"I AM NOT FIT!"
Of a sudden, she turned her head and glanced full in my eyes. Her
thoughts were, like mine, of the past--of those glad and gracious days.
I stood still for a moment, and catching her hands kissed them; my own
were burning.
We went on by the curving course outside the wood quite silent, for the
gloom of the future had settled upon us.
The past! Those days when my Ella was altogether mine! I loved to
linger on those blissful days, for they were lighted with the sweetest
sunlight of my life. Never since, for me, had flowers blossomed, and
fruits ripened, and waters murmured, and grasshoppers sung, and waves
beat joyous music as in the spring and summer of that wondrous time.
To rise when all the world was flushed with the soft pink of the
earliest dawn, and to go hand in hand with her through the breast-high
corn with scarlet poppies clasping the gliding feet; to see the purple
wraith of rain haunting the silvery fairness of the hills; to watch the
shadows chase the sun rays over the wide-open mysterious sea; to feel
the living light of the cloudless day beat us with a million pulses amid
the hum of life all around; to go out into the lustre of the summer's
night; to breathe the air soft as the first kisses of our own new-found
love, and rich as wine with the strong odours of a world of flowers.
These had in those never-to-be-forgotten days been her joys and mine,
joys at once of the senses and the soul.
I loved her so--God knows! and yet almost I hated her. She had, on that
night in Bayswater, deceived me! She had deceived me!
This was the iron in my soul. It is an error so common. Women lie to
men--and men to women for the matter of that--out of mistaken tenderness
or ill-judged compassion, or that curious fear of recrimination from
which the firmest courage is not exempt. A woman deceives a man with
untruth, not because she is base, but because she fears to hurt him with
the truth; fears his reproaches; fears a painful scene, and even when he
is quite worthless she is reluctant to wound his weakness. It is an
error so common in this everyday life of ours: an error that is fatal
always.
Had she been quite frank with me on that night when we had parted we
might not have found ourselves fettered as we now were--she held to a
man who was clearly an adventurer and a blackguard to boot.
Yet how could I reproach her for what was a great and complete
self-sacrifice. No. She had done what was, perhaps, strictly her duty,
even though both our lives had been wrecked in consequence.
"My love!" I murmured passionately, as with a cry I caught her in my
arms, and held her close to me, as a man will hold some dear dead thing.
And was she not, alas! now dead to me?
Our lips met again, but she was still silent. How many moments went I
do not know; as there are years in which a man does not live a moment,
so there are moments in which one lives a lifetime.
Her soft blue eyes closed beneath my kisses, my sense grew faint, the
world became dark, all light and life shut out from me--all dark. But
it was the sweet warm darkness, as though of the balmy night in June;
and even then I know I prayed, prayed to Him that she might still be
mine.
The trance of passion passed. How long it lasted I cannot tell.
After a while, the cloud that had enveloped my senses seemed suddenly to
lift; the sweet unconsciousness died away. I lifted my head and
strained myself backward, still holding her, and yet I shivered as I
stood.