CHAPTER XXVIII

ooms.Heknockedloudlyuponhisdoorbutnooneanswered.Herangthebell.IttookhimsometimetoacceptthefactthatRodneywasout.Whenhecouldnolongerpretendthatthesoundofthewindintheoldbuildingwasthesoundofsomeonerisingfromhischair,herandownstairsagain,asifhisgoalhadbeenalteredandonlyjustrevealedtohim.HewalkedinthedirectionofChelsea. Butphysicalfatigue,forhehadnotdinedandhadtrampedbothfarandfast,madehimsitforamomentuponaseatontheEmbankment.Oneoftheregularoccupantsofthoseseats,anelderlymanwhohaddrunkhimself,probably,outofworkandlodging,driftedup,beggedamatch,andsatdownbesidehim.Itwasawindynight,hesaidtimeswerehardsomelongstoryofbadluckandinjusticefollowed,toldsooftenthatthemanseemedtobetalkingtohimself,or,perhaps,theneglectofhisaudiencehadlongmadeanyattempttocatchtheirattentionseemscarcelyworthwhile.WhenhebegantospeakRalphhadawilddesiretotalktohimtoquestionhimtomakehimunderstand.Hedid,infact,interrupthimatonepointbutitwasuseless.Theancientstoryoffailure,ill-luck,undeserveddisaster,wentdownthewind,disconnectedsyllablesflyingpastRalph’searswithaqueeralternationofloudnessandfaintnessasif,atcertainmoments,theman’smemoryofhiswrongsrevivedandthenflagged,dyingdownatlastintoagrumbleofresignation,whichseemedtorepresentafinallapseintotheaccustomeddespair.TheunhappyvoiceafflictedRalph,butitalsoangeredhim.Andwhentheelderlymanrefusedtolistenandmumbledon,anoddimagecametohismindofalighthousebesiegedbytheflyingbodiesoflostbirds,whoweredashedsenseless,bythegale,againsttheglass.Hehadastrangesensationthathewasbothlighthouseandbirdhewassteadfastandbrilliantandatthesametimehewaswhirled,withallotherthings,senselessagainsttheglass.Hegotup,lefthistributeofsilver,andpressedon,withthewindagainsthim.Theimageofthelighthouseandthestormfullofbirdspersisted,takingtheplaceofmoredefinitethoughts,ashewalkedpasttheHousesofParliamentanddownGrosvenorRoad,bythesideoftheriver.Inhisstateofphysicalfatigue,detailsmergedthemselvesinthevasterprospect,ofwhichtheflyinggloomandtheintermittentlightsoflamp-postsandprivatehousesweretheoutwardtoken,butheneverlosthissenseofwalkinginthedirectionofKatharine’shouse.Hetookitforgrantedthatsomethingwouldthenhappen,and,ashewalkedon,hismindbecamemoreandmorefullofpleasureandexpectancy.Withinacertainradiusofherhousethestreetscameundertheinfluenceofherpresence.EachhousehadanindividualityknowntoRalph,becauseofthetremendousindividualityofthehouseinwhichshelived.ForsomeyardsbeforereachingtheHilberys’doorhewalkedinatranceofpleasure,butwhenhereachedit,andpushedthegateofthelittlegardenopen,hehesitated.Hedidnotknowwhattodonext.Therewasnohurry,however,fortheoutsideofthehouseheldpleasureenoughtolasthimsometimelonger.Hecrossedtheroad,andleantagainstthebalustradeoftheEmbankment,fixinghiseyesuponthehouse. Lightsburntinthethreelongwindowsofthedrawing-room.Thespaceoftheroombehindbecame,inRalph’svision,thecenterofthedark,flyingwildernessoftheworldthejustificationforthewelterofconfusionsurroundingitthesteadylightwhichcastitsbeams,likethoseofalighthouse,withsearchingcomposureoverthetracklesswaste.Inthislittlesanctuaryweregatheredtogetherseveraldifferentpeople,buttheiridentitywasdissolvedinageneralgloryofsomethingthatmight,perhaps,becalledcivilizationatanyrate,alldryness,allsafety,allthatstoodupabovethesurgeandpreservedaconsciousnessofitsown,wascenteredinthedrawing-roomoftheHilberys.Itspurposewasbeneficentandyetsofarabovehislevelastohavesomethingaustereaboutit,alightthatcastitselfoutandyetkeptitselfaloof.Thenhebegan,inhismind,todistinguishdifferentindividualswithin,consciouslyrefusingasyettoattackthefigureofKatharine.HisthoughtslingeredoverMrs.HilberyandCassandraandthenheturnedtoRodneyandMr.Hilbery.Physically,hesawthembathedinthatsteadyflowofyellowlightwhichfilledthelongoblongsofthewindowsintheirmovementstheywerebeautifulandintheirspeechhefiguredareserveofmeaning,unspoken,butunderstood.Atlength,afterallthishalf-consciousselectionandarrangement,heallowedhimselftoapproachthefigureofKatharineherselfandinstantlythescenewasfloodedwithexcitement.Hedidnotseeherinthebodyheseemedcuriouslytoseeherasashapeoflight,thelightitselfheseemed,simplifiedandexhaustedashewas,tobelikeoneofthoselostbirdsfascinatedbythelighthouseandheldtotheglassbythesplendoroftheblaze. ThesethoughtsdrovehimtotrampabeatupanddownthepavementbeforetheHilberys’gate.Hedidnottroublehimselftomakeanyplansforthefuture.Somethingofanunknownkindwoulddecideboththecomingyearandthecominghour.Nowandagain,inhisvigil,hesoughtthelightinthelongwindows,orglancedattheraywhichgildedafewleavesandafewbladesofgrassinthelittlegarden.Foralongtimethelightburntwithoutchanging.Hehadjustreachedthelimitofhisbeatandwasturning,whenthefrontdooropened,andtheaspectofthehousewasentirelychanged.Ablackfigurecamedownthelittlepathwayandpausedatthegate.DenhamunderstoodinstantlythatitwasRodney.Withouthesitation,andconsciousonlyofagreatfriendlinessforanyonecomingfromthatlightedroom,hewalkedstraightuptohimandstoppedhim.IntheflurryofthewindRodneywastakenaback,andforthemomenttriedtopresson,mutteringsomething,asifhesuspectedademanduponhischarity.