Ferdinand arrived at Volendam. It was a fishing village, only three
miles across country from Monnickendam, but the route, by steam tram and
canal, was so circuitous, that, with luggage, it took one two hours to
get from place to place. He had walked over there with Valentia, and it
had almost tempted them to desert Monnickendam. Ferdinand took a room at
the hotel and walked out, trying to distract himself. The village
consisted of a couple of score of houses, built round a semi-circular
dyke against the sea, and in the semi-circle lay the fleet of fishing
boats. Men and women were sitting at their doors mending nets. He looked
at the fishermen, great, sturdy fellows, with rough, weather-beaten
faces, huge earrings dangling from their ears. He took note of their
quaint costume--black stockings and breeches, the latter more baggy than
a Turk's, and the crushed strawberry of their high jackets, cut close to
the body. He remembered how he had looked at them with Valentia, and the
group of boys and men that she had sketched. He remembered how they
walked along, peeping into the houses, where everything was spick and
span, as only a Dutch cottage can be, with old Delft plates hanging on
the walls, and pots and pans of polished brass. And he looked over the
sea to the island of Marken, with its masts crowded together, like a
forest without leaf or branch. Coming to the end of the little town he
saw the church of Monnickendam, the red steeple half-hidden by the
trees. He wondered where Valentia was--what she was doing.
But he turned back resolutely, and, going to his room, opened his books
and began reading. He rubbed his eyes and frowned, in order to fix his
attention, but the book said nothing but Valentia. At last he threw it
aside and took his Plato and his dictionary, commencing to translate a
difficult passage, word for word. But whenever he looked up a word he
could only see Valentia, and he could not make head or tail of the
Greek. He threw it aside also, and set out walking. He walked as hard as
he could--away from Monnickendam.
The second day was not quite so difficult, and he read till his mind was
dazed, and then he wrote letters home and told them he was enjoying
himself tremendously, and he walked till he felt his legs dropping off.
Next morning it occurred to him that Valentia might have written.
Trembling with excitement, he watched the postman coming down the
street--but he had no letter for Ferdinand. There would be no more post
that day.
But the next day Ferdinand felt sure there would be a letter for him;
the postman passed by the hotel door without stopping. Ferdinand thought
he should go mad. All day he walked up and down his room, thinking only
of Valentia. Why did she not write?
The night fell and he could see from his window the moon shining over
the clump of trees about Monnickendam church--he could stand it no
longer. He put on his hat and walked across country; the three miles
were endless; the church and the trees seemed to grow no nearer, and at
last, when he thought himself close, he found he had a bay to walk
round, and it appeared further away than ever.
He came to the mouth of the canal along which he and Valentia had so
often walked. He looked about, but he could see no one. His heart beat
as he approached the little bridge, but Valentia was not there. Of
course she would not come out alone. He ran to the hotel and asked for
her. They told him she was not in. He walked through the town; not a
soul was to be seen. He came to the church; he walked round, and
then--right at the edge of the trees--he saw a figure sitting on a
bench.
* * * * *
She was dressed in the same flowered dress which she had worn when he
likened her to a Dresden shepherdess; she was looking towards Volendam.
He went up to her silently. She sprang up with a little shriek.
'Ferdinand!'
'Oh, Valentia, I cannot help it. I could not remain away any longer. I
could do nothing but think of you all day, all night. If you knew how I
loved you! Oh, Valentia, have pity on me! I cannot be your friend. It's
all nonsense about friendship; I hate it. I can only love you. I love
you with all my heart and soul, Valentia.'
She was frightened.
'Oh! how can you stand there so coldly and watch my agony? Don't you
see? How can you be so cold?'
'I am not cold, Ferdinand,' she said, trembling. 'Do you think I have
been happy while you were away?'
'Valentia!'
'I thought of you, too, Ferdinand, all day, all night. And I longed for
you to come back. I did not know till you went that--I loved you.'
'Oh, Valentia!'
He took her in his arms and pressed her passionately to him.
'No, for God's sake!'
She tore herself away. But again he took her in his arms, and this time
he kissed her on the mouth. She tried to turn her face away.
'I shall kill myself, Ferdinand!'
'What do you mean?'
'In those long hours that I sat here looking towards you, I felt I loved
you--I loved you as passionately as you said you loved me. But if you
came back, and--anything happened--I swore that I would throw myself in
the canal.'
He looked at her.
'I could not--live afterwards,' she said hoarsely. 'It would be too
horrible. I should be--oh, I can't think of it!'
He took her in his arms again and kissed her.
'Have mercy on me!' she cried.
'You love me, Valentia.'
'Oh, it is nothing to you. Afterwards you will be just the same as
before. Why cannot men love peacefully like women? I should be so happy
to remain always as we are now, and never change. I tell you I shall
kill myself.'
'I will do as you do, Valentia.'
'You?'
'If anything happens, Valentia,' he said gravely, 'we will go down to
the canal together.'
She was horrified at the idea; but it fascinated her.
'I should like to die in your arms,' she said.
For the second time he bent down and took her hands and kissed them.
Then she went alone into the silent church, and prayed.