i
in the house at bycars, where he arrived tardily after circuitous wanderings, louis first of all dropped the parcel from faulkner's into the oak chest, raising and lowering the lid without any noise. once, in the train in bleakridge tunnel, he had almost thrown the parcel out of the carriage on to the line, as though it were in some subtle way a piece of evidence against him; but, aided by his vanity, he had resisted the impulse. why, indeed, should he be afraid of a parcel of linen? had he not the right to buy linen when and how he chose? then he removed his hat and coat, hung them carefully in their proper place, smoothed his hair, and walked straight into the parlour. he had a considerable gift of behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened when the contrary was the case. nobody could have guessed from his features that he was calculating and recalculating the chances of immediate imprisonment, and that each successive calculation disagreed with the previous one; at one moment the chances were less than one in a hundred, less than one in a million; at another they increased and multiplied themselves into tragic certainty.
when rachel heard him in the lobby her sudden tears were tears of joy and deliverance. she did not try to restrain them. as she stole back to her chair she ignored all her reasonings against him, and lived only in the fact that he had returned. and she was triumphant. she thought: "now that he is in the house, he is mine. i have him. he cannot escape me. in a caress i shall cancel all the past since his accident. so long as i can hold him i don't care." her soul dissolved in softness towards him; even the body seemed to melt also, till, instead of being a strong, sturdy girl, she was a living tentacular endearment and naught else.
but when, with disconcerting quickness, he came into the room, she hardened again in spite of herself. she simply could not display her feelings. upbringing, habit, environment were too much for her, and spontaneity was checked. had she been alone with a dog she would have spent herself passionately on the dog, imaginatively transforming the dog into louis; but the sight of louis in person congealed her, so that she became a hard mass with just a tiny core of fire somewhere within.
"why cannot i jump up and fall on his neck?" she asked herself angrily. but she could not.
she controlled her tears, and began to argue mentally whether louis had come home because he could not keep away from her, or for base purposes of his own. she was conscious of a desire to greet him sarcastically with the remark, "so you've come back, after all!" it was a wilful, insensate desire; but there it was. she shut her lips on it, not without difficulty.
"i've kept some supper for you," she said, with averted head. she wanted to make her voice kind, but it would not obey her. it was neither kind nor unkind. there were tears in it, however.
they did not look at each other.
"why did you keep supper for me?" he mumbled.
"i thought you might find you weren't well enough to travel," she answered thoughtfully, with her face still bent over the work which she was spoiling with every clumsy, feverish stitch.
this surprising and ingenious untruth came from her without the slightest effort. it seemed to invent itself.
"well," said louis, "i don't happen to want any supper." his accent was slightly but definitely inimical. he perceived that he had an advantage, and he decided to press it.
rachel also perceived this, and she thought resentfully: "how cruel he is! how mean he is!" she hated and loved him simultaneously. she foresaw that peace must be preceded by the horrors of war, and she was discouraged. though determined that he should not escape from the room unreconciled, she was ready to inflict dreadful injuries on him, as he on her. they now regarded each other askance, furtively, as dire enemies.
louis, being deficient in common sense, thought of nothing but immediate victory. he well knew that, in case of trouble with jim horrocleave, he might be forced to humble himself before his wife, and that present arrogance would only intensify future difficulties. also, he had easily divined that the woman opposite to him was a softer rachel than the one he had left, and very ready for pacific compromise. nevertheless, in his polite, patient way, he would persist in keeping the attitude of an ill-used saint with a most clear grievance. and more than this, he wanted to appear absolutely consistent, even in coming home again. could he have recalled the precise terms of his letter, he would have contrived to interpret them so as to include the possibility of his return that night. he fully intended to be the perfect male.
drawing his cigarette-case and match-box from his hip pocket, by means of the silver cable which attached them to his person, he carefully lit a cigarette and rose to put the spent match in the fire. while at the hearth he looked at his plastered face in the glass, critically and dispassionately, as though he had nothing else in the world to do. then his eye caught some bits of paper in the fender—fragments of his letter which rachel had cast into the fire and on to the hearth. he stooped, picked up one white piece, gazed at it, dropped it, picked up another, gazed at it, dropped it fastidiously.
"hm!" he said faintly.
then he stood again at his full height and blew smoke profusely about the mantelpiece. he was very close to rachel, and above her. he could see the top of her bent, mysterious head; he could see all the changing curves of her breast as she breathed. he knew intimately her frock, the rings on her hand, the buckle on her shoe. he knew the whole feel of the room—the buzz of the gas, the peculiarities of the wall-paper, the thick curtain over the door to his right, the folds of the table-cloth. and in his infelicity and in his resentment against rachel he savoured it all not without pleasure. the mere inviolable solitude with this young, strange, provocative woman in the night beyond the town stimulated him into a sort of zest of living.
there was a small sound from the young woman; her breathing was checked; she had choked down a dry sob. this signal, so faint and so dramatic in the stillness of the parlour, at once intimidated and encouraged him.
"what have you done with that money?" he asked, in a cold voice.
"what money?" rachel replied, low, without raising her head. her hand had ceased to move the needle.
"you know what money."
"i took it to julian, of course."
"why did you take it to julian?"
"we agreed i should, last week—you yourself said so—don't you remember?" her tones acquired some confidence.
"no, i don't remember. i remember something was said about letting him have half of it. did you give him half or all of it?"
"i gave him all of it."
"i like that! i like that!" louis remarked sarcastically. "i like your nerve. you do it on the sly. you don't say a word to me; and not content with that, you give him all of it. why didn't you tell me? why didn't you ask me for the money?"
rachel offered no answer.
louis proceeded with more vivacity. "and did he take it?"
"i made him."
"what? all of it? what reason did you give? how did you explain things?"
"i told him you'd had the rest of the money, of course, so it was all right. it wouldn't have been fair to him if some one hadn't told him."
louis now seriously convinced himself that his grievance was tremendous, absolutely unexampled in the whole history of marriage.
"well," said he, with high, gloomy dignity, "it may interest you to know that i didn't have the rest of the money.... if i'd had it, what do you suppose i've done with it?... over five hundred pounds, indeed!"
"then what—?"
"i don't think i want any of your 'then what's.' you wouldn't listen before, so why should you be told now? however, i expect i must teach you a lesson—though it's too late."
rachel did not move. she heard him say that he had discovered the bank-notes at night, under the chair on the landing. "i took charge of them. i collared them, for the time being," he said. "i happened to be counting them when you knocked at my bedroom door. i admit i was rather taken aback. i didn't want you to see the notes. i didn't see any reason why you should know anything about my aunt's carelessness. you must remember you were only a paid employee then. i was close to the fireplace. i just scrunched them up in my hand and dropped them behind the fire-screen. of course i meant to pick them up again instantly you'd gone. well, you didn't go. you seemed as if you wouldn't go. i had to run for the doctor. there was no help for it. even then i never dreamt you intended to light the fire in that room. it never occurred to me for a second.... and i should have thought anybody lighting a fire couldn't have helped seeing a thing like a ball of bank-notes on the top of the grate. i should have thought so. but it seems i was wrong. when i got back of course the whole blooming thing was up the chimney. well, there you are! what was i to do? i ask you that."
he paused. rachel sobbed.
"of course," he continued, with savage quietude, "you may say i might have forced you to listen to me this last week. i might. but why should i? why should i beg and pray? if you didn't know the whole story a week ago, is it my fault? i'm not one to ask twice. i can't go on my knees and beg to be listened to. some fellows could perhaps, but not me!"
rachel was overwhelmed. the discovery that it was she herself, pharisaical and unyielding, who had been immediately responsible for the disappearance of the bank-notes almost dazed her. and simultaneously the rehabilitation of her idol drowned her in bliss. she was so glad to be at fault, so ravished at being able to respect him again, that the very ecstasy of existing seemed likely to put an end to her existence. her physical sensations were such as she might have experienced if her heart had swiftly sunk away out of her bosom and left an empty space there that gasped. she glanced up at louis.
"i'm so sorry!" she breathed.
louis did not move, nor did his features relax in the slightest.
with one hand raised in appeal, surrender, abandonment and the other on the arm of her chair, and her work slipping to the floor, she half rose towards him.
"you can't tell how sorry i am!" she murmured. her eyes were liquid. "louis!"
"and well you may be, if you'll excuse me saying so!" answered louis frigidly.
he was confirmed in his illusory but tremendous grievance. the fundamental lack of generosity in him was exposed. inexperienced though he was in women, he saw in rachel then, just as if he had been twenty years older, the woman who lightly imagines that the past can be wiped out with a soft tone, an endearment, a tear, a touching appeal. he would not let her off so easily. she had horribly lacerated his dignity for a week—he could recall every single hurt—and he was not going to allow himself to recover in a minute. his dignity required a gradual convalescence. he was utterly unaffected by her wistful charm.
rachel moved her head somewhat towards his, and then hesitated. the set hardness of his face was incredible to her. her head began to swim. she thought, "i shall really die if this continues."
"louis—don't!" she besought him plaintively.
he walked deliberately away and nervously played with an "ornament" on the sideboard.
"and let me tell you another thing," said he slowly. "if you think i came back to-night because i couldn't do without you, you're mistaken. i'm going out again at once."
she said to herself, "he has killed me!" the room circled round her, gathering speed, and louis with it. the emptiness in her bosom was intolerable.
ii
louis saw her face turning paler and paler, till it was, really, almost as white as the table-cloth. she fell back into the chair, her arms limp and lifeless.
"confound the girl!" he thought. "she's going to faint now! what an infernal nuisance!"
compunction, instead of softening him, made him angry with himself. he felt awkward, at a loss, furious.
"mrs. tams!" he called out, and hurried from the room. "mrs. tams!" as he went out he was rather startled to find that the door had not been quite closed.
in the lobby he called again, "mrs. tams!"
the kitchen gas showed a speck of blue. he had not noticed it when he came into the house: the kitchen door must have been shut, then. he looked up the stairs. he could discern that the door of mrs. tams's bedroom, at the top, was open, and that there was no light in the room. puzzled, he rushed to the kitchen, and snatched at his hat as he went, sticking it anyhow on his head.
"eh, mester, what ever's amiss?"
with these alarmed words mrs. tams appeared suddenly from behind the kitchen door; she seemed a little out of breath, as far as louis could hear; he could not see her very well. the thought flashed through his mind. "she's been listening at doors."
"oh! there you are," he said, with an effort at ordinariness of demeanour. "just go in to mrs. fores, will you? something's the matter with her. it's nothing, but i have to go out."
mrs. tams answered, trembling: "nay, mester, i'm none going to interfere. i go into no parlour."
"but i tell you she's fainting."
"ye'd happen better look after her yerself, mr. louis," said mrs. tams in a queer voice.
"but don't you understand i've got to go out?"
he was astounded and most seriously disconcerted by mrs. tams's very singular behaviour.
"if ye'll excuse me being so bold, sir," said mrs. tams, "ye ought for be right well ashamed o' yeself. and that i'll say with my dying breath."
she dropped on to the hard windsor chair, and, lifting her apron, began to whimper.
louis could feel himself blushing.
"it seems to me you'd better look out for a fresh situation," he remarked curtly, as he turned to leave the kitchen.
"happen i had, mester," mrs. tams agreed sadly; and then with fire: "but i go into no parlour. you get back to her, mester. going out again at this time o' night, and missis as her is! if you stop where a husband ought for be, her'll soon mend, i warrant."
he went back, cursing all women, because he had no alternative but to go back. he dared not do otherwise.... it was only a swoon. but was it only a swoon? suppose ...! he was afraid of public opinion; he was afraid of mrs. tams's opinion. mrs. tams had pierced him. he went back, dashing his hat on to the oak chest.
iii
rachel was lying on the hearth-rug, one arm stretched nonchalantly over the fender and the hand close to the fire. her face was whiter than any face he had ever seen, living or dead. he shook; the inanimate figure with the disarranged clothes and hair, prone and deserted there in the solitude of the warm, familiar room, struck terror into him. he bent down; he knelt down and drew the arm away from the fire. he knew not in the least what was the proper thing to do; and naturally the first impulse of his ignorance was to raise her body from the ground. but she was so heavy, so appallingly inert, that, fortunately, he could not do so, and he let her head subside again.
then he remembered that the proper thing to do in these cases was to loosen the clothes round the neck; but he could not loosen her bodice because it was fastened behind and the hooks were so difficult. he jumped to the window and opened it. the blind curved inward like a sail under the cold entering breeze. when he returned to rachel he thought he noticed the faintest pinky flush in her cheeks. and suddenly she gave a deep sigh. he knelt again. there was something about the line of her waist that, without any warning, seemed to him ineffably tender, wistful, girlish, seductive. her whole figure began to exert the same charm over him. even her frock, which nevertheless was not even her second best, took on a quality that in its simplicity bewitched him. he recalled her wonderful gesture as she lighted his cigarette on the night when he first saw her in her kitchen; and his memory of it thrilled him.... rachel opened her eyes and sighed deeply once more. he fanned her with a handkerchief drawn from his sleeve.
"louis!" she murmured in a tired baby's voice, after a few moments.
he thought: "it's a good thing i didn't go out, and i'm glad mrs. tarns isn't here blundering about."
"you're better?" he said mildly.
she raised her arms and clasped him, dragging him to her with a force that was amazing under the circumstances. they kissed; their faces were merged for a long time. then she pushed him a little away, and, guarding his shoulders with her hands, examined his face, and smiled pathetically.
"call me louise," she whispered.
"silly little thing! shall i get you some water?"
"call me louise!"
"louise!"
