Chapter XIX

ter’smarkontheclay. Finallyshemadeuphermindtogetup,comewhatmight.ItwastheSundayafterthequarrelwithMissGloverEdwardwouldbeindoorsanddoubtlessintendedtospendmostoftheafternooninherroom,butsheknewhedislikedsittingtherethecloseness,theodoursofmedicine,madehisheadache.Herappearanceinthedrawing-roomwouldbeadelightfulsurprise.Shewouldnottellhimthatshewasgettingup,butgodownstairsandtakehimunawares.Shegotoutofbed,butassheputherfeettotheground,hadtoclingtoachairherlegsweresoweakthattheyhardlysupportedher,andherheadreeled.Butinalittlewhileshegatheredstrengthandslowlydressedherself,slowlyandverydifficultlyherweaknesswasalmostpain.Shehadtositdown,andherhairwassowearisometodothatshewasafraidshemustgiveuptheattemptandreturntobed.ButthethoughtofEdward’ssurpriseupheldher—hehadsaidhowpleasedhewouldbetohaveherdownstairswithhim.Atlastshewasreadyandwenttothedoor,supportingherselfoneveryobjectathand.Butwhatjoyitwastobeupagain,tofeelherselfoncemoreamongtheliving—awayfromthegraveofherbed! Shecametothetopofthestairsandwentdown,leaningheavilyonthebanistersshewentonestepatatime,aslittlechildrendo,andlaughedatherself.Butthelaughchangedalmostintoagroan,asinexhaustionshesankdownandfeltitimpossibletogofarther.ThenthethoughtofEdwardurgedheron.Shestruggledtoherfeet,andperseveredtillshereachedthebottom.Nowshewasoutsidethedrawing-room,sheheardEdwardwhistlingwithin.Shecreptalong,eagertomakenosoundnoiselesslysheturnedthehandleandflungthedooropen. “Eddie!” Heturnedroundwithacry.“Hulloa,whatareyoudoinghere?” Hecametowardsher,butshowednotthegreatjoywhichshehadexpected. “Iwantedtosurpriseyou.Aren’tyougladtoseeme?” “Yes,ofcourseIam.Butyououghtn’ttohavecomewithoutDr.Ramsay’sleave.AndIdidn’texpectyouto-day.” Heledhertothesofa,andshelaydown. “Ithoughtyou’dbesopleased.” “OfcourseIam!” Heplacedpillowsunderher,andcoveredherwitharug—littleattentionswhichwereexquisitelytouching. “Youdon’tknowhowIstruggled,”shesaid.“IthoughtIshouldnevergetmythingson,andthenIalmosttumbleddownthestairs,Iwassoweak....ButIknewyoumustbelonelyhere,andyouhatesittinginthebedroom.” “Yououghtn’ttohaveriskedit.Itmaythrowyouback,”hereplied,gently.Helookedathiswatch.“Youmustonlystayhalf-an-hour,andthenIshallcarryyouuptobed.” Berthagavealaugh,intendingtopermitnothingofthesort.Itwassocomfortabletolieonthesofa,withEdwardbyherside.Sheheldhishands. “Isimplycouldn’tstayintheroomanylonger.Itwassogloomy,withtherainpatteringalldayonthewindows.” Itwasoneofthosedaysoflatesummerwhentherainseemsneverceasing,andtheairisfilledwiththemelancholyofnature,alreadyconsciousoftheneardecay. “IwasmeaningtocomeuptoyouassoonasI’dfinishedmypipe.”