Mavis invested a fraction of her savings in the purchase of rod,
fishing tackle, landing net, and bait can; she also bought a yearly
ticket from the Avon Conservancy Board, entitling her to fish with one
rod in the river at such times as were not close seasons. Most
evenings, her graceful form might be seen standing on the river bank,
when she was so intent on her sport that it would seem as if she had
grown from the sedge at the waterside. Womanlike, she was enthusiastic
over fishing when the fish were on the feed and biting freely, to tire
quickly of the sport should her float remain for long untroubled by
possible captures nibbling at the bait. She avoided those parts of the
river where anglers mostly congregated; she preferred and sought the
solitude of deserted reaches. Perigal, at the same time, developed a
passion for angling. Most evenings, he would be found on the river's
bank, if not in Mavis' company, at least near enough to be within call,
should any assistance or advice be required. It was remarkable how
often each would want help or counsel on matters piscatorial from the
other. Sometimes Mavis would want a certain kind of hook, or she would
be out of bait, or she would lose one of the beaded rings on her float,
all being things which she had no compunction in borrowing from
Perigal, inasmuch as he always came to her when he wanted anything
himself. It must also be admitted that, as the days flew by, their
excuses for meeting became gradually more slender, till at last they
would neglect their rods to talk together for quite a long time upon
any and every subject under the sun, save fishing.
Once or twice, when owing to Perigal's not making an appearance, Mavis
spent the evening alone, she would feel keenly disappointed, and would
go home with a strong sense of the emptiness of life.
During her day at the office, or when in her lodgings, she was either
absent-minded or self-conscious; she was always longing to get away
with only her thoughts for company. She would sometimes sigh for
apparently no reason at all. Then Miss Toombs lent her a volume of
Shelley, the love passages in which Mavis eagerly devoured. Her
favourite time for reading was in bed. She marked, to read and reread,
favourite passages. Often in the midst of these she would leave off,
when her mind would pursue a train of thought inspired by a phrase or
thought of the poet. Very soon she had learned 'Love's Philosophy' by
heart. The next symptom of the ailment from which she was suffering was
a dreamy languor (frequently punctuated by sighs), which disposed her
to offer passionate resentment to all forms of physical and mental
effort. This mood was not a little encouraged by the fact of the hay
now lying on the ground, to the scent of which she was always
emotionally susceptible.
Perigal renounced fishing at the same time as did Mavis. He had a fine
instinct for discovering her whereabouts in the meadows bordering the
river.
For some while, she had no hesitation in suffering herself to cultivate
his friendship. If she had any doubts of the wisdom of the proceeding,
there were always two ample justifications at hand.
The first of these was that her association with him had effected a
considerable improvement in his demeanour. He was no longer the
mentally down-at-heel, soured man that he had been when Mavis first met
him. He had taken on a lightness of heart, which, with his slim, boyish
beauty, was very attractive to Mavis, starved as she had been of all
association with men of her own age and social position. She believed
that the beneficent influence she exercised justified the hours she
permitted him of her society.
The other reason was that she deluded herself into believing that her
sighs and Shelley-inspired imaginings were all because of Windebank's
imminent return. She thought of him every day, more especially since
she had met Perigal. She often contrasted the two men in her thoughts,
when it would seem as if Windebank's presence, so far as she remembered
it, had affected her life as a bracing, health-giving wind; whereas
Perigal influenced her in the same way as did appealing music, reducing
her to a languorous helplessness. She had for so long associated
Windebank with any sentimental leanings in which she had indulged, that
she was convinced that her fidelity to his memory was sufficient
safeguard against her becoming infatuated with Perigal.
Thus she travelled along a road, blinding herself the while to the
direction in which she was going. But one day, happening to obtain a
glimpse of its possible destination, she resolved to make something of
an effort, if not to retrace her way (she scarcely thought this
necessary), to stay her steps.
Perigal had told her that if he could get the sum he wanted from his
father, he would shortly be going somewhere near Cardiff, where he
would be engaged in the manufacture of glazed bricks with a partner.
The news had frightened her. She felt as if she had been dragged to the
edge of a seemingly bottomless abyss, into which it was uncertain
whether or not she would be thrown. To escape the fate that threatened,
she threw off her lethargy, to resume her fishing and avoid rather than
seek Perigal. Perhaps he took the hint, or was moved by the same motive
as Mavis, for he too gave up frequenting the meadows bordering the
river. His absence hurt Mavis more than she could have believed
possible. She became moody, irritable; she lost her appetite and could
not sleep at night. To ease her distress of mind, she tried calling on
her old friends, the Medlicotts, and her new ones, the Trivetts. The
former expressed concern for her altered appearance, which only served
to increase her despondency, while the music she heard at Pennington
Farm told of love dreams, satisfied longings, worlds in which romantic
fancy was unweighted with the bitterness and disappointment of life, as
she now found it, all of which was more than enough to stimulate her
present discontent.
She had not seen or heard anything of Perigal for two weeks, when one
July evening she happened to catch the hook of her line in her hand.
She was in great pain, her efforts to remove the hook only increasing
her torment. She was wondering what was the best way of getting help,
when she saw Perigal approaching. Her first impulse was to avoid him.
With beating heart, she hid behind a clump of bushes. But the pain in
her hand became so acute that she suddenly emerged from her concealment
to call sharply for assistance. He ran towards her, asking as he came:
"What's the matter?"
"My hand," she faltered. "I've caught the hook in it."
"Poor dear! Let me look."
"Please do something. It hurts," she urged, as she put out her hand,
which was torn by the cruel hook.
"What an excellent catch! But, all the same, I must get it out at
once," he remarked, as he produced a pocket knife.
"With that?" she asked tremulously.
"I won't hurt you more than I can help, you may be sure. But it must
come out at once, or you'll get a bad go of blood poisoning."
"Do it as quickly as possible," she urged.
She set her lips, while he cut into the soft white flesh.
However much he hurt her, she resolved not to utter a sound. For all
her fortitude, the trifling operation pained her much.
"Brave little Mavis!" he said, as he freed her flesh from the hook, to
ask, as she did not speak, "Didn't it hurt?"
"Of course it did. See how it's bleeding!"
"All the better. It will clear the poison out."
Mavis was hurt at the indifference he exhibited to her pain.
"Would you please tie my handkerchief round it?" she asked.
"Let it bleed. What are you thinking of?"
"I want to get back."
"Where's the hurry?"
"Only that I want to get back."
"But I haven't seen you for ages."
"Haven't you?" she asked innocently.
"Cruel Mavis! But before you go back you must wash your hand in the
river."
"I'll do nothing of the kind."
"Not if it's for your good?"
"Not if I don't wish it."
"As it's for your good, I insist on your doing what I wish," he
declared, as he caught her firmly by the wrist and led her, all
unresisting, to the river's brink. She was surprised at her
helplessness and was inclined to criticise it impersonally, the while
Perigal plunged her wounded hand into the water. Her reflections were
interrupted by a sharp pain caused by the contact of water with the
torn flesh.
"It's better than blood poisoning," he hastened to assure her.
"I believe you do it on purpose to hurt me," she remarked, upon his
freeing her hand.
"I'm justified in hurting you if it's for your good," he declared
calmly. "Now let me bind it up."
While he tied up her hand, she looked at him resentfully, the colour
heightening on her cheek.
"I wish you'd often look like that," he remarked.
"I shall if you treat me so unkindly."
He took no notice of the accusation, but said:
"When you look like that it's wonderful. Then certain verses in the
'Song of Solomon' might have been written to you."
"The 'Song of Solomon'?"
"Don't you read your Bible?"
"But you said some of them might have been written to me. What do you
mean?"
"They're the finest love verses in the English language. They might
have been written to you. They're quite the best thing in the Bible."
She was perplexed, and showed it in her face; then, she looked
appealingly to him for enlightenment. He disregarded the entreaty in
her eyes. He looked at her from head to foot before saying:
"Little Mavis, little Mavis, why are you so alluring?"
"Don't talk nonsense. I'm not a bit," she replied, as something seemed
to tighten at her heart.
"You are, you are. You've soul and body, an irresistible combination,"
he declared ardently.
His words troubled her; she looked about her, large-eyed, afraid; she
did not once glance in his direction.
Then she felt his grasp upon her wrist and the pressure of his lips
upon her wounded hand.
"Forgive me: forgive me!" he cried. "But I know you never will."
"Don't, don't," she murmured.
"Are you very angry?"
"I--I--" she hesitated.
"Let me know the worst."
"I don't know," she faltered ruefully.
His face brightened.
"I'm going to ask you something," he said earnestly.
Mavis was filled with a great apprehension.
"If I weren't a bad egg, and could offer you a home worthy of you, I
wonder if you'd care to marry me?"
An exclamation of astonishment escaped her.
"I mean it," he continued, "and why not? You're true-hearted and
straight and wonderful to look at. Little Mavis is a pearl above price,
and she doesn't know it."
"Ssh! ssh!" she murmured.
"You're a rare find," he said, to add after a moment or two, "and I
know what I'm talking about."
She did not speak, but her bosom was violently disturbed, whilst a
delicious feeling crept about her heart. She repressed an inclination
to shed tears.
"Now I s'pose your upset, eh?" he remarked.
"Why should I be?" she asked with flashing eyes.
It was now his turn to be surprised. She went on:
"It's a thing any woman should be proud of, a man asking her to share
her life with him."
His lips parted, but he did not speak.
She drew herself up to her full, queenly height to say:
"I am very proud."
"Ah! Then--then--"
His hands caught hers.
"Let me go," she pleaded.
"But--"
"I want to think. Let me go: let me go!"
His hands still held hers, but with an effort she freed herself, to run
from him in the direction of her lodging. She did not once look back,
but hurried as if pursued by danger, safety from which lay in the
companionship of her thoughts.
Arrived at Mrs Farthing's, she made no pretence of sitting down to her
waiting supper, but went straight upstairs to her room. She felt that a
crisis had arisen in her life. To overcome it, it was necessary for her
to decide whether or not she loved Charlie Perigal. She passed the best
part of a sleepless night endeavouring, without success, to solve the
problem confronting her. Jill, who always slept on Mavis' bed, was
alive to her mistress' disquiet. The morning sun was already high in
the heavens when Jill crept sympathetically to the girl's side.
Mavis clasped her friend in her arms to say:
"Oh, Jill, Jill! If you could only tell me if I truly loved him!"
Jill energetically licked Mavis' cheek before nestling in her arms to
sleep.
The early morning post brought a letter from Perigal to Mavis, which
she opened with trembling hands and beating heart. It ran:--
"For your sake, not for mine, I'm off to Wales by the early morning
train. If you care for me ever so little (and I am proud to believe you
do), in clearing out of your life, I am doing what I conceive to be the
best thing possible for your future happiness. If it gives you any
pleasure to know it, I should like to tell you I love you. My going
away is some proof of this statement, C. P.
"P.S.--I have written by the same post to Windebank to give him your
address."
Mavis looked at her watch, to discover it was exactly half-past seven.
She ran downstairs, half dressed as she was, to look at the time-table
which Mr Medlicott presented to her on the first of every month. After
many false scents, she discovered, that for Perigal to catch the train
at Bristol for South Wales, he must leave Melkbridge for Dippenham by
the 8.15. Always a creature of impulse, she scrambled into her clothes,
swallowed a mouthful of tea, pinned on her hat, caught up her gloves,
and, almost before she knew what she was doing, was walking quickly
towards the station. She had a little under twenty minutes in which to
walk a good mile. Her one concern was to meet, say something (she knew
not what) to Perigal before he left Melkbridge for good. She arrived
breathless at the station five minutes before his train started. He was
not in the booking office, and she could see nothing of him on the
platform. She was beginning to regret her precipitancy, when she saw
him walking down the road to the station, carrying a much worn leather
brief bag. Her heart beat as she went out to meet him.
"Little Mavis!" he cried.
"Good morning."
"What are you doing here at this time?"
"I came out for a walk."
"To see me off?"
"Perhaps."
"Well, I will say this, you will bear looking at in the morning."
"Why, who won't?"
"Lots of 'em."
"How do you know?"
"Eh! But we can't talk here. It will be all over the town that we
were--were--"
"Going to elope!" she interrupted.
"I wish we were. But, seriously, you got my letter?"
"It's really why I came."
"What?" he asked, astonished.
"It's really why I came."
"What have you to say to me?"
"I don't know."
"Don't you want me to go to Wales?"
"I don't know."
"I must decide soon. Here's the train."
They mechanically turned towards the platform.
"Must you go?" she impulsively asked.
"I could either chuck it or I could put it off till tomorrow."
"Why not do that?"
"But would you see me again?"
"Yes."
"And will you decide then?"
"Perhaps."
"Then I'll see you tonight," he said, as he raised his hat, as if
wishing her to leave him.
Mavis bit her lip as she turned to leave Perigal.
"Goodbye till tonight, little Mavis!"
"Goodbye," she called back curtly.
"One moment," he cried.
She paused.
He went on:
"It was charming of you to come. It's like everything to do with
you--beautiful."
"There's still time for you to get your train," she said, feeling
somewhat mollified by his last words.
"And miss seeing you tonight!" he replied.
Mavis walked to the factory wondering how many people had seen her
talking to Perigal. During her morning's work, her mind was in a
turmoil of doubt as to the advisability of meeting Perigal in the
evening. She could not help believing that, should she see him, as was
more or less arranged, it would prove an event of much moment in her
life, holding infinite possibilities of happiness or disaster. She knew
herself well enough to know that if she were wholly possessed by love
for him she would be to him as clay in the hands of the potter. She
could come to no conclusion; even if she had, she could not be certain
if she could keep to any resolve she might arrive at. During her midday
meal she remembered how Perigal had said that the "Song of Solomon"
might have been written to her. She opened her Bible, found the "Song"
and greedily devoured it. In her present mood its sensuous beauty
entranced her, but she was not a little perplexed by the headings of
the chapters. As with so many others, she found it hard to reconcile
the ecclesiastical claims here set forth at the beginning of each
chapter with the passionate outpourings of the flesh which followed.
She took the Bible with her to the office, to read the "Song" twice
during the interval usually allotted to afternoon tea.
When she got back to Mrs Farthing's, she was long undecided whether she
should go out to meet Perigal. The leanings of her heart inclined her
to keep the appointment, whilst, on the other hand, her strong common
sense urged her to decide nothing until Windebank came back. Windebank
she was sure of, whereas she was not so confident of Perigal; but she
was forced to admit that the elusive and more subtle personality of the
latter appealed more to her imagination than the other's stability.
Presently, she left her lodgings and walked slowly towards the canal,
which was in a contrary direction to that in which lay the Avon. The
calm of the still water inclined her to sadness. She idled along the
towpath, plucking carelessly at the purple vetch which bordered the
canal in luxuriant profusion. More than once, she was possessed by the
idea that someone was following her. Then she became aware that Perigal
was also idling along the towpath some way behind her. The sight of him
made her heart beat; she all but decided to turn back to meet him.
Common sense again fought for the possession of her mind. It told her
that by dawdling till she reached the next bend, she could be out of
sight of Perigal, without exciting his suspicions, when it would be the
easiest thing in the world to hurry till she came to a track which led
from the canal to the town. She was putting this design into practice,
and had already reached the bend, when odd verses of the "Song of
Solomon" occurred to her:
"Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast
doves' eyes.
"As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.
"Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
"Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished
my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
"Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under
thy tongue.
"A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a
fountain sealed.
"How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!
"And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that
goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.
"I am my beloved's, and his desire is towards me.
"I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."
The influence of air, sky, evening sun, and the peace that lay over the
land reinforced the unmoral suggestions of the verses that had leapt in
her memory. Her blood quickened; she sighed, and then sat by the rushes
that, just here, invaded the towpath.
As Perigal strolled towards her, his personality caused that old, odd
feeling of helplessness to steal over her. She, almost, felt as if she
were a fly gradually being bound by a greedy spider's web.
He stood by her for a few moments without speaking.
"You've broken your promise," he presently remarked.
"Haven't you, too?" she asked, without looking up.
"No."
"Sure?"
"I was so impatient to see you, I hung about in sight of your house, so
that I could catch sight of you directly when you came out."
"What about Melkbridge people?"
"What do I care!"
"What about me?"
He turned away with an angry gesture.
"What about me?" she repeated more insistently.
"You know what I said to you, asked you last night."
Mavis hung her head.
"What did you tell Windebank in your letter?" she asked presently.
"Don't talk about him."
"I shall if I want to. What did you say about me?"
"Shall I tell you?" he asked suddenly, as he sat beside her. "I told
him how wholesome and how sweet you were. That's what I said."
"Ssh!"
"Do you know what I should have said?"
Mavis made a last effort to preserve her being from the thraldom of
love. It was in her heart to leave Perigal there and then, but although
the spirit was all but willing, the flesh was weak. As before in his
presence, Mavis was rendered helpless by the odd fascination Perigal
exercised.
"Do you know what I should have said?" he repeated.
Mavis essayed to speak; her tongue would not give speech.
"I'll tell you. I should have said that I love you, and that nothing in
heaven or earth is going to stop my getting you."
"I must go," she said, without moving.
"When I love you so? Little Mavis, I love you, I love you, I love you!"
She trembled all over. He seized her hand, covered it with kisses, and
then tried to draw her lips to his.
"My hand was enough."
"Your lips! Your lips!"
"But--"
"I love you! Your lips!"
He forced his lips to hers. When he released them, she looked at him as
if spellbound, with eyes veiled with wonder and dismay--with eyes which
revealed the great awakening which had taken place in her being.
"I love little Mavis. I love her," he whispered.
The look in her eyes deepened, her lips trembled, her bosom was
violently disturbed. Perigal touched her arm. Then she gave a little
cry, the while her head fell helplessly upon his shoulder.