"I can't abide it," said the man, with the emphasis of sincere feeling.
The others looked at him in surprise. "I'll always be thinking of what
you was," he added hastily.
Sabina's face clouded, but only for a moment. "Let's make the best of
things," she said. "I'm goin' to forget about them times, I'm goin' to
live for the moment."
"I'm not one as forgets," said Leadville heavily.
Revived by food and rest Sabina was soon impatient to begin a further
progress. She trundled herself into the linhay to inspect the milk and
butter; then into the two seldom-used rooms known as the Big and Little
Parlour. Beyond them lay the wide shallow stairs, the door into the
front part of the house and the long Justice Room.
Mrs. Tom threw open the door of this and Sabina, pushing the trolly in,
uttered an exclamation of pleasure. The litter of agricultural
implements, broken harness, bags and boxes, had been cleared away, the
grates had been blacked and the panelled wall painted a shadowy grey.
Between the two fireplaces stood a large bed, the posts of which were
carved with corn, fruit and other emblems of fertility. On it lay a
patchwork quilt, the work of Sabina's grandmother. Drift-wood fires
flamed under the white marble mantelpieces and the coverlet shone with
the glistening silks of other days. The spacious room with its
white-hung bed and its white curtains, smelt of the sea and Sabina
turned and smiled at her husband.
"'Av you moved your clothes down?" she asked.
"Not that I know of."
"Well, you better make 'aste an' do't."
Looking past her into the beautiful room he thought dimly that it was
too large. "I shent like it down 'ere," he said and something ancestral
moved in him, assuring him that the upper parts of a house, the upper
branches, were secure from the marauding enemy, the terror by night.
"Never sleeped on the ground-floor."
Laying a hand affectionately on his shoulder, the woman looked into his
face with a touch of softening and appeal. Surely he would not leave her
to sleep there alone?
To the man, this light touch was illuminating. "Oh, leave'n go," he
muttered.
In the bedroom, Gray Rosevear was moving deftly to and fro, unpacking
Sabina's clothes and laying them in the drawers of the tall-boy. The
man's eyes followed her light figure, at first unconsciously, but before
long with a strange quickening of emotion. If it had been this girl who
was asking him, he would have given up his eyrie with an eager
willingness. He did not understand himself. What was Gray to him?
His wife's voice when she spoke again, seemed a whisper from far away.
"I can't go overstairs," she said pleadingly.
Byron turned his eyes deliberately from Gray's wildflower grace to the
thick shortened figure in the trolly and his incipient repugnance grew.
Sleep with this deformity? He could not bring himself to it. To live
in the same house with her would be difficult; at least he would shut
her out of his nights. Already he knew instinctively what those nights,
moon-silvered, star-set, nights not of bitter brooding but of dreams,
would be to him.
"I can't sleep 'ere."
Sabina sighed. The people had given her the froth of sweet words but
this was reality. "Well, my dear, I can't 'elp it," she said
resignedly. "I can't do much nowadays."
"Ah now, if 'ee'd only reckernize that."
The touch of opposition was a spur. "Still there's a lot as I can do.
This trolly now, 'll 'elp me a lot."
He eyed it with distaste. "Oogly thing, can't think why 'ee do want to
be runnin' round like a toad on a red-'ot shovel. Seein' 'ow you be,
'twould be more to your credit if you was to die down and be quiet,
'stead o goin' about on an old thing like that. You'll be the
laughing-stock of the parish."
"Nothin' 'ud get done."
"Oh, fiddlesticks, 'ow won't the things be done? Can't I do't for yer?"
For the moment Gray was forgotten and he was back at the old gnawing
bitterness.
"Whiles my 'ead's above ground, I'll look after the place myself," said
Sabina who, being tired, was a little captious. She was disappointed
that her welcome home had been so commonplace. She had expected, she
knew not what, but something culminating.
"A pretty mess 'ee'll make of it," muttered Leadville and, turning
about, walked off with himself. When he and Sabina differed, which was
not often--their differences being fundamental, trifles took the
subsidiary place so seldom granted them--he invariably ended the
discussion by going out of the house. With all the open from which to
choose it was easy for him to get away from a woman's tiresomeness, to
get back to his own quiet company and his thoughts.
Sabina looked after the husband whom she had long ago decided was
difficult, but probably not more so than other men, and her heart sank.
She had so wanted Leadville to rejoice with her over her recovery, to be
proud of her. Though she carried herself gallantly there were periods
when her poor heart acknowledged a weakness, a lowness. She had longed
sometimes to stay it on a greater strength.
"Where's Gray goin' to sleep?" asked Mrs. Rosevear who, standing quietly
in the background, had been a shrewd spectator.
"Gray?" said she, and a feeling seldom hitherto experienced, awoke in
her. If she had been as young as Gray, soft-eyed as she, would it have
made a difference?
"Twill be a bit lonely for 'er upstairs," said the mother thoughtfully.
"Though, of course, Leadville'll be near."
But it was envy, not jealousy, that had been awakened in Mrs. Byron.
"Let her come in wi' me. We'll 'av a little bed put up, there's plenty
of room for 'er."
When Leadville came back, and he must in time grow accustomed to the
idea of sleeping on the ground-floor, a fresh arrangement could be made.
Meanwhile the maid would be company. Sabina felt that the place was
peopled with the judges and judged of long ago and, to her Celtic mind,
the shadows moved. In the dark hours it would be comforting to hear the
movements, the breathing, of some one still this side the grave.
From an upper chamber they brought the small bedstead which, when Mrs.
Byron was a girl, had been hers; also a chest of drawers.
"Where's your traaede to?" asked the mother.
"Jim's bringin' it down. I believe he's out in the kitchen now. I'll
go and see."
As she went from the room Mrs. Rosevear sank into the nearest chair.
"I'm glad you'm back, S'bina. I bin so whisht without 'ee. Not a soul
to speak to besides Tom and you can't tell a man very much."
"No, they don't understand." Her thoughts wandered for a moment.
Leadville had been strange in his manner but of course it was only that
he did not understand.
"Now you've seen Jim," continued Mrs. Rosevear, "what do you think of
him?"
Sabina roused herself. "I call 'ee a proper chap," she said smilingly.
"Lovely curly 'air he 'as."
"Yes," confided the mother, "and Gray's as maaeze as a rattle about
'im."
Mrs. Tom's confidences made Sabina feel as if she had a share in the
other's happy motherhood. They sat gossiping until the shadows began to
fill the valley. Jim was a long time on his way with Gray's box--but to
every man and woman their hour!
Leadville, on leaving the house, had turned his face towards the cliff.
Beyond its dark wall was space and light. He took the little path that
led over the head, passed the deep curves of what in prehistoric times
had been the earthworks of a stockaded hold and came out upon a broad
shelf of rock. The tide was in, large green waves were rolling, with a
break like gunfire, into the caves below, and, facing him, was one of
the strange sunsets often seen on that coast. The western sky was
scarlet and across the light was a trail of black clouds.
"A red sky at night, is the shepherd's delight," muttered the man,
flinging himself down above the booming uproar of the water. Below, the
shags were nesting on inaccessible ledges and a solitary seal was diving
through the crests of the green rollers. Byron felt unusually,
inexplicably cheerful. The glories of the sunset were in keeping with
his mood, a mood, as he realized, of the incoming tide. On his shelf of
rock he lay in a happy dream. Hitherto he had loved nothing but a few
acres of land; he had hungered after fields and rocks, had dragged out a
dark existence of craving and disappointment. Now his tormented spirit
was at peace. The wide expanse of heaven changed from scarlet to
poppy-red, the raven clouds grew more numerous and Leadville looked on
with happy eyes. In his breast was a ferment, like the unresting
ferment of the sea, but neither cold nor lifeless. A wind was blowing
steadily from the west, but he did not feel it for he was warm. His
spirit, with its capacity for intense feeling, had crossed a boundary
line, beyond which was neither heat nor cold, hunger nor thirst. He had
loved Wastralls, now he was in the power of a force stronger than that
love, of a force the strongest in the world.
*THE BOOK*