CHAPTER ELEVEN

onandJinny,hethoughtthemthemostremarkablepeoplehehadevermet—beingofcourseunabletoforeseehowitfelloutinthecourseoftimethatCruttendontooktopaintingorchardshadthereforetoliveinKentandmust,onewouldthink,seethroughappleblossombythistime,sincehiswife,forwhosesakehedidit,elopedwithanovelistbutnoCruttendonstillpaintsorchards,savagely,insolitude.ThenJinnyCarslake,afterheraffairwithLefanutheAmericanpainter,frequentedIndianphilosophers,andnowyoufindherinpensionsinItalycherishingalittlejeweller'sboxcontainingordinarypebblespickedofftheroad.Butifyoulookatthemsteadily,shesays,multiplicitybecomesunity,whichissomehowthesecretoflife,thoughitdoesnotpreventherfromfollowingthemacaroniasitgoesroundthetable,andsometimes,onspringnights,shemakesthestrangestconfidencestoshyyoungEnglishmen. Jacobhadnothingtohidefromhismother.Itwasonlythathecouldmakenosensehimselfofhisextraordinaryexcitement,andasforwritingitdown—- "Jacob'slettersaresolikehim,"saidMrs.Jarvis,foldingthesheet. "Indeedheseemstobehaving…"saidMrs.Flanders,andpaused,forshewascuttingoutadressandhadtostraightenthepattern,"…averygaytime." Mrs.JarvisthoughtofParis.Atherbackthewindowwasopen,foritwasamildnightacalmnightwhenthemoonseemedmuffledandtheappletreesstoodperfectlystill. "Ineverpitythedead,"saidMrs.Jarvis,shiftingthecushionatherback,andclaspingherhandsbehindherhead.BettyFlandersdidnothear,forherscissorsmadesomuchnoiseonthetable. "Theyareatrest,"saidMrs.Jarvis."Andwespendourdaysdoingfoolishunnecessarythingswithoutknowingwhy." Mrs.Jarviswasnotlikedinthevillage. "Youneverwalkatthistimeofnight?"sheaskedMrs.Flanders. "Itiscertainlywonderfullymild,"saidMrs.Flanders. YetitwasyearssinceshehadopenedtheorchardgateandgoneoutonDodsHillafterdinner. "Itisperfectlydry,"saidMrs.Jarvis,astheyshuttheorcharddoorandsteppedontotheturf. "Ishan'tgofar,"saidBettyFlanders."Yes,JacobwillleaveParisonWednesday." "Jacobwasalwaysmyfriendofthethree,"saidMrs.Jarvis. "Now,mydear,Iamgoingnofurther,"saidMrs.Flanders.TheyhadclimbedthedarkhillandreachedtheRomancamp. Therampartroseattheirfeet—thesmoothcirclesurroundingthecamporthegrave.HowmanyneedlesBettyFlandershadlostthereandhergarnetbrooch. "Itismuchclearerthanthissometimes,"saidMrs.Jarvis,standingupontheridge.Therewerenoclouds,andyettherewasahazeoverthesea,andoverthemoors.ThelightsofScarboroughflashed,asifawomanwearingadiamondnecklaceturnedherheadthiswayandthat. "Howquietitis!"saidMrs.Jarvis. Mrs.Flandersrubbedtheturfwithhertoe,thinkingofhergarnetbrooch. Mrs.Jarvisfounditdifficulttothinkofherselfto-night.Itwassocalm.Therewasnowindnothingracing,flying,escaping.Blackshadowsstoodstilloverthesilvermoors.Thefurzebushesstoodperfectlystill.NeitherdidMrs.JarvisthinkofGod.Therewasachurchbehindthem,ofcourse.Thechurchclockstruckten.Didthestrokesreachthefurzebush,ordidthethorntreehearthem? Mrs.Flande