CHAPTER XVIII

urscrapes.OnceIwasleftinafieldwithabullwhenIwasababy—butwheredidweleavethecarriage?Downthatstreetorthenext?Thenext,Ithink.”Sheglancedbackandsawthattheotherswerefollowingobediently,listeningtocertainmemoriesofLincolnuponwhichMrs.Hilberyhadstarted.“Butwhatareyoudoinghere?”sheasked. “I’mbuyingacottage.I’mgoingtolivehere—assoonasIcanfindacottage,andMarytellsmethere’llbenodifficultyaboutthat.” “But,”sheexclaimed,almoststandingstillinhersurprise,“youwillgiveuptheBar,then?”ItflashedacrosshermindthathemustalreadybeengagedtoMary. “Thesolicitor’soffice?Yes.I’mgivingthatup.” “Butwhy?”sheasked.Sheansweredherselfatonce,withacuriouschangefromrapidspeechtoanalmostmelancholytone.“Ithinkyou’reverywisetogiveitup.Youwillbemuchhappier.” Atthisverymoment,whenherwordsseemedtobestrikingapathintothefutureforhim,theysteppedintotheyardofaninn,andtherebeheldthefamilycoachoftheOtways,towhichonesleekhorsewasalreadyattached,whilethesecondwasbeingledoutofthestabledoorbythehostler. “Idon’tknowwhatonemeansbyhappiness,”hesaidbriefly,havingtostepasideinordertoavoidagroomwithabucket.“WhydoyouthinkIshallbehappy?Idon’texpecttobeanythingofthekind.Iexpecttoberatherlessunhappy.Ishallwriteabookandcursemycharwoman—ifhappinessconsistsinthat.Whatdoyouthink?” Shecouldnotanswerbecausetheywereimmediatelysurroundedbyothermembersoftheparty—byMrs.Hilbery,andMary,HenryOtway,andWilliam. RodneywentuptoKatharineimmediatelyandsaidtoher: “Henryisgoingtodrivehomewithyourmother,andIsuggestthattheyshouldputusdownhalf-wayandletuswalkback.” Katharinenoddedherhead.Sheglancedathimwithanoddlyfurtiveexpression. “Unfortunatelywegoinoppositedirections,orwemighthavegivenyoualift,”hecontinuedtoDenham.Hismannerwasunusuallyperemptoryheseemedanxioustohastenthedeparture,andKatharinelookedathimfromtimetotime,asDenhamnoticed,withanexpressionhalfofinquiry,halfofannoyance.Sheatoncehelpedhermotherintohercloak,andsaidtoMary: “Iwanttoseeyou.AreyougoingbacktoLondonatonce?Iwillwrite.”ShehalfsmiledatRalph,butherlookwasalittleovercastbysomethingshewasthinking,andinaveryfewminutestheOtwaycarriagerolledoutofthestableyardandturneddownthehighroadleadingtothevillageofLampsher. Thereturndrivewasalmostassilentasthedrivefromhomehadbeeninthemorningindeed,Mrs.Hilberyleantbackwithclosedeyesinhercorner,andeithersleptorfeignedsleep,asherhabitwasintheintervalsbetweentheseasonsofactiveexertion,orcontinuedthestorywhichshehadbeguntotellherselfthatmorning. AbouttwomilesfromLampshertheroadranovertheroundedsummitoftheheath,alonelyspotmarkedbyanobeliskofgranite,settingforththegratitudeofsomegreatladyoftheeighteenthcenturywhohadbeensetuponbyhighwaymenatthisspotanddeliveredfromdeathjustashopeseemedlost.Insummeritwasapleasantplace,forthedeepwoodsoneithersidemurmured,andtheheather,whichgrewthickroundthegranitepedestal,madethelightbreezetastesweetlyinwinterthesighingofthetreeswasdeepenedtoahollowsound,andtheheathwasasgrayandalmostassolitaryastheemptysweepofthecloudsaboveit. HereRodneystoppedthecarriageandhelpedKatharinetoalight.Henry,too,gaveherhishand,andfanciedthatshepresseditveryslightlyinpartingasifshesenthimamessage.Butthecarriagerolledonimmediately,withoutwakeningMrs.Hilbery,andleftthecouplestandingbytheobelisk.ThatRodneywasangrywithherandhadmadethisopportunityforspeakingtoher,Katharineknewverywellshewasneithergladnorsorrythatthetimehadcome,nor,indeed,knewwhattoexpect,andthusremainedsilent.Thecarriagegrewsmallerandsmallerupontheduskyroad,andstillRodneydidnotspeak.Perhaps,shethought,hewaiteduntilthelastsignofthecarriagehaddisappearedbeneaththecurveoftheroadandtheywereleftentirelyalone.Tocloaktheirsilenceshereadthewritingontheobelisk,todowhichshehadtowalkcompletelyroundit.Shewasmurmuringawordtotwoofthepiouslady’sthanksaboveherbreathwhenRodneyjoinedher.Insilencetheysetoutalongthecart-trackwhichskirtedthevergeofthetrees. TobreakthesilencewasexactlywhatRodneywishedtodo,andyetcouldnotdotohisownsatisfaction.IncompanyitwasfareasiertoapproachKatharinealonewithher,thealoofnessandforceofhercharactercheckedallhisnaturalmethodsofattack.Hebelievedthatshehadbehavedverybadlytohim,buteachseparateinstanceofunkindnessseemedtoopettytobeadvancedwhentheywerealonetogether. “There’snoneedforustorace,”hecomplainedatlastuponwhichsheimmediatelyslackenedherpace,andwalkedtooslowlytosuithim.Indesperationhesaidthefirstthinghethoughtof,verypeevishlyandwithoutthedignifiedpreludewhichhehadintended. “I’venotenjoyedmyholiday.” “No?” “No.Ishallbegladtogetbacktoworkagain.” “Saturday,Sunday,Monday—thereareonlythreedaysmore,”shecounted. “Nooneenjoysbeingmadeafoolofbeforeotherpeople,”heblurtedout,forhisirritationroseasshespoke,andgotthebetterofhisaweofher,andwasinflamedbythatawe. “Thatreferstome,Isuppose,”shesaidcalmly. “Everydaysincewe’vebeenhereyou’vedonesomethingtomakemeappearridiculous,”hewenton.“Ofcourse,solongasitamusesyou,you’rewelcomebutwehavetorememberthatwearegoingtospendourlivestogether.Iaskedyou,onlythismorning,forexample,tocomeoutandtakeaturnwithmeinthegarden.Iwaswaitingforyoutenminutes,andyounevercame.Everyonesawmewaiting.Thestable-boyssawme.IwassoashamedthatIwentin.Then,onthedriveyouhardlyspoketome.Henrynoticedit.Everyonenoticesit....YoufindnodifficultyintalkingtoHenry,though.” Shenotedthesevariouscomplaintsanddeterminedphilosophicallytoanswernoneofthem,althoughthelaststunghertoconsiderableirritation.Shewishedtofindouthowdeephisgrievancelay. “Noneofthesethingsseemtometomatter,”shesaid. “Verywell,then.Imayaswellholdmytongue,”hereplied. “Inthemselvestheydon’tseemtometomatteriftheyhurtyou,ofcoursetheymatter,”shecorrectedherselfscrupulously.Hertoneofconsiderationtouchedhim,andhewalkedoninsilenceforaspace. “Andwemightbesohappy,Katharine!”heexclaimedimpulsively,anddrewherarmthroughhis.Shewithdrewitdirectly. “Aslongasyouletyourselffeellikethisweshallneverbehappy,”shesaid. Theharshness,whichHenryhadnoticed,wasagainunmistakableinhermanner.Williamflinchedandwassilent.Suchseverity,accompaniedbysomethingindescribablycoldandimpersonalinhermanner,hadconstantlybeenmetedouttohimduringthelastfewdays,alwaysinthecompanyofothers.Hehadrecoupedhimselfbysomeridiculousdisplayofvanitywhich,asheknew,puthimstillmoreathermercy.Nowthathewasalonewithhertherewasnostimulusfromoutsidetodrawhisattentionfromhisinjury.Byaconsiderableeffortofself-controlheforcedhimselftoremainsilent,andtomakehimselfdistinguishwhatpartofhispainwasduetovanity,whatparttothecertaintythatnowomanreallylovinghimcouldspeakthus. “WhatdoIfeelaboutKatharine?”hethoughttohimself.Itwasclearthatshehadbeenaverydesirableanddistinguishedfigure,themistressofherlittlesectionoftheworldbutmorethanthat,shewasthepersonofallotherswhoseemedtohimthearbitressoflife,thewomanwhosejudgmentwasnaturallyrightandsteady,ashishadneverbeeninspiteofallhisculture.Andthenhecouldnotseehercomeintoaroomwithoutasenseoftheflowingofrobes,ofthefloweringofblossoms,ofthepurplewavesofthesea,ofallthingsthatarelovelyandmutableonthesurfacebutstillandpassionateintheirheart. “IfshewerecallousallthetimeandhadonlyledmeontolaughatmeIcouldn’thavefeltthatabouther,”hethought.“I’mnotafool,afterall.Ican’thavebeenutterlymistakenalltheseyears.Andyet,whenshespeakstomelikethat!Thetruthofitis,”hethought,“thatI’vegotsuchdespicablefaultsthatnoonecouldhelpspeakingtomelikethat.Katharineisquiteright.Andyetthosearenotmyseriousfeelings,assheknowsquitewell.HowcanIchangemyself?Whatwouldmakehercareforme?”HewasterriblytemptedheretobreakthesilencebyaskingKatharineinwhatrespectshecouldchangehimselftosuitherbuthesoughtconsolationinsteadbyrunningoverthelistofhisgiftsandacquirements,hisknowledgeofGreekandLatin,hisknowledgeofartandliterature,hisskillinthemanagementofmeters,andhisancientwest-countryblood.ButthefeelingthatunderlayallthesefeelingsandpuzzledhimprofoundlyandkepthimsilentwasthecertaintythathelovedKatharineassincerelyashehaditinhimtoloveanyone.Andyetshecouldspeaktohimlikethat!Inasortofbewildermenthelostalldesiretospeak,andwouldquitereadilyhavetakenupsomedifferenttopicofconversationifKatharinehadstartedone.This,however,shedidnotdo. Heglancedather,incaseherexpressionmighthelphimtounderstandherbehavior.Asusual,shehadquickenedherpaceunconsciously,andwasnowwalkingalittleinfrontofhimbuthecouldgainlittleinformationfromhereyes,whichlookedsteadilyatthebrownheather,orfromthelinesdrawnseriouslyuponherforehead.Thustolosetouchwithher,forhehadnoideawhatshewasthinking,wassounpleasanttohimthathebegantotalkabouthisgrievancesagain,without,however,muchconvictioninhisvoice. “Ifyouhavenofeelingforme,wouldn’titbekindertosaysotomeinprivate?” “Oh,William,”sheburstout,asifhehadinterruptedsomeabsorbingtrainofthought,“howyougoonaboutfeelings!Isn’titbetternottotalksomuch,nottobeworryingalwaysaboutsmallthingsthatdon’treallymatter?” “That’sthequestionprecisely,”heexclaimed.“Ionlywantyoutotellmethattheydon’tmatter.Therearetimeswhenyouseemindifferenttoeverything.I’mvain,I’veathousandfaultsbutyouknowthey’renoteverythingyouknowIcareforyou.” “AndifIsaythatIcareforyou,don’tyoubelieveme?” “Sayit,Katharine!Sayitasifyoumeantit!Makemefeelthatyoucareforme!” Shecouldnotforceherselftospeakaword.Theheatherwasgrowingdimaroundthem,andthehorizonwasblottedoutbywhitemist.Toaskherforpassionorforcertaintyseemedlikeaskingthatdampprospectforfiercebladesoffire,orthefadedskyfortheintensebluevaultofJune. Hewentonnowtotellher