CHAPTER XI
關燈
小
中
大
faintvoicehadanswered:“Ididn’twantto,Henry—Imighthavebeenwrong—andeveryonehatesillnesses.”Hehadbeentoldofthehorrorbyastrangedoctor,whomshehadconsultedduringhisabsencefromtown.Wasthisaltogetherjust?Withoutfullyexplaining,shehaddied.Itwasafaultonherpart,and—tearsrushedintohiseyes—whatalittlefault!Itwastheonlytimeshehaddeceivedhiminthosethirtyyears.
Herosetohisfeetandlookedoutofthewindow,forEviehadcomeinwiththeletters,andhecouldmeetnoone’seye.Ahyes—shehadbeenagoodwoman—shehadbeensteady.Hechosetheworddeliberately.Tohimsteadinessincludedallpraise.Hehimself,gazingatthewintrygarden,isinappearanceasteadyman.Hisfacewasnotassquareashisson’s,and,indeed,thechin,thoughfirmenoughinoutline,retreatedalittle,andthelips,ambiguous,werecurtainedbyamoustache.Buttherewasnoexternalhintofweakness.Theeyes,ifcapableofkindnessandgood-fellowship,ifruddyforthemomentwithtears,weretheeyesofonewhocouldnotbedriven.Theforehead,too,waslikeCharles’s.Highandstraight,brownandpolished,mergingabruptlyintotemplesandskull,ithadtheeffectofabastionthatprotectedhisheadfromtheworld.Attimesithadtheeffectofablankwall.Hehaddweltbehindit,intactandhappy,forfiftyyears.“Thepost’scome,father,”saidEvieawkwardly.
“Thanks.Putitdown.”
“Hasthebreakfastbeenallright?”
“Yes,thanks.”
Thegirlglancedathimandatitwithconstraint.Shedidnotknowwhattodo.
“CharlessaysdoyouwanttheTimes?”
“No,I’llreaditlater.”
“Ringifyouwantanything,father,won’tyou?”
“I’veallIwant.”
Havingsortedthelettersfromthecirculars,shewentbacktothedining-room.
“Father’seatennothing,”sheannounced,sittingdownwithwrinkledbrowsbehindthetea-urn.
Charlesdidnotanswer,butafteramomentheranquicklyupstairs,openedthedoor,andsaid“Lookherefather,youmusteat,youknow”andhavingpausedforareplythatdidnotcome,stoledownagain.“He’sgoingtoreadhislettersfirst,Ithink,”hesaidevasively“Idaresayhewillgoonwithhisbreakfastafterwards.”ThenhetookuptheTimes,andforsometimetherewasnosoundexcepttheclinkofcupagainstsaucerandofknifeonplate.
PoorMrs.Charlessatbetweenhersilentcompanionsterrifiedatthecourseofevents,andalittlebored.Shewasarubbishylittlecreature,andsheknewit.AtelegramhaddraggedherfromNaplestothedeath-bedofawomanwhomshehadscarcelyknown.Awordfromherhusbandhadplungedherintomourning.Shedesiredtomourninwardlyaswell,butshewishedthatMrs.Wilcox,sincefatedtodie,couldhavediedbeforethemarriage,forthenlesswouldhavebeenexpectedofher.Crumblinghertoast,andtoonervoustoaskforthebutter,sheremainedalmostmotionless,thankfulonlyforthis,thatherfather-in-lawwashavinghisbreakfastupstairs.
AtlastCharlesspoke.“Theyhadnobusinesstobepollardingthoseelmsyesterday,”hesaidtohissister.
“No,indeed.”
“Imustmakeanoteofthat,”hecontinued.“Iamsurprisedthattherectorallowedit.”
“Perhapsitmaynotbetherector’saffair.”
“Whoseelsecoulditbe?”
“Thelordofthemanor.”
“Impossible.”
“Butter,Dolly?”
“Thankyou,Eviedear.Charles—”
“Yes,dear?”
“Ididn’tknowonecouldpollardelms.Ithoughtoneonlypollardedwillows.”
“Ohno,onecanpollardelms.”
“Thenwhyoughtn’ttheelmsinthechurchyardtobepollarded?”Charlesfrownedalittle,andturnedagaintohissister.
“Anotherpoint.ImustspeaktoChalkeley.”
“Yes,ratheryoumustcomplaintoChalkeley.”
“It’snogoodhissayingheisnotresponsibleforthosemen.Heisresponsible.”
“Yes,rather.”
Brotherandsisterwerenotcallous.Theyspokethus,partlybecausetheydesiredtokeepChalkeleyuptothemark—ahealthydesireinitsway—partlybecausetheyavoidedthepersonalnoteinlife.AllWilcoxesdid.Itdidnotseemtothemofsupremeimportance.OritmaybeasHelensupposed:theyrealiseditsimportance,butwereafraidofit.Panicandemptiness,couldoneglancebehind.Theywerenotcallous,andtheyleftthebreakfast-tablewithachinghearts.Theirmotherneverhadcomeintobreakfast.Itwasintheotherrooms,andespeciallyinthegarden,thattheyfeltherlossmost.AsCharleswentouttothegarage,hewasremindedateverystepofthewomanwhohadlovedhimandwhomhecouldneverreplace.Whatbattleshehadfoughtagainsthergentleconservatism!Howshehaddislikedimprovements,yethowloyallyshehadacceptedthemwhenmade!Heandhisfather—whattroubletheyhadhadtogetthisverygarage!Withwhatdifficultyhadtheypersuadedhertoyieldthemthepaddockforit—thepaddockthatshelovedmoredearlythanthegardenitself!Thevine—shehadgotherwayaboutthevine.Itstillencumberedthesouthwallwithitsunproductivebranches.AndsowithEvie,asshestoodtalkingtothecook.Thoughshecouldtakeuphermother’sworkinsidethehouse,justasthemancouldtakeitupwithout,shefeltthatsomethinguniquehadfallenoutofherlife.Theirgrief,thoughless
