beno
such
hour
;
no
space
interposed
between
the
fading
of
the
day-light
and
the
lighting
of
the
gas
.
But
it
is
in
Professor
Forth
's
programme
that
there
shall
be
such
an
interval
when
he
leans
back
in
his
armchair
,
with
his
eyes
closed
,
and
does
not
wish
to
be
spoken
to
;
whether
in
meditation
or
in
sleep
she
cannot
tell
.
There
is
nothing
for
her
but
to
sit
opposite
to
him
,
with
his
idleness
,
but
without
his
repose
.
The
lowered
blinds
prevent
her
looking
out
upon
the
first
sunset-reddened
,
and
by-and-by
moon-silvered
sea
.
She
cannot
even
distinguish
the
lustres
and
the
vulgar
vases
on
the
chimney-piece
.
She
cannot
even
stir
the
fire
into
such
a
blaze
as
to
enable
her
strong
young
eyes
to
read
by
it
;
for
to
stir
the
fire
makes
the
coals
burn
quicker
.
It
is
the
hour
when
the
happy
young
build
love-arbours
out
of
,
and
see
brave
sweethearts
in
,
the
red
coals
.
What
love-arbour
dare
she
build
?
What
sweetheart
dare
she
see
?
Then
come
the
long
hours
of
reading
aloud
.
They
are
the
most
bearable
of
the
day
.
It
does
her
resolution
the
less
credit
to
hold
out
through
them
.
However
,
it
does
hold
out
.
But
will
it
endure
through
the
next
day
?
If
it
does
,
it
must
indeed
be
of
a
stout
fibre
.
For
no
sooner
has
the
next
day
risen
,
than
it
is
clear
that
there
has
come
one
of
those
rare
scourge-days
with
which
God
sometimes
lashes
His
world
;
one
of
those
days
whose
date
is
remembered
,
which
is
held
up
as
a
standard
in
after
years
for
other
fell
days
to
measure
themselves
by
;
a
day
that
wrecks
ships
by
fleets
;
that
strikes
down
centenary
oaks
by
scores
;
that
whelms
trains
in
its
snowdrifts
;
that
stiffens
into
frozen
death
the
sheep
on
the
mountain-side
,
and
the
traveller
fate-overtaken
in
the
snow-choked
country
lane
.
Snow
often
comes
stilly
;
but
to-day
it
is
blowing
—
blowing
mercilessly
:
not
a
bluff
west
wind
,
good-humouredly
roistering
,
but
an
inhuman
north-easter
,
the
furious
sleet
driven
,
raging
and
sweeping
,
by
its
hellish
lash
.
When
Belinda
comes
down
to
breakfast
,
there
is
not
a
soul
on
the
Leas
,
but
the
luckless
baker
's
boy
butting
with
bent
head
against
the
razor-edged
blast
.
It
is
scarcely
the
day
which
one
would
have
chosen
to
spend
in
a
flimsily-built
seaside
summer
lodging-house
.
The
Forths
'
lodgings
are
no
better
and
no
worse
than
most
others
of
the
class
;
with
walls
about
as
puny
,
with
woodwork
about
as
warped
,
with
gaps
between
door
and
carpet
about
as
wide
,
with
curtains
as
miserably
insufficient
as
most
of
their
brethren
.
Though
every
door
and
window
is
religiously
closed
,
there
is
the
feeling
of
being
sitting
out
of
doors
,
only
more
draughty
.
Even
in
a
warm
,
stoutly-built
house
one
would
shiver
;
but
here
!
Well
,
here
the
cold
is
so
marrow-piercing
,
that
it
usurps
to
itself
the
whole
attention
of
the
mind
.
It
is
not
a
subordinate
,
governable
cold
that
by
an
effort
of
the
will
one
may
forget
.
It
can
never
be
out
of
the
thoughts
for
one
moment
;
from
the
hour
of
rising
,
until
that
of
shuddering
back
to
bed
again
.
The
Professor
,
always
a
chill-blooded
creature
,
sits
all
day
with
his
knees
within
the
fender
,
piled
with
every
article
of
his
own
,
and
several
of
Belinda
's
wardrobe
.
Throwing
economy
to
the
winds
,
he
has
lit
the
gas
,
and
piled
the
fire
half-way
up
the
chimney
;
though
whenever
fresh
coals
are
put
on
,
a
great
gust
of
greenish
smoke
,
furiously
beaten
back
by
the
blast
,
comes
pouring
down
the
chimney
,
and
suffocatingly
flooding
the
room
.
Belinda
,
cold
as
she
undoubtedly
is
,
is
not
near
the
fire
.
She
is
standing
by
the
window
,
with
a
pot
of
paste
and
some
strips
of
paper
in
her
numbed
hands
,
pasting
up
the
apertures
in
the
ill-seasoned
shrunk
window-frames
,
through
which
the
wind
comes
icily
whistling
and
piping
.
Now
and
again
she
appeals
for
directions
to
the
heap
of
wraps
beside
the
hearth
,
trying
to
still
her
chattering
teeth
as
she
does
so
,
to
keep
out
of
her
tone
the
intense
dispiritedness
which
has
invaded
her
whole
being
;
not
to
listen
to
the
ironical
demon
voice
that
whispers
in
her
ear
:
"
This
is
the
honeymoon
;
that
is
the
bridegroom
of
your
own
choosing
!
"
All
day
—
all
day
the
snow
swirls
past
.
All
day
the
sea
—
dimly
seen
,
sometimes
seen
not
at
all
,
through
the
white
hurricane
—
booms
and
thunders
on
the
shore
.
The
snow
cleaves
to
the
window-panes
,
freezes
there
,
darkens
yet
more
the
dismal
room
.
Not
a
soul
puts
nose
out
of
doors
from
the
dark
dawn
to
the
soon-falling
night
.
When
at
length
Belinda
has
finished
her
pains-taking
pasting-up
of
the
windows
,
she
asks
in
a
voice
of
would-be
cheerfulness
whether
the
blast
is
not
sensibly
lessened
;
but
receives
for
answer
a
melancholy
negative
.
The
whirlwind
from
under
the
door
is
such
as
to
laugh
to
scorn
all
remedies
applied
elsewhere
.
And
one
cannot
paste
up
the
door
.
"
But
one
may
put
sand-bags
beneath
it
,
"
suggests
Belinda
,
still
with
that
same
desperate
cheerfulness
.
"
They
may
have
sand-bags
in
the
house
!
she
will
ring
and
ask
!
"
But
there
are
no
sand-bags
,
and
the
landlady
,
embittered
like
everyone
else
by
the
weather
,
tartly
replies
that
such
a
thing
has
never
before
been
asked
for
in
her
house
!
However
,
Belinda
is
not
yet
at
the
end
of
her
resources
.
"
I
think
,
"
she
says
,
"
if
you
would
allow
me
to
fold
up
all
the
newspapers
in
a
tight
roll
,
it
might
keep
out
some
of
the
wind
.
Can
you
spare
them
all
?
—
Pall
Mall
,
Spectator
,
Academy
,
Times
?
"
Having
received
permission
,
she
begins
to
turn
them
over
,
in
order
to
select
those
most
suitable
for
her
purpose
;
her
careless
eye
unintentionally
alighting
on
a
word
here
and
there
.
The
first
two
that
she
catches
are
her
own
late
and
present
surnames
.
"
Forth
—
Churchill
.
"
It
is
the
announcement
of
her
marriage
in
the
Daily
News
.
She
drops
it
as
if
it
had
bitten
her
.
The
roll
of
newspapers
is
about
as
effective
a
bulwark
against
the
wind
as
a
child
's
sand-rampart
is
against
the
sea
.
But
since
she
has
at
least
done
her
best
,
Belinda
considers
that
she
has
earned
the
right
to
sit
down
by
the
fire
,
with
her
fur-coat
hoisted
to
her
ears
.
She
offers
to
read
aloud
.
"
I
am
obliged
to
you
,
"
replies
the
Professor
morosely
,
"
but
,
in
the
present
condition
of
my
temperature
,
it
would
be
perfectly
impossible
for
me
to
concentrate
my
attention
.
"
He
even
looks
rather
injured
when
she
herself
takes
up
a
book
.
But
neither
can
she
concentrate
her
attention
.
Her
mind
strays
from
the
dreary
wonder
as
to
whether
this
enormous
day
will
ever
end
,
to
the
still
more
dreary
wonder
why
she
should
wish
it
to
end
,
seeing
that
it
will
only
lead
to
another
like
it
.
There
has
been
no
break
since
breakfast-time
,
with
the
exception
of
the
laying
and
removing
of
their
early
dinner
,
and
the
altercation
about
the
sand-bags
.
No
one
has
been
near
them
,
not
even
the
postman
!
Doubtlessly
every
line
is
blocked
,
and
all
traffic
suspended
.
The
dark
has
long
fallen
;
if
that
,
indeed
,
can
be
said
to
have
fallen
which
has
reigned
more
or
less
all
day
.
The
gas
has
been
turned
up
higher
;
the
thin
curtains
drawn
,
with
many
futile
jerks
to
the
rings
that
will
not
run
;
the
fire
is
new-built
,
and
a
sort
of
air
of
pseudo-evening-comfort
diffuses
itself
.
Belinda
's
slow
pulse
begins
to
beat
,
and
her
blood
to
circulate
a
little
more
briskly
.
It
quickens
its
pace
perceptibly
,
when
—
oh
blessed
sight
!
—
the
lodging-house
servant
enters
with
a
pile
of
letters
in
her
chappy
hand
.
Thank
God
,
the
line
is
not
blocked
after
all
!
These
are
the
London
morning
letters
that
should
have
come
at
8
a.m.
She
snatches
at
them
eagerly
.
They
can
bring
her
no
great
good
news
,
but
they
make
an
unspeakably
welcome
interruption
to
the
uniform
dismalness
of
the
long
day
.
They
remove
the
terrible
feeling
of
isolation
from
all
humankind
,
which
hour
by
hour
has
been
gaining
ground
upon
her
.
There
is
a
pile
for
the
Professor
;
and
for
her
a
large
fat
envelope
,
bulging
with
enclosures
,
and
directed
in
Sarah
's
hand
.
She
draws
her
chair
more
closely
to
the
hearth
,
and
folds
her
soft
furs
warmlier
about
her
.
She
will
enjoy
her
letters
at
luxurious
leisure
.
She
unfastens
the
cover
,
and
the
enclosures
fall
out
,
six
in
number
;
a
note
from
Sarah
herself
,
four
letters
addressed
in
well-known
and
on
this
occasion
warmly-welcomed
female
hand-writings
,
and
one
in
an
unknown
male
hand
.
Is
it
unknown
?
CHAPTER
IX
.
"
Es
ist
eine
alte
Geschichte
,
Doch
bleibt
sie
immer
neu
;
Und
wem
sie
just
passiret
,
Dem
bricht
das
Herz
entzwei
.
"
At
first
it
seems
so
;
but
as
she
looks
there
rises
in
her
memory
,
from
which
indeed
it
is
never
long
absent
,
the
image
of
another
letter
,
to
whose
superscription
this
one
,
though
less
ill-written
,
has
surely
a
strange
likeness
.
She
continues
to
look
at
it
;
a
fear
too
terrible
for
words
rising
in
her
heart
,
and
depriving
her
of
the
power
of
opening
it
.
The
fire
crackles
comfortably
.
The
Professor
turns
the
page
of
his
letter
.
It
is
his
third
;
and
she
has
not
yet
opened
her
first
.
"
I
hope
you
have
good
news
from
home
?
"
he
says
politely
.
"
I
—
I
believe
so
,
"
she
answers
stammering
.
"
I
am
not
quite
sure
yet
.
"
She
must
conquer
this
ridiculous
hesitation
.
Probably
,
certainly
,
she
is
the
victim
of
hallucination
—
of
an
accidental
resemblance
.
The
likeness
is
no
doubt
confined
to
the
address
.
As
soon
as
she
sees
the
letter
itself
,
she
will
laugh
at
her
own
foolish
fancies
.
She
tears
it
open
,
and
tremblingly
turns
to
the
signature
.
There
was
no
hallucination
—
no
accidental
resemblance
!
She
was
right
.
"
David
Rivers
.
"
For
the
first
moment
she
is
drowned
in
a
rush
of
insensate
joy
,
followed
in
one
instant
by
such
an
anguish
of
horror
as
makes
her
for
a
while
unconscious
of
everything
around
her
—
everything
but
that
rending
,
burning
,
searing
pain
.
He
has
written
to
her
at
last
!
What
has
he
to
say
to
her
now
?
To
congratulate
her
upon
her
marriage
?
He
might
have
spared
her
that
thrust
!
She
will
not
read
it
!
She
will
burn
it
unread
!
—
by-and-by
—
not
now
!
—
when
she
can
do
it
unobserved
.
Her
shaking
fingers
refold
the
paper
,
hide
it
on
her
lap
beneath
the
fur
,
and
take
up
another
letter
—
Sarah
's
.
She
goes
straight
through
it
,
nor
till
reaching
the
last
sentence
does
she
discover
that
not
one
word
of
its
contents
has
found
entry
to
her
brain
.
It
is
no
use
!
That
letter
must
be
read
.
It
burns
her
knee
as
it
lies
on
it
.
It
is
burning
,
burning
all
through
her
.
It
is
better
to
know
the
worst
!
But
to
read
it
here
under
her
husband
's
eyes
—
her
husband
'
s
!
She
casts
at
him
one
desperate
look
,
and
then
,
suddenly
rising
,
flies
out
of
the
room
.
He
may
call
after
her
—
she
thinks
that
he
does
so
—
but
she
makes
no
kind
of
answer
.
Up
the
draughty
stairs
she
flies
into
her
bedroom
;
turning
the
key
in
the
lock
,
as
she
shuts
the
door
behind
her
.
The
Professor
,
relenting
,
has
given
her
leave
to
have
a
fire
there
;
but
the
chimney
smokes
so
furiously
that
it
has
had
to
be
long
ago
let
out
.
The
room
is
piercingly
,
savagely
,
truculently
cold
;
but
though
she
has
been
thinking
of
the
cold
all
day
,
she
is
now
not
aware
of
it
.
How
can
one
be
cold
with
a
red-hot
iron
in
one
's
heart
?
In
a
moment
she
has
turned
up
the
gas
and
lit
the
candles
.
It
is
well
to
have
plenty
of
light
by
which
to
read
one
's
death-warrant
.
But
she
cannot
spare
time
to
sit
down
.
A
frantic
haste
to
possess
the
contents
of
that
letter
which
,
five
minutes
ago
,
she
had
thought
herself
capable
of
burning
unread
,
has
laid
hold
of
all
her
trembling
being
.
Standing
,
she
reads
it
;
and
this
is
what
she
reads
:
'
5
,
Paradise
Row
,
Milnthorpe
,
'
Yorkshire
.
'
January
10
th
.
January
10
th
!
Why
,
that
was
her
wedding-day
!
It
is
not
to
congratulate
her
upon
her
marriage
,
then
;
he
could
not
have
known
it
!
"
Thank
God
!
I
may
write
to
you
at
last
,
though
I
do
not
suppose
that
it
will
be
much
good
even
now
,
as
I
am
so
mad
with
joy
that
I
doubt
whether
I
shall
be
able
to
make
any
sense
of
it
.
You
will
have
understood
—
you
always
understand
everything
—
what
has
kept
me
from
you
hitherto
.
Of
course
you
heard
,
as
everybody
did
,
of
the
bankruptcy
that
preceded
and
caused
my
poor
father
's
death
.
Whatever
you
may
have
heard
,
do
not
for
a
moment
believe
that
he
was
to
blame
for
it
.
I
am
such
a
bad
hand
at
writing
,
that
I
can
explain
to
you
better
when
we
meet
;
but
I
cannot
bear
you
to
remain
in
such
an
error
for
a
moment
longer
than
I
can
help
.
His
ruin
was
caused
by
a
sudden
and
most
unexpected
rise
in
iron
,
just
after
he
had
undertaken
an
enormous
contract
to
deliver
many
thousand
tons
of
iron
rails
in
America
at
a
low
price
.
It
was
a
misfortune
that
might
have
happened
to
anyone
,
however
long-sighted
and
cautious
.
You
know
what
he
was
to
me
:
I
have
often
thought
since
of
how
I
must
have
bored
you
bragging
about
him
.
You
may
think
what
that
home-coming
was
to
me
!
Well
,
if
there
had
been
time
for
it
,
I
think
I
should
have
given
in
altogether
then
.
Happily
for
me
there
was
not
.
If
I
broke
down
,
where
would
mother
and
the
young
ones
be
?
No
sooner
was
the
funeral
over
,
than
we
discovered
that
the
smash
was
so
complete
that
,
at
all
events
until
the
affairs
could
be
wound
up
—
a
matter
probably
of
several
years
—
there
would
be
scarcely
enough
for
mother
to
keep
body
and
soul
together
.
The
boys
must
be
educated
;
three
of
them
quite
little
chaps
.
There
was
nothing
for
it
but
to
give
up
whatever
hopes
one
had
of
one
's
own
!
God
alone
knows
whether
or
not
that
was
a
wrench
.
We
took
a
little
house
in
a
dirty
back
street
in
Milnthorpe
—
I
am
writing
in
it
now
;
but
to-day
it
looks
to
me
like
a
palace
.
I
was
fortunate
enough
to
obtain
a
clerkship
in
a
house
,
one
of
the
partners
in
which
had
been
an
early
friend
of
my
father
's
;
a
clerkship
which
,
as
I
was
always
very
bad
at
quill-driving
,
and
the
confinement
,
to
which
I
had
not
been
used
,
knocked
me
up
,
I
soon
exchanged
for
a
place
in
the
works
.
We
got
on
as
well
as
we
could
:
mother
has
infinite
pluck
,
and
the
young
ones
did
their
best
.
Sometimes
I
thought
of
writing
to
you
.
If
you
had
ever
answered
a
note
I
scrawled
to
you
just
before
I
left
Dresden
,
I
think
I
should
have
done
so
;
but
you
did
not
:
of
course
you
were
right
.
For
eighteen
months
I
worked
without
a
holiday
.
Not
having
been
brought
up
to
it
,
I
was
at
such
a
disadvantage
with
the
other
men
.
I
scraped
along
from
day
to
day
,
not
daring
to
look
much
ahead
,
until
,
two
posts
ago
,
we
received
a
letter
from
the
lawyer
of
an
old
and
distant
connection
of
ours
,
of
whom
we
knew
little
,
and
expected
less
,
to
say
that
he
was
dead
,
and
had
left
£
30
,
000
by
will
,
to
be
divided
amongst
us
.
This
of
course
makes
a
very
fair
provision
for
mother
and
the
children
,
and
leaves
my
arms
free
to
work
for
myself
.
You
must
decide
whether
they
are
to
work
for
you
too
.
Is
it
any
wonder
that
I
cannot
write
sense
?
May
I
come
?
When
may
I
come
?
Do
not
keep
me
waiting
long
,
or
I
shall
come
without
leave
.
Darling
!
darling
!
darling
!
I
suppose
that
I
have
no
right
to
call
you
that
,
but
do
not
be
angry
;
I
did
not
write
it
!
it
wrote
itself
,
and
I
cannot
scratch
it
out
,
it
looks
so
pretty
written
!
After
twenty
months
,
one
might
be
afraid
that
many
women
had
forgotten
one
;
but
you
are
not
of
those
that
forget
!
Love
!
have
you
forgotten
Wesenstein
?
"
David
Rivers
.
"
She
has
read
it
through
,
without
a
break
or
a
pause
,
to
the
signature
.
There
is
no
more
,
but
yet
she
still
stands
looking
at
it
.
For
one
all-happy
moment
the
present
is
dead
to
her
;
only
the
past
wholly
lives
.
Has
she
forgotten
Wesenstein
?
She
smiles
rosily
;
such
a
smile
as
has
scarcely
been
seen
to
visit
her
face
since
that
very
Wesenstein
day
.
"
Darling
!
darling
!
darling
!
"
She
counts
them
.
There
are
three
.
He
says
that
they
look
pretty
written
.
He
is
right
:
they
have
a
pretty
look
.
A
slight
noise
breaks
her
trance
.
It
is
only
the
Professor
poking
the
fire
in
the
sitting-room
below
;
a
sound
plainly
audible
through
the
thin
flooring
.
But
if
it
had
been
the
great
Trump
of
Doom
,
it
could
not
have
more
effectually
blared
and
shivered
away
her
visions
.
There
is
a
growing
wildness
in
her
eyes
,
as
they
retrace
the
sentences
of
the
just-read
letter
.
It
is
a
good
letter
.
No
woman
need
wish
to
have
an
honester
or
a
fonder
one
from
her
own
true
love
.
It
has
only
the
one
trifling
drawback
of
having
come
just
three
days
too
late
.
It
is
scarcely
tactful
to
have
thrust
itself
thus
untimely
between
her
and
the
husband
of
her
choice
!
"
It
is
my
own
choice
,
"
she
says
;
"
there
lies
the
point
of
the
joke
!
"
and
she
laughs
aloud
.
Something
in
the
sound
of
her
own
laugh
frightens
her
.
"
Am
I
going
mad
?
"
she
asks
herself
.
As
she
speaks
,
she
staggers
to
the
window
,
and
throws
up
the
sash
;
whether
—
even
in
this
icehouse
atmosphere
—
gasping
for
yet
more
air
,
or
driven
by
some
darker
impulse
.
For
the
moment
the
hurricane
has
lulled
.
Outside
it
is
all
white
with
snow
and
moonshine
:
the
moon
herself
not
absolutely
visible
,
too
low
to
cut
even
her
accustomed
track
upon
the
silvered
sea
,
betrayed
only
by
the
sudden
pale
flash
that
each
loud
wave
gives
in
turning
over
on
the
strand
.
Ceaselessly
,
as
it
has
been
snowing
all
day
,
the
devilish
wind
has
swept
the
pavement
clean
and
bare
.
She
can
see
the
flagstones
'
fierce
wet
shine
immediately
beneath
her
.
How
hard
they
look
!
and
at
what
a
distance
below
her
!
One
step
from
that
easily
accessible
sill
,
and
she
will
be
for
ever
healed
of
that
pain
,
than
which
none
worse
ever
made
dying
man
in
deadly
straits
call
upon
death
to
set
him
free
.
But
Death
,
the
gentle
genius
with
the
reversed
torch
laying
his
soft
hand
,
coolly
liberating
,
on
the
over-weary
heart
,
is
not
akin
to
the
grisly
,
gory
,
murderous
phantom
that
she
in
her
misery
invokes
.
For
that
dread
step
even
her
perfect
woe
has
not
yet
ripened
her
.
She
shivers
moaning
back
from
the
razoredged
outer
air
,
and
shuts
the
window
.
She
sits
down
by
the
table
,
and
spreading
out
the
letter
before
her
,
reads
it
deliberately
through
again
.
Not
a
tear
dims
her
dry
eye
.
They
say
that
the
worst
of
a
thunder-storm
is
past
when
the
rain
comes
.
The
worst
of
a
human
sorrow
is
past
when
the
tear-rain
comes
.
But
Belinda
's
grief
is
far
indeed
from
having
reached
that
better
stage
.
What
would
she
not
give
for
a
few
tears
,
or
that
this
hideous
keenness
of
consciousness
might
melt
away
blurred
into
a
merciful
swoon
!
But
she
is
as
far
from
the
one
relief
as
the
other
.
If
it
had
been
written
one
day
earlier
!
If
she
had
yielded
to
Sarah
's
passionate
persuasions
to
delay
her
marriage
for
one
month
!
If
—
if
!
There
are
a
hundred
ifs
;
any
one
of
which
might
have
opened
heaven
to
her
!
But
not
one
of
them
did
.
"
It
is
my
own
choice
!
"
she
keeps
repeating
,
half
aloud
;
and
then
comes
again
that
terrible
impulse
to
laugh
loudly
at
the
ghastly
irony
of
it
!
the
mirth
of
it
!
Her
own
choice
to
be
sitting
here
alone
and
marrow-chilled
—
chilled
,
yet
with
a
red-hot
sword
slowly
turning
and
turning
in
her
heart
;
afraid
even
to
groan
aloud
,
lest
she
should
be
overheard
,
instead
of
—
But
the
reverse
of
that
picture
she
dare
not
face
.
That
is
the
road
that
lies
straight
to
madness
.
Her
eye
wanders
wildly
yet
again
over
the
page
.
Even
it
,
in
cruelty
,
seems
always
to
fasten
on
the
fondest
phrases
:
"
I
am
so
mad
with
joy
!
"
"
Is
it
any
wonder
that
I
cannot
write
sense
?
"
As
she
looks
at
the
words
,
written
in
such
pure
,
glad
,
good
faith
,
but
that
seem
to
stare
back
at
her
now
in
grinning
mockery
,
a
great
dry
sob
rocks
her
whole
body
to
and
fro
.
The
pity
,
lavished
hitherto
on
herself
alone
,
now
changes
its
current
,
and
pours
in
bitterest
flood
over
him
.
"
Mad
with
joy
!
"
until
when
?
Until
casually
taking
up
the
newspaper
,
he
reads
that
on
the
10th
of
January
James
Forth
,
Professor
of
Etruscan
in
the
University
of
Oxbridge
,
took
to
wife
at
St.
Jude
's
Church
,
—
Street
,
Mayfair
,
Belinda
,
elder
daughter
of
the
late
John
Churchill
,
Esq.
,
of
Churchill
Park
,
Loamshire
.
He
will
not
believe
it
!
He
will
think
that
some
one
has
inserted
it
as
a
joke
.
In
humiliating
torrent
,
and
with
a
retentiveness
of
memory
of
which
she
had
not
believed
herself
capable
,
there
rushes
back
into
her
mind
the
stream
of
hold-cheap
jests
and
jeers
and
quips
,
in
which
they
had
united
the
forces
of
their
joint
wits
,
at
the
expense
of
him
who
is
now
her
husband
;
whom
at
this
moment
she
hears
shovelling
coal
on
the
fire
in
the
room
beneath
her
.
Upon
no
one
's
testimony
but
her
own
will
Rivers
believe
it
.
And
what
words
can
she
find
in
which
to
tell
him
?
Again
that
fierce
sobbing
shakes
her
from
head
to
foot
;
but
she
masters
it
.
For
a
few
moments
she
sits
in
motionless
miserable
thinking
.
Then
apparently
an
idea
strikes
her
;
for
she
rises
,
and
taking
the
candle
in
her
hand
drags
herself
to
the
looking-glass
.
For
a
moment
she
peers
haggardly
into
it
.
At
all
events
her
face
is
not
disfigured
by
tears
;
and
the
only
person
to
whose
scrutiny
it
will
be
subjected
is
no
very
nice
observer
of
its
variations
.
Apparently
she
is
satisfied
with
the
result
of
her
consultation
,
for
she
moves
to
the
door
,
and
opening
and
unlocking
it
,
passes
downstairs
and
re-enters
the
sitting-room
.
Mr.
Forth
is
in
exactly
the
same
posture
as
that
in
which
she
had
left
him
,
except
that
,
having
finished
his
letters
,
he
has
been
able
again
completely
to
entomb
himself
—
hands
and
all
—
in
his
wraps
;
out
of
which
only
an
elderly
face
—
its
wrinkles
ploughed
deeper
by
cold
and
crabbediness
—
now
peeps
.
"
Where
have
you
been
?
What
have
you
been
doing
all
this
time
?
"
he
inquires
captiously
.
"
I
have
been
in
my
room
.
"
She
had
dreaded
lest
there
may
be
something
so
unusual
in
the
sound
of
her
voice
that
he
may
turn
round
and
look
at
her
.
But
no
!
he
keeps
his
attitude
of
peevish
crouching
over
the
hearth
.
"
I
hope
that
the
fire
was
burning
well
,
"
he
says
anxiously
.
"
If
the
grate
is
of
the
same
construction
as
this
one
,
it
will
require
constant
attention
.
"
"
I
—
I
—
do
not
think
that
it
was
burning
at
all
,
"
replies
Belinda
uncertainly
.
Till
this
moment
it
has
never
struck
her
how
many
degrees
of
frost
have
been
adding
physical
to
her
mental
suffering
.
"
Not
burning
?
Not
lit
?
"
In
a
moment
he
has
leapt
to
the
bell
and
violently
rung
it
;
but
as
Maria
's
movements
in
responding
to
it
are
marked
by
no
greater
celerity
than
usual
,
there
is
time
for
the
whole
of
the
following
little
dialogue
before
her
arrival
.
"
Have
you
been
pasting
up
the
windows
?
If
not
,
I
am
at
a
loss
to
conceive
what
can
have
induced
you
to
spend
the
best
part
of
an
hour
in
such
an
atmosphere
.
"
"
I
—
I
—
have
not
pasted
them
up
;
I
will
if
you
like
.
"
"
You
have
left
the
door
open
.
"
"
I
am
very
sorry
;
I
will
shut
it
.
"
"
What
are
you
doing
over
there
?
Why
do
not
you
come
and
sit
down
?
"
"
I
—
I
—
am
looking
for
the
Daily
News
!
"
"
The
Daily
News
!
What
do
you
want
with
the
Daily
News
?
Is
it
possible
that
you
have
already
forgotten
that
you
made
a
roll
out
of
all
the
newspapers
to
fill
the
aperture
under
the
door
?
not
"
—
ungratefully
—
"
that
it
has
been
of
any
use
.
"
"
I
did
not
take
the
Daily
News
;
I
laid
it
aside
.
"
She
does
not
explain
why
she
laid
it
aside
.
"
What
do
you
want
with
the
Daily
News
?
"
fretfully
,
fidgeted
by
her
movements
.
She
is
on
her
knees
before
the
cupboard
to
which
her
husband
had
planned
to
confide
the
custody
of
his
bacon
,
and
from
which
she
has
been
unable
wholly
to
exclude
jam-pots
and
pickle-jars
.
She
had
forgotten
that
they
were
there
,
and
the
sight
of
them
—
unlikely
as
it
would
seem
that
such
poor
trifles
could
either
add
to
or
take
aught
from
the
sum
of
so
great
a
grief
—
the
sight
of
them
seems
to
be
the
last
drop
that
brims
her
cup
.
In
after
life
it
seems
to
her
as
if
nothing
had
brought
her
so
near
self-destruction
as
those
picklepots
!
What
does
she
want
with
the
Daily
News
?
A
desperate
impulse
seizes
her
.
She
will
tell
him
.
"
I
want
it
in
order
to
cut
out
the
advertisement
of
our
marriage
,
to
send
to
—
"
She
pauses
.
The
name
sticks
in
her
throat
.
With
the
best
will
in
the
world
,
she
cannot
pronounce
it
.
"
To
my
mother
?
"
suggests
the
Professor
,
filling
up
the
blank
conjecturally
.
"
I
have
already
done
so
.
"
Belinda
laughs
a
laugh
like
the
one
that
had
made
her
question
her
own
sanity
upstairs
.
"
No
,
not
to
your
mother
;
to
—
to
—
an
—
acquaintance
of
my
own
!
"
She
has
found
the
journal
now
—
found
it
in
the
very
spot
to
which
she
herself
had
—
as
one
does
—
unconsciously
tidied
it
away
.
In
an
instant
,
as
if
it
were
printed
in
her
own
red
blood
,
her
eye
has
flashed
upon
the
announcement
;
picked
it
out
from
the
long
list
.
Her
work-basket
,
in
which
lie
the
scissors
with
which
she
must
cut
it
out
,
lies
on
the
table
at
her
husband
's
elbow
.
She
stands
quietly
beside
him
,
snipping
,
snipping
delicately
,
in
the
gaslight
.
There
must
be
no
jagged
edges
;
nothing
that
tells
of
emotion
—
nothing
that
will
betray
to
him
to
whom
it
is
to
be
sent
that
each
cut
of
those
fine
,
sharp
scissors
was
into
her
own
heart
.
"
I
cannot
think
what
is
the
use
of
occupying
yourself
about
it
to-night
!
"
says
her
husband
,
venting
the
ill-humour
engendered
by
Maria
's
tardiness
in
replying
to
his
spells
upon
the
nearest
object
—
as
many
better
men
than
he
have
done
before
him
.
"
The
country
post
is
long
gone
.
Probably
all
the
lines
are
blocked
—
"
"
I
know
!
I
know
!
"
interrupts
she
harshly
;
"
but
I
had
rather
get
it
done
to-night
!
to-morrow
I
—
I
—
may
have
forgotten
!
"
She
is
back
in
her
own
room
again
,
having
taken
the
opportunity
to
slip
out
unquestioned
,
afforded
by
Maria
's
appearance
at
last
—
Maria
in
that
reluctant
,
grudging
humour
with
which
she
usually
offers
services
,
cheered
by
no
hope
of
final
largess
;
a
hope
that
the
Professor
has
seen
fit
,
immediately
upon
his
arrival
,
to
extirpate
.
Belinda
is
in
her
room
again
alone
;
but
alone
and
undisturbed
she
knows
that
she
cannot
long
remain
,
but
that
she
will
be
speedily
followed
by
Maria
with
coal-box
and
shavings
to
re-light
the
extinct
fire
.
What
she
has
to
do
,
must
be
done
quickly
.
She
opens
her
writing-case
;
takes
out
envelope
and
paper
;
directs
the
first
,
and
then
writes
on
the
latter
,
in
a
large
,
painstaking
,
legible
hand
,
"
From
Belinda
Forth
.
"
It
has
not
taken
one
minute
in
the
doing
:
Maria
's
pursuing
foot
is
not
yet
heard
:
happily
she
will
be
as
slow
as
she
can
.
Belinda
blots
it
carefully
;
then
,
after
steadfastly
and
with
perfect
tearlessness
considering
her
own
handiwork
for
the
space
of
a
moment
,
she
lifts
the
paper
to
her
dry
lips
,
and
lays
a
solemn
good-bye
kiss
upon
her
own
name
;
upon
the
"
Belinda
,
"
that
is
carefully
avoiding
the
"
Forth
.
"
She
has
no
manner
of
doubt
that
he
will
find
it
there
:
and
who
can
grudge
them
such
a
parting
embrace
?
Then
,
without
any
further
delay
,
she
folds
the
paper
,
inserts
in
it
the
advertisement
,
closes
and
stamps
the
envelope
.
It
is
done
!
accomplished
!
and
now
that
it
is
so
,
an
intense
restless
craving
seizes
her
,
that
it
should
be
on
its
journey
.
In
any
case
,
it
cannot
leave
Folkestone
to-night
;
but
at
least
she
might
do
her
part
.
It
might
be
committed
to
the
post
.
The
thought
of
it
lying
here
all
night
;
meeting
her
again
in
the
morning
—
God
above
her
!
what
will
that
morning
waking
be
!
—
is
more
than
she
can
face
.
But
to
whom
can
she
confide
it
?
To
Maria
?
That
high-spirited
person
would
flatly
refuse
to
brave
the
elements
on
such
a
night
;
and
neither
man
nor
mouse
could
blame
her
.
To
that
grimy
Gibeonite
—
the
boot
and
shoe
boy
?
He
would
infallibly
commit
it
to
his
breeches-pocket
,
and
dismiss
it
from
his
mind
.
Why
should
not
she
take
it
herself
?
There
is
a
pillar-post
not
twenty
yards
from
their
door
.
The
thought
has
no
sooner
crossed
her
mind
than
it
is
half
way
towards
accomplishment
.
In
a
moment
she
has
taken
hat
and
additional
furs
from
the
wardrobe
;
has
fastened
them
on
as
quickly
as
her
treambling
fingers
will
let
her
,
and
has
stolen
downstairs
,
creeping
on
tiptoe
past
the
sitting-room
door
;
a
needless
caution
,
for
the
Professor
,
though
not
at
all
deaf
,
has
no
longer
that
fineness
of
hearing
which
is
spared
to
few
of
us
after
forty
.
Neither
does
she
,
as
she
feared
she
would
,
meet
Maria
and
the
coal-box
.
The
hall-door
is
not
locked
,
and
opens
easily
;
rather
too
easily
indeed
,
for
no
sooner
is
it
unlatched
than
a
force
as
of
ten
thousand
Titans
violently
pushing
dashes
it
back
.
It
is
all
that
she
can
do
,
after
repeated
efforts
,
and
putting
forth
her
whole
strength
,
to
shut
it
behind
her
.
When
she
at
length
succeeds
,
it
closes
with
a
bang
that
—
as
she
is
aware
by
former
experience
—
makes
every
floor
leap
.
Again
she
laughs
out
loud
.
The
temporary
moonlit
lull
is
over
;
the
cloud-rack
has
sponged
out
moon
and
sea
.
The
great
hurricane
is
awake
and
in
wrath
again
.
There
seems
to
be
nothing
in
all
creation
but
himself
and
his
terribler
snow-sister
.
The
air
is
so
full
of
the
white
flurry
—
close
and
fine
as
flour
—
that
it
makes
breathing
difficult
.
Belinda
gasps
.
She
has
to
stand
still
for
a
moment
,
that
her
feet
may
grasp
firm
hold
of
the
ground
,
else
will
the
north-easter
,
in
one
of
its
furious
freaks
,
take
her
bodily
off
them
.
Then
she
staggers
resolutely
on
again
;
a
lonely
fighter
through
the
raging
winter
night
.
Of
every
slightest
lull
she
takes
advantage
to
quicken
her
pace
.
Now
and
again
she
turns
her
back
upon
the
suffocating
snow
in
order
to
breathe
.
But
not
for
one
moment
does
she
repent
of
having
come
.
She
feels
no
hostility
towards
,
no
fear
of
,
the
dreadful
elements
.
Is
not
she
as
desperate
as
they
?
The
hand-to-hand
fight
with
them
does
her
good
.
It
seems
to
lift
some
of
the
lead
from
her
brain
;
to
set
further
away
from
her
that
madness
that
had
loomed
so
near
.
But
the
twenty
yards
seem
more
like
twenty
miles
.
She
has
reached
the
pillar-post
at
last
—
an
opportune
momentary
lifting
of
the
storm
revealing
to
her
its
snow-whitened
red
—
has
found
the
aperture
,
and
has
dropped
into
it
the
letter
so
carefully
,
painstakingly
kept
dry
beneath
her
cloak
.
Yes
!
it
is
gone
!
gone
past
recall
!
as
past
recall
as
the
wood
at
Wesenstein
;
as
the
friend
on
whose
coffin
we
have
seen
fall
the
first
cruel
spadeful
of
earth
.
But
of
this
she
has
no
time
to
think
.
A
fresh
frenzy
of
the
tornado
obliges
her
to
cling
half-stunned
to
the
pillar
;
and
the
moment
that
she
looses
her
hold
,
the
snow-wind
takes
her
in
its
fearful
hands
and
hurls
her
back
along
the
Leas
.
For
one
dread
moment
it
seems
to
her
that
it
is
about
to
hurl
her
far
away
over
the
cliff
into
the
awful
lap
of
the
bellowing
waves
that
,
even
now
,
she
can
hear
in
the
darkness
savagely
tearing
at
the
great
hewn
stones
of
the
quay
.
That
one
instant
reveals
to
her
that
the
life
she
had
thought
herself
capable
of
throwing
away
is
still
sweet
.
By
a
great
effort
her
feet
recover
their
hold
of
the
ground
which
has
fled
from
beneath
them
;
but
not
until
she
has
been
swept
far
past
the
house
to
which
she
is
struggling
to
return
.
Battling
,
blinded
,
and
dizzy
;
bewildered
by
the
darkness
,
and
by
the
hopeless
uniformity
of
the
row
of
buildings
,
it
is
long
before
,
groping
for
the
door
that
continually
eludes
her
,
she
at
length
finds
it
;
at
length
she
finds
herself
within
its
shelter
.
Maria
does
not
recognise
her
at
first
,
so
battered
and
snow-covered
is
she
;
but
Belinda
pays
no
heed
to
her
expressions
of
incredulous
astonishment
.
It
is
possible
that
she
may
be
so
deafened
by
the
elemental
roar
as
not
to
hear
them
.
Without
much
consciousness
of
how
the
intervening
stair-flights
were
climbed
,
she
finds
herself
again
in
her
room
.
The
gas
is
still
turned
high
up
,
as
she
had
left
it
.
Maria
has
at
length
relit
the
fire
;
there
is
plenty
of
light
for
her
to
see
her
bridal
chamber
by
.
Plenty
of
light
,
too
,
to
see
the
blotting-pad
on
which
she
had
so
lately
blotted
the
three
words
of
her
billet
de
faire
part
.
She
takes
it
up
,
and
holds
it
to
the
looking-glass
.
How
plainly
the
three
words
come
out
;
not
a
letter
,
not
a
stroke
missed
!
"
From
Belinda
Forth
.
"
She
mutters
them
over
and
over
under
her
breath
.
"
From
Belinda
Forth
!
"
"
From
Belinda
Forth
!
"
She
is
roused
by
a
voice
calling
from
below
:
"
Belinda
!
Belinda
!
"
It
is
her
husband
.
Let
him
call
!
The
summons
is
repeated
with
more
stress
and
urgency
:
"
Belinda
!
Belinda
!
"
Is
not
it
the
voice
which
will
go
on
calling
"
Belinda
!
"
through
life
?
Is
not
it
the
voice
to
which
she
herself
has
given
the
right
to
call
Belinda
;
to
command
Belinda
;
to
chide
Belinda
;
immeasurably
worst
of
all
,
to
caress
Belinda
?
Of
what
use
,
then
,
to
break
out
thus
early
into
senseless
,
bootless
revolt
?
She
hastily
shakes
the
powdery
snow
from
her
clothes
,
drags
off
her
soaked
shoes
,
twists
afresh
her
wet
and
streaming
hair
,
and
goes
decently
and
orderly
down
again
;
decently
and
orderly
to
all
appearance
,
for
who
can
see
the
wheels
that
are
whirring
in
her
head
,
and
the
flashes
of
uneasy
light
before
her
eyes
?
She
finds
her
bridegroom
in
his
former
attitude
:
it
seems
to
her
as
if
she
could
have
better
borne
him
and
it
,
if
he
had
changed
his
position
ever
so
little
.
But
no
!
he
is
still
mumping
,
round-backed
,
over
the
fire
.
"
I
called
repeatedly
,
"
he
says
,
with
a
not
altogether
blamable
irritation
;
"
is
it
possible
that
you
did
not
hear
me
?
"
There
is
no
answer
,
the
wheels
in
her
head
are
going
so
fast
.
"
Where
have
you
been
?
what
have
you
been
doing
?
"
"
I
have
been
out
.
"
"
Out
!
You
must
be
a
madwoman
!
"
"
So
I
sometimes
say
to
myself
,
"
replies
she
very
distinctly
,
and
looking
straight
at
him
as
she
speaks
.
"
And
may
I
ask
,
"
continues
he
sarcastically
,
"
what
induced
you
to
choose
this
peculiarly
tempting
evening
for
a
stroll
?
"
"
I
went
to
post
my
letter
.
"
"
Pshaw
!
"
She
has
taken
her
former
seat
opposite
to
him
.
The
north-easter
's
lash
has
whipped
up
a
royal
red
into
her
cheeks
,
usually
so
far
too
pale
.
"
There
is
no
accounting
for
taste
,
"
she
says
slowly
;
"
mine
has
often
been
blamed
.
You
,
at
least
,
have
no
right
to
complain
of
it
.
Shall
I
read
to
you
?
"
As
she
speaks
,
she
takes
up
the
book
laid
down
over-night
,
and
without
further
permission
launches
into
the
first
paragraph
she
sees
.
She
has
been
conscious
,
on
coming
into
the
now
really
warm
room
out
of
the
frozen
stinging
air
,
of
an
odd
sensation
in
her
head
.
It
feels
light
and
swimming
,
but
she
reads
on
.
Now
and
then
the
type
waves
up
and
down
before
her
like
the
furrows
of
a
ploughed
field
;
but
she
reads
on
.
The
matter
of
the
book
and
the
matter
of
her
thoughts
are
woven
hopelessly
together
like
warp
and
woof
,
but
she
reads
on
:
"
'
If
it
could
be
demonstrated
that
any
complex
organ
existed
which
could
not
possibly
have
been
formed
by
numerous
successive
slight
modifications
'
(
in
how
many
years
am
I
likely
to
die
?
)
'
my
theory
would
absolutely
break
down
.
But
I
can
find
out
no
such
case
.
No
doubt
many
organs
exist
of
which
'
(
can
the
worm
that
never
dies
sting
more
sharply
than
this
?
)
'
we
do
not
know
the
transitional
grades
.
'
"
How
the
print
is
jigging
and
bowing
;
but
it
will
come
straight
and
still
again
just
now
.
She
reads
on
.
"
Pray
repeat
that
last
paragraph
;
I
am
unable
to
follow
you
;
you
are
making
nonsense
of
it
!
"
But
instead
of
complying
,
Belinda
tumbles
the
volume
noisily
down
into
the
fender
,
and
falls
off
her
chair
after
it
.
Her
wish
is
fulfilled
:
she
has
fainted
!
PERIOD
III
.
"
Love
goes
towards
love
as
schoolboys
from
their
books
;
But
love
from
love
towards
school
with
heavy
looks
.
"
CHAPTER
I
.
The
winter
,
with
its
terrible
stress
and
fury
,
is
over
and
past
.
People
sitting
in
blooming
spring
gardens
or
by
widely-opened
windows
,
talk
comfortably
,
with
lips
no
longer
chapped
,
of
the
great
snow-storm
,
and
compare
notes
as
to
the
amount
of
personal
inconvenience
and
discomfort
to
which
it
had
exposed
them
.
Anecdotes
of
the
awful
night
spent
in
snow-stopped
trains
have
formed
the
convenient
opening
for
many
a
dinner
talk
;
the
anxiety
on
the
part
of
each
interlocutor
to
prove
that
he
or
she
had
suffered
more
than
the
other
,
leading
to
intimacy
before
soup
is
well
over
.
Of
its
ferocity
and
its
devil-work
few
overt
traces
now
remain
,
except
killed
laurel
bushes
and
rare
thrushes
.
Out
of
how
many
sweet
little
throats
full
of
music
has
it
pinched
the
tender
life
!
But
over
its
wrecks
the
sea
rolls
;
and
in
the
bottomless
sea
of
mothers
'
hearts
its
drowned
sailors
lie
buried
.
And
does
the
analogy
between
the
material
and
the
spiritual
world
hold
good
?
Does
the
sea
of
oblivion
smoothly
heave
and
largely
sweep
above
the
soul
that
went
down
on
that
dread
night
?
Does
no
spar
pierce
the
flood
to
show
where
that
good
ship
foundered
?
It
would
be
the
opinion
of
outsiders
,
who
have
not
visited
Oxbridge
—
if
they
had
formed
an
opinion
at
all
upon
the
subject
,
and
were
asked
for
it
—
that
the
inhabitants
of
that
university
town
dwell
in
grey
and
ancient
houses
,
time-coloured
,
and
with
flavours
of
old
learning
still
hanging
about
their
massy
roof-trees
.
In
point
of
fact
,
their
lives
are
passed
for
the
most
part
in
flippant
spick
and
span
villas
and
villakins
,
each
with
its
half
acre
of
tennis-ground
and
double
daisies
,
all
so
new
that
scarcely
anyone
has
had
time
to
die
there
,
though
numerous
people
have
taken
leave
to
be
born
there
,
and
forming
in
their
ensemble
an
ugly
,
irrelevant
,
healthy
suburb
,
that
would
not
disgrace
a
cotton
city
of
to-day
.
It
is
mid-May
,
and
the
hour
is
one
of
the
afternoon
ones
;
an
hour
at
which
luncheon
is
already
forgotten
,
though
tea
still
smiles
not
near
.
Along
the
shining
river
,
a
mile
away
,
eight-oars
,
four-oars
,
skiffs
are
flashing
.
Scores
of
happy
boys
are
tearing
down
the
path
alongside
,
keeping
company
with
their
boats
,
exhorting
,
admonishing
,
shouting
themselves
hoarse
.
But
their
noise
,
though
strong
are
their
young
lungs
,
does
not
reach
in
faintest
echoes
to
the
quiet
drawing-room
,
where
the
as
quiet
lady
sits
,
head
on
lily
hand
,
beside
the
window
,
staring
out
at
her
plot
of
forget-me-nots
and
the
gold
shower
of
her
two
laburnum
trees
.
Warm
as
the
day
is
,
a
fire
burns
on
the
hearth
;
a
fire
whose
inconvenient
heat
Belinda
is
languidly
trying
to
counteract
by
the
agency
of
the
fan
,
slowly
waving
in
her
unoccupied
hand
.
It
is
too
hot
even
for
Slutty
,
who
,
shortly
panting
in
her
sleep
,
lies
cast
on
her
fat
side
in
a
cool
corner
.
Upon
Slutty
's
figure
,
an
academic
life
,
and
the
total
absence
of
the
thinning
emotion
of
envy
,
and
of
the
bad
but
emaciating
passion
of
jealousy
(
an
absence
caused
by
the
fact
of
her
being
sole
dog
of
the
establishment
,
and
having
no
longer
any
cause
for
suffering
from
Punch
's
tinselly
accomplishments
)
has
begun
to
tell
.
She
could
not
well
look
stouter
or
less
intellectual
if
she
were
one
of
the
old
Fellows
of
St.
Bridget
's
.
When
last
we
saw
Belinda
,
she
was
lying
grovelling
among
cinders
and
fire-irons
in
a
fender
.
Now
she
is
sitting
placid
and
upright
on
a
window-seat
.
Is
the
change
that
has
taken
place
in
her
soul
's
attitude
as
much
to
her
advantage
as
that
which
has
effected
itself
in
her
body
's
?
Who
can
tell
?
She
is
past
the
age
when
a
smeared
face
,
puckered
lips
and
bawling
cries
mean
grief
;
when
ruddy
cheeks
and
shouting
laughter
mean
joy
.
She
does
not
look
particularly
happy
,
perhaps
,
but
which
of
us
is
conscious
of
looking
specially
radiant
as
he
or
she
sits
alone
,
with
no
one
to
summon
to
the
surface
of
the
skin
that
latent
cheerfulness
,
of
which
few
have
enough
to
spend
it
on
ourselves
alone
?
And
yet
,
at
this
moment
,
the
thoughts
passing
through
her
mind
are
not
disagreeable
ones
;
scarcely
thoughts
indeed
,
lazy
summer
impressions
rather
,
of
the
pleasantness
of
the
tiny
sky-coloured
meadow
that
lies
,
all
turquoise
,
under
her
eyes
,
and
calls
itself
her
forget-me-not
bed
;
of
the
round
mother-swallow
's
head
,
peeping
over
the
nest
beneath
the
eaves
.
At
some
further
thought
or
sensation
,
a
slight
but
definite
smile
breaks
up
the
severe
lines
of
her
young
yet
melancholy
mouth
.
At
the
sound
of
the
opening
door
,
however
,
in
one
instant
it
is
dead
.
"
I
find
you
unoccupied
!
"
says
her
husband
,
entering
and
advancing
towards
her
,
with
that
shuffling
gait
which
plainly
tells
of
slippers
(
she
has
not
then
been
able
to
break
him
of
carpet
slippers
)
.
"
If
I
am
unoccupied
it
is
for
the
first
time
to-day
!
"
she
answers
coldly
.
"
Since
you
are
at
leisure
,
"
he
pursues
—
his
want
of
surprise
at
her
frigid
tone
betraying
that
it
is
her
habitual
one
—
"
I
have
the
less
scruple
in
claiming
your
services
.
"
"
What
is
it
that
you
want
?
"
she
asks
,
lifting
her
eyes
to
his
face
.
It
is
pleasant
to
be
looked
full
at
by
a
handsome
woman
;
but
if
she
has
,
before
looking
at
you
,
taken
care
to
put
as
much
frost
as
they
can
hold
into
her
fine
blue
eyes
,
the
pleasure
is
very
sensibly
lessened
.
"
What
do
you
want
?
We
cannot
surely
be
going
to
have
any
more
Menander
to-day
;
and
I
have
written
all
your
letters
—
they
lie
on
your
study-table
,
and
I
have
exactly
followed
your
directions
as
to
each
.
"
"
It
is
precisely
upon
that
subject
that
I
wished
to
speak
to
you
,
"
rejoins
he
,
glancing
at
a
paper
in
his
hand
.
"
You
have
by
no
means
succeeded
in
expressing
the
exact
shade
of
meaning
I
wished
to
convey
in
this
letter
to
Herr
Schweizer
of
Göttingen
,
with
regard
to
the
new
'
Fragment
of
Empedocles
;
'
and
I
am
afraid
that
I
must
trouble
you
to
re-write
it
.
"
"
And
I
am
afraid
that
I
must
trouble
you
to
excuse
me
,
"
replies
she
quietly
,
but
with
asperity
;
"
my
tale
of
bricks
for
today
is
really
complete
.
"
There
is
a
moment
's
silence
,
during
which
Belinda
turns
her
head
pointedly
away
towards
the
laburnum
tree
and
the
emerald
grass
;
but
the
Professor
shows
no
signs
of
retreating
.
"
If
I
were
taking
you
from
any
other
employment
,
I
might
hesitate
,
"
he
says
,
with
peevish
pertinacity
;
"
but
since
you
are
wholly
unoccupied
—
"
"
I
am
unoccupied
at
this
particular
moment
,
"
answers
she
,
with
an
accent
of
carefully
elaborated
patience
,
which
,
to
the
meanest
observer
,
would
betray
the
depths
of
her
impatience
;
"
but
in
five
minutes
I
shall
not
be
unoccupied
;
in
five
minutes
I
set
off
to
the
station
to
meet
Sarah
,
who
,
as
you
are
aware
,
is
to
arrive
by
the
4.35
train
.
You
do
not
,
I
suppose
,
wish
me
to
take
a
hansom
?
"
(
with
a
faint
sarcastic
smile
of
a
very
different
quality
from
that
little
one
lately
addressed
to
the
swallow
and
the
flowers
)
,
"
and
the
day
is
too
warm
for
it
to
be
possible
to
walk
fast
.
"
At
the
mention
of
Miss
Churchill
,
a
distinct
new
crumple
of
ill-humour
has
added
itself
to
the
already
numerous
wrinkles
of
Mr.
Forth
's
face
.
"
I
am
unable
to
see
that
any
obligation
to
meet
the
train
lies
upon
you
,
"
he
says
obstinately
;
"
your
sister
is
eminently
well
able
to
take
care
of
herself
!
"
Belinda
shrugs
her
shoulders
.
"
It
is
a
mere
matter
of
habit
,
of
course
,
"
she
says
in
a
key
of
low
resentment
.
"
If
you
have
been
born
in
a
walk
of
life
in
which
it
is
habitual
to
you
to
push
and
elbow
for
yourself
,
of
course
there
is
no
reason
why
you
should
not
enjoy
it
;
but
you
must
remember
that
this
is
not
Sarah
's
case
;
and
since
you
declined
to
extend
your
hospitality
to
her
maid
,
she
is
alone
.
"
At
the
end
of
this
conciliatory
speech
she
stops
,
and
there
is
a
pause
,
which
the
Professor
shortly
breaks
.
"
If
you
think
it
necessary
,
"
he
says
grudgingly
,
"
I
am
willing
to
send
a
servant
to
meet
your
sister
;
but
I
must
request
you
to
abandon
the
idea
of
going
yourself
,
by
which
means
you
will
be
left
free
to
render
me
the
trifling
service
I
require
of
you
.
"
"
You
insist
upon
your
pound
of
flesh
,
in
fact
!
"
cries
she
,
rising
suddenly
;
her
body
trembling
,
and
her
great
eyes
lightening
with
anger
and
disappointment
.
"
Well
,
you
are
more
fortunate
than
your
prototype
!
You
will
get
it
.
"
To
his
death-day
,
the
German
savan
will
never
suspect
with
what
hotly
raging
and
rebellious
fingers
were
penned
those
polite
,
lucid
,
and
erudite
lines
upon
Empedocles
'
newly-discovered
"
Fragment
,
"
which
he
shortly
received
.
It
is
long
before
the
Professor
can
satisfy
his
own
fastidious
ear
and
captious
mind
as
to
the
fitness
of
the
phrases
to
be
employed
.
Many
a
sheet
is
angrily
torn
across
by
Belinda
;
many
a
fresh
one
is
sullenly
begun
before
her
task
is
ended
—
before
her
"
guide
,
philosopher
,
and
friend
,
"
induing
,
with
her
aid
—
aid
given
grudgingly
and
not
unasked
—
his
cap
and
gown
,
leaves
her
side
to
attend
a
college
meeting
.
Not
until
the
banging
of
the
house-door
tells
her
that
he
is
really
gone
,
does
she
give
herself
the
indulgence
of
an
enormous
sigh
.
Throwing
herself
back
in
the
leathern
chair
,
in
which
she
has
been
sitting
at
the
writing-table
,
with
weary
long
arms
clasped
behind
her
neck
,
and
dogged
eyes
staring
at
the
flies
on
the
ceiling
—
"
God
loveth
a
cheerful
giver
!
"
she
says
aloud
.
"
He
is
not
much
like
God
!
"
(
to
a
woman
,
the
man
that
she
loves
and
the
man
that
she
hates
are
equally
nameless
,
equally
he
)
.
"
So
as
he
gets
his
pound
of
flesh
,
his
tale
of
bricks
,
what
does
he
care
?
"
As
she
speaks
,
acrid
tears
issue
from
their
hidden
ducts
,
and
brim
her
eyes
;
but
she
shakes
them
vehemently
away
.
She
will
not
give
to
Sarah
's
penetrating
eye
the
chance
of
seeing
that
she
has
wept
.
"
I
will
not
be
pitied
!
"
she
says
,
rising
,
and
pulling
herself
together
;
"
she
shall
not
pity
me
!
no
one
shall
!
"
She
goes
away
to
her
own
room
,
changes
her
gown
for
a
fresher
one
,
dresses
her
hair
more
becomingly
,
and
practises
looking
happy
in
the
glass
.
Before
she
has
nearly
perfected
herself
in
this
accomplishment
,
she
is
driven
from
it
by
the
sight
and
sound
of
a
slow
fly
,
rocking
top-heavily
under
a
gigantic
dress-basket
,
which
is
making
for
her
gate
.
Sarah
is
here
,
and
she
will
not
be
at
the
door
to
welcome
her
.
The
thought
lends
wings
to
her
young
heels
,
and
the
colour
and
the
smile
that
she
has
been
vainly
aiming
at
,
to
her
cheeks
and
lips
.
Five
minutes
ago
she
did
not
think
that
anything
could
have
caused
her
such
a
throb
of
pleasure
as
the
dear
old
sound
of
that
jovial
high
laugh
,
as
the
sight
of
that
Dresden
china
face
and
of
those
monstrously
irrational
shoes
are
now
giving
her
.
When
they
lived
together
,
they
seldom
or
never
kissed
each
other
.
Now
they
cannot
hold
each
other
tight
enough
.
Is
it
only
Sarah
that
Belinda
is
kissing
?
Is
not
it
dead
youth
,
dear
love
,
sweet
Wesenstein
,
too
,
that
she
is
so
straitly
embracing
?
Over
the
souls
of
both
sisters
—
the
sad
elder
and
the
radiant
younger
—
the
recollection
of
their
last
miserable
parting
on
that
hideous
January
morning
has
poured
!
For
a
moment
or
two
neither
of
them
could
have
uttered
a
syllable
,
had
you
paid
them
a
thousand
pounds
a
word
.
They
are
brought
back
to
common
life
by
the
sound
of
very
small
jingling
bells
,
and
by
a
sensation
as
of
something
tightly
wound
round
their
legs
.
It
is
Punch
,
who
,
unmindful
of
the
chain
that
has
bound
him
all
the
way
down
from
London
,
and
delighted
to
be
again
in
the
fresh
air
and
among
friends
,
is
tearing
wildly
round
,
offering
eager
but
unreciprocated
greetings
to
Slutty
,
who
,
dodging
away
from
him
,
shrewish
and
snarling
,
practically
refuses
to
admit
him
as
an
acquaintance
at
all
.
"
Why
,
Punch
!
"
says
Belinda
,
with
a
rather
unsteady
laugh
,
dropping
on
her
knees
,
taking
the
excited
little
dog
under
the
arms
,
and
looking
kindly
in
his
Ethiop
face
;
"
you
here
?
and
who
invited
you
,
pray
?
"
"
I
am
afraid
that
nobody
invited
him
,
"
replies
Sarah
demurely
;
"
but
he
was
so
sure
that
it
was
an
oversight
,
and
he
says
Jane
is
no
companion
,
and
he
sent
so
many
messages
to
Slutty
,
that
I
thought
it
was
the
simplest
plan
to
bring
him
;
do
you
mind
?
"
with
the
old
wheedling
in
her
voice
and
her
saucy
eyes
.
"
Do
I
mind
?
"
repeats
Belinda
,
with
a
reproachful
yet
apprehensive
stress
upon
the
pronoun
,
passing
her
lips
lightly
over
the
top
of
his
tawny
head
.
"
Punch
!
is
it
likely
I
should
mind
?
"
"
Will
he
mind
?
"
inquires
Sarah
,
speaking
very
low
,
and
mouthing
a
good
deal
,
as
though
labouring
under
a
misgiving
that
the
person
of
