CHAPTER XV

emanofthenameofOtway? Thetravelerknewnothing,butrolledthenameofOtwayonhistongue,reflectively,andthesoundofitgratifiedRalphamazingly.Itgavehimanexcusetotakealetterfromhispocketinordertoverifytheaddress. “StogdonHouse,Lampsher,Lincoln,”hereadout. “You’llfindsomebodytodirectyouatLincoln,”saidthemanandRalphhadtoconfessthathewasnotboundtherethisveryevening. “I’vegottowalkoverfromDisham,”hesaid,andintheheartofhimcouldnothelpmarvelingatthepleasurewhichhederivedfrommakingabagmaninatrainbelievewhathehimselfdidnotbelieve.Fortheletter,thoughsignedbyKatharine’sfather,containednoinvitationorwarrantforthinkingthatKatharineherselfwastheretheonlyfactitdisclosedwasthatforafortnightthisaddresswouldbeMr.Hilbery’saddress.Butwhenhelookedoutofthewindow,itwasofherhethoughtshe,too,hadseenthesegrayfields,and,perhaps,shewastherewherethetreesranupaslope,andoneyellowlightshonenow,andthenwentoutagain,atthefootofthehill.Thelightshoneinthewindowsofanoldgrayhouse,hethought.Helaybackinhiscornerandforgotthecommercialtraveleraltogether.TheprocessofvisualizingKatharinestoppedshortattheoldgraymanor-houseinstinctwarnedhimthatifhewentmuchfurtherwiththisprocessrealitywouldsoonforceitselfinhecouldnotaltogetherneglectthefigureofWilliamRodney.SincethedaywhenhehadheardfromKatharine’slipsofherengagement,hehadrefrainedfrominvestinghisdreamofherwiththedetailsofreallife.Butthelightofthelateafternoonglowedgreenbehindthestraighttrees,andbecameasymbolofher.Thelightseemedtoexpandhisheart.Shebroodedoverthegrayfields,andwaswithhimnowintherailwaycarriage,thoughtful,silent,andinfinitelytenderbutthevisionpressedtooclose,andmustbedismissed,forthetrainwasslackening.Itsabruptjerksshookhimwideawake,andhesawMaryDatchet,asturdyrussetfigure,withadashofscarletaboutit,asthecarriagesliddowntheplatform.Atallyouthwhoaccompaniedhershookhimbythehand,tookhisbag,andledthewaywithoututteringonearticulateword. Neverarevoicessobeautifulasonawinter’sevening,whenduskalmosthidesthebody,andtheyseemtoissuefromnothingnesswithanoteofintimacyseldomheardbyday.SuchanedgewasthereinMary’svoicewhenshegreetedhim.Aboutherseemedtohangthemistofthewinterhedges,andtheclearredofthebrambleleaves.Hefelthimselfatoncesteppingontothefirmgroundofanentirelydifferentworld,buthedidnotallowhimselftoyieldtothepleasureofitdirectly.TheygavehimhischoiceofdrivingwithEdwardorofwalkinghomeacrossthefieldswithMary—notashorterway,theyexplained,butMarythoughtitanicerway.Hedecidedtowalkwithher,beingconscious,indeed,thathegotcomfortfromherpresence.Whatcouldbethecauseofhercheerfulness,hewondered,halfironically,andhalfenviously,asthepony-cartstartedbrisklyaway,andtheduskswambetweentheireyesandthetallformofEdward,standinguptodrive,withthereinsinonehandandthewhipintheother.Peoplefromthevillage,whohadbeentothemarkettown,wereclimbingintotheirgigs,orsettingoffhomedowntheroadtogetherinlittleparties.ManysalutationswereaddressedtoMary,whoshoutedback,withtheadditionofthespeaker’sname.Butsoonsheledthewayoverastile,andalongapathwornslightlydarkerthanthedimgreensurroundingit.Infrontofthemtheskynowshoweditselfofareddish-yellow,likeasliceofsomesemilucentstonebehindwhichalampburnt,whileafringeofblacktreeswithdistinctbranchesstoodagainstthelight,whichwasobscuredinonedirectionbyahumpofearth,inallotherdirectionsthelandlyingflattotheveryvergeofthesky.Oneoftheswiftandnoiselessbirdsofthewinter’snightseemedtofollowthemacrossthefield,circlingafewfeetinfrontofthem,disappearingandreturningagainandagain. Maryhadgonethiswalkmanyhundredtimesinthecourseofherlife,generallyalone,andatdifferentstagestheghostsofpastmoodswouldfloodhermindwithawholesceneortrainofthoughtmerelyatthesightofthreetreesfromaparticularangle,oratthesoundofthepheasantcluckingintheditch.Butto-nightthecircumstanceswerestrongenoughtooustallotherscenesandshelookedatthefieldandthetreeswithaninvoluntaryintensityasiftheyhadnosuchassociationsforher. “Well,Ralph,”shesaid,“thisisbetterthanLincoln’sInnFields,isn’tit?Look,there’sabirdforyou!Oh,you’vebroughtglasses,haveyou?EdwardandChristophermeantomakeyoushoot.Canyoushoot?Ishouldn’tthinkso—” “Lookhere,youmustexplain,”saidRalph.“Whoaretheseyoungmen?WhereamIstaying?” “Youarestayingwithus,ofcourse,”shesaidboldly.“Ofcourse,you’restayingwithus—youdon’tmindcoming,doyou?” “IfIhad,Ishouldn’thavecome,”hesaidsturdily.TheywalkedoninsilenceMarytookcarenottobreakitforatime.ShewishedRalphtofeel,asshethoughthewould,allthefreshdelightsoftheearthandair.Shewasright.Inamomentheexpressedhispleasure,muchtohercomfort. “ThisisthesortofcountryIthoughtyou’dlivein,Mary,”hesaid,pushinghishatbackonhishead,andlookingabouthim.“Realcountry.Nogentlemen’sseats.” Hesnuffedtheair,andfeltmorekeenlythanhehaddoneformanyweeksthepleasureofowningabody. “Nowwehavetofindourwaythroughahedge,”saidMary.InthegapofthehedgeRalphtoreupapoacher’swire,setacrossaholetotrapa