CHAPTER XXV

Ataquarter-pastthreeintheafternoonofthefollowingSaturdayRalphDenhamsatonthebankofthelakeinKewGardens,dividingthedial-plateofhiswatchintosectionswithhisforefinger.Thejustandinexorablenatureoftimeitselfwasreflectedinhisface.Hemighthavebeencomposingahymntotheunhastingandunrestingmarchofthatdivinity.Heseemedtogreetthelapseofminuteafterminutewithsternacquiescenceintheinevitableorder.Hisexpressionwassosevere,soserene,soimmobile,thatitseemedobviousthatforhimatleasttherewasagrandeurinthedepartinghourwhichnopettyirritationonhispartwastomar,althoughthewastingtimewastedalsohighprivatehopesofhisown. Hisfacewasnobadindextowhatwentonwithinhim.Hewasinaconditionofmindrathertooexaltedforthetrivialitiesofdailylife.Hecouldnotacceptthefactthataladywasfifteenminuteslateinkeepingherappointmentwithoutseeinginthataccidentthefrustrationofhisentirelife.Lookingathiswatch,heseemedtolookdeepintothespringsofhumanexistence,andbythelightofwhathesawtherealteredhiscoursetowardsthenorthandthemidnight....Yes,one’svoyagemustbemadeabsolutelywithoutcompanionsthroughiceandblackwater—towardswhatgoal?Herehelaidhisfingeruponthehalf-hour,anddecidedthatwhentheminute-handreachedthatpointhewouldgo,atthesametimeansweringthequestionputbyanotherofthemanyvoicesofconsciousnesswiththereplythattherewasundoubtedlyagoal,butthatitwouldneedthemostrelentlessenergytokeepanywhereinitsdirection.Still,still,onegoeson,thetickingsecondsseemedtoassurehim,withdignity,withopeneyes,withdeterminationnottoacceptthesecond-rate,nottobetemptedbytheunworthy,nottoyield,nottocompromise.Twenty-fiveminutespastthreewerenowmarkeduponthefaceofthewatch.Theworld,heassuredhimself,sinceKatharineHilberywasnowhalfanhourbehindhertime,offersnohappiness,norestfromstruggle,nocertainty.Inaschemeofthingsutterlybadfromthestarttheonlyunpardonablefollyisthatofhope.Raisinghiseyesforamomentfromthefaceofhiswatch,herestedthemupontheoppositebank,reflectivelyandnotwithoutacertainwistfulness,asifthesternnessoftheirgazewerestillcapableofmitigation.Soonalookofthedeepestsatisfactionfilledthem,though,foramoment,hedidnotmove.Hewatchedaladywhocamerapidly,andyetwithatraceofhesitation,downthebroadgrass-walktowardshim.Shedidnotseehim.Distancelentherfigureanindescribableheight,andromanceseemedtosurroundherfromthefloatingofapurpleveilwhichthelightairfilledandcurvedfromhershoulders. “Hereshecomes,likeashipinfullsail,”hesaidtohimself,halfrememberingsomelinefromaplayorpoemwheretheheroineboredownthuswithfeathersflyingandairssalutingher.Thegreeneryandthehighpresencesofthetreessurroundedherasiftheystoodforthathercoming.Herose,andshesawhimherlittleexclamationprovedthatshewasgladtofindhim,andthenthatsheblamedherselfforbeinglate. “Whydidyounevertellme?Ididn’tknowtherewasthis,”sheremarked,alludingtothelake,thebroadgreenspace,thevistaoftrees,withtheruffledgoldoftheThamesinthedistanceandtheDucalcastlestandinginitsmeadows.ShepaidtherigidtailoftheDucallionthetributeofincredulouslaughter. “You’veneverbeentoKew?”Denhamremarked. Butitappearedthatshehadcomeonceasasmallchild,whenthegeographyoftheplacewasentirelydifferent,andthefaunaincludedcertainlyflamingoesand,possibly,camels.Theystrolledon,refashioningtheselegendarygardens.Shewas,ashefelt,gladmerelytostrollandloiterandletherfancytouchuponanythinghereyesencountered—abush,apark-keeper,adecoratedgoose—asiftherelaxationsoothedher.Thewarmthoftheafternoon,thefirstofspring,temptedthemtosituponaseatinagladeofbeech-trees,withforestdrivesstrikinggreenpathsthiswayandthataroundthem.Shesigheddeeply. “It’ssopeaceful,”shesaid,asifinexplanationofhersigh.Notasinglepersonwasinsight,andthestirofthewindinthebranches,thatsoundsoseldomheardbyLondoners,seemedtoherasifwaftedfromfathomlessoceansofsweetairinthedistance. Whileshebreathedandlooked,Denhamwasengagedinuncoveringwiththepointofhisstickagroupofgreensp