me
to
be
honest
even
once
in
my
life
?
I
told
him
myself
.
"
"
You
broke
it
off
,
then
?
"
"
No
,
I
did
n't
.
"
"
He
did
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Poor
fellow
!
he
had
good
cause
to
be
angry
,
"
says
St.
John
;
the
old
bitterness
surging
back
upon
him
,
as
he
reflects
on
the
cowardly
duplicity
that
had
made
waste
two
honest
lives
.
"
But
he
was
not
angry
,
"
she
cries
,
eagerly
:
"
he
was
grieved
—
oh
,
so
grieved
!
Shall
I
ever
forgive
myself
when
I
think
of
how
he
looked
when
I
told
him
?
"
(
her
eyes
gazing
out
abstractedly
at
the
"
Rape
of
the
Sabines
,
"
as
her
thoughts
fly
back
to
that
quarried
nook
on
the
bleak
autumnal
hillside
,
where
she
had
broken
a
brave
man
's
heart
)
.
"
But
he
was
not
angry
.
Oh
,
no
!
he
never
thought
of
himself
!
he
thought
only
about
me
!
Ah
!
that
was
love
!
"
"
He
would
not
marry
you
,
however
?
"
says
St.
John
,
exasperated
at
these
laudations
,
which
he
imagines
levelled
as
reproaches
against
himself
.
"
No
,
"
she
answered
quietly
,
"
you
are
right
;
he
would
not
marry
me
,
though
I
begged
him
.
But
that
was
for
my
sake
,
too
—
not
his
own
;
he
told
me
that
he
could
not
make
me
happy
,
for
that
I
did
not
love
him
.
He
was
wrong
,
though
.
I
did
love
him
—
I
love
him
now
.
If
I
did
not
love
the
one
friend
I
have
in
all
this
great
empty
world
,
what
should
I
be
made
of
?
"
she
concludes
,
while
the
tears
come
into
her
eyes
.
"
You
have
a
great
capacity
for
loving
,
"
says
St.
John
,
who
,
though
not
usually
an
ungenerous
fellow
,
is
maddened
by
the
expressions
of
affection
,
the
tears
and
regretful
looks
bestowed
upon
his
rival
.
"
I
envy
,
though
I
despair
of
emulating
you
.
"
"
Men
have
but
one
way
of
loving
,
"
she
answers
,
gently
;
"
women
have
several
.
I
love
him
as
the
one
completely
unselfish
being
I
ever
met
.
I
agree
with
you
,
that
the
way
of
loving
you
mean
comes
but
once
in
a
lifetime
.
"
At
her
words
,
and
the
fidelity
to
himself
which
they
so
innocently
imply
,
a
fierce
bright
joy
upleaps
in
his
heart
—
a
joy
that
clamours
for
utterance
in
violent
fond
words
,
in
the
wild
closeness
of
forbidden
embraces
;
but
honour
,
that
strong
gaoler
that
keeps
so
many
under
lock
and
key
,
keeps
him
too
.
"
For
Love
himself
took
part
against
himself
To
warn
us
off
;
and
Duty
,
loved
of
love
—
Oh
!
this
world
's
curse
,
beloved
but
hated
—
came
,
Like
death
,
betwixt
thy
dear
embrace
and
mine
,
And
crying
,
'
Who
is
this
?
Behold
thy
bride
!
'
She
push
'd
me
from
thee
.
"
He
only
holds
out
his
hand
to
her
.
"
Esther
,
let
us
be
friends
.
I
am
tired
of
this
silence
and
estrangement
;
let
there
be
peace
between
us
!
"
"
I
have
always
wished
for
it
,
"
she
answers
meekly
,
laying
her
little
trembling
hand
in
his
—
"
you
know
I
have
;
but
let
us
be
at
peace
apart
,
and
not
together
;
that
will
be
better
.
How
long
,
"
she
asks
,
impulsively
,
lifting
quivering
red
lips
and
dew-soft
eyes
to
his
—
"
how
long
—
how
much
longer
—
do
you
mean
to
stay
here
?
"
"
Why
do
you
ask
?
"
he
says
,
in
a
troubled
voice
,
hurt
pride
and
hot
passion
struggling
together
.
"
Surely
in
this
great
wide
house
there
is
room
for
you
and
me
;
I
am
not
much
in
your
way
,
surely
?
"
"
You
are
,
"
she
answers
,
feverishly
—
"
you
are
in
my
way
;
you
would
be
,
in
the
widest
house
that
ever
was
built
.
Every
day
I
long
more
and
more
to
be
a
great
way
off
from
you
.
I
think
I
could
breathe
better
if
I
were
.
"
He
does
not
answer
:
leaning
still
over
her
in
a
dumb
agonised
yearning
,
that
—
with
the
chains
of
another
still
dragging
about
him
—
may
not
be
outspoken
.
"
That
day
we
met
upon
the
stairs
,
"
she
continues
,
eyes
and
cheeks
aflame
and
lustrous
with
the
consuming
fire
within
her
,
"
you
promised
me
you
would
avail
yourself
of
the
