THE HALT BY THE ROAD
She was the first to speak.
"Jim, we can't ride like this for ever. A good thing if we could! I am
over the first sharpness. Don't choose your words. We can't ride on
like this."
"No, Maud, we can't."
"Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"How did it come about?"
"As such things come about."
"What do you mean?"
"How do such things come about?"
"Does she love you?"
"No."
"What have you said to her? Does she know you care?"
"Yes."
"Ah, as far as that?"
"Since yesterday. Last night I went to end things. Until then not one
word had smirched me or you. I went to say good-bye. She was put
before me like a drink. And----"
"You were parched?"
The horses stood with drooped heads, muzzle to muzzle. The hours were
growing old, and long shadows climbed across the grasses. A wide
hat sheltered her from the sun; but he thought she looked tired and
worn, and he wondered which lines summer had drawn there and which he
had traced. Next he fell to asking himself if sorrow could sharpen
eyesight, for he found himself looking past her body upon her good
spirit. It would find food for new growth out of this hurt. Two years
ago they had knelt together and received an equal gift. What a good
housewife she had proved! What a spendthrift he!
"The afternoon is nearly gone, Jim. I made a promise to be back by
sunset. I don't know what to say. I must go on feeling for a little
while and then I shall be able to think. I don't understand a man's
love. He can put it off and on like a cloak. He wears a woman's livery
for a season to find it shabby after that time and himself in need of a
newer one. You have worn mine through two seasons and no doubt I should
be duly glad."
"Gently."
"I am raw still. Too sick and sorry to stoop about picking up soft
words. No, forget what I said. You have made me angry and hurt and
scornful, and, if you will have it, jealous; but you have not the art
to make me love you any less. Nothing can unteach me what I have learnt
through you. You can never make me unhappy as you have made me happy."
"What am I to say?"
"I must be going home."
"Listen to me. Because of what has happened, don't think I'm such a
dullard that I don't know the worth of what I had. What ails me! Soon
I'll be past caring. I'm at odds with my shadow. I'm too full of ill
humours to pull myself on to a horse's back, too sick with things to
try a day's work. If you want revenge you can be satisfied."
She saw his face grow keen with sorrow, and last traces of bitterness
against him left her. In place arrived a great pity, and a greediness
to heal his hurts. She turned away, and thoughtfully with her light
fingers began to thread the mane of the big chestnut horse. She laid
the hairs this way and that with care, but little she knew of her work.
She was thinking with all her might.
She loved this man, and what was love but service? She must serve him
now he was in such evil case. What were her wounds but red lips opening
in her side that they might speak his wounds and tell them balm was
coming. This was the highest hour of their love, when love was to be
crowned with understanding. Let her be speedy and not spend all day
debating. A poor passenger was fallen sick by the way, and here was
she, loaded with her ointments, who had talked much of her skill. What
was love but service, and she said she loved this man?
"What are we to do?"
"There is nothing to do."
"Are you going home?"
"I told her I would go back."
"It's time I started home, Jim."
"Maud!"
"Don't look so serious. You are in worse case than I am. I can laugh at
myself and I doubt that of you. Before I go, promise me you will still
come to Surprise. It's a sleepy place. You won't find things changed
there."
"Yes."
"And now you have promised that, will you come to-morrow? A square
promise, fair weather or black, a day's work to do or nothing on hand."
"Yes."
"Good-bye, Jim."
"Good-bye, Maud."
The old horse moved away when she gathered up her reins.