Chapter XXVII

urtLeys. “No,I’msureshedoesn’t.Shethinksweadoreoneanother.AndIdon’twanthertoknow.I’msuchacowardnow.YearsagoInevercaredastrawforwhatanyoneintheworldthoughtofmebutmyspiritisutterlybroken.Oh,getmeawayfromhere,Dr.Ramsay,getmeaway.” Sheburstintotears,weepingasshehadbeenlongunaccustomedtodoshewasutterlyexhaustedaftertheoutburstofallthatforyearsshehadkepthid. “I’mstillsoyoung,andIalmostfeelanoldwoman.SometimesIshouldliketoliedownanddie,andhavedonewithitall.” AmonthlaterBerthawasinRome.Butatfirstshewashardlyabletorealisethechangeinhercondition.HerlifeatCourtLeyshadimpresseditselfuponherwithsuchghastlydistinctnessthatshecouldnotimagineitscessation.Shewaslikeaprisonersolongimmuredthatfreedomdazeshim,andhelooksforhischains,andcannotunderstandthatheisfree. ThereliefwassogreatthatBerthacouldnotbelieveittrue,andshelivedinfearthathervisionwouldbedisturbed,andthatshewouldfindherselfagainwithintheprisonwallsofCourtLeys.Itwasadreamthatshewanderedinsunlitplaces,wheretheairwasscentedwithvioletsandwithroses.Thepeoplewereunreal,themodelsloungingonthestepsofthePiazzadiSpagna,theraggedurchins,quaintlycostumedandimportunate,thesilverspeechthatcaressedtheair.Howcouldshebelievethatlifewastruewhenitgaveblueskyandsunshine,sothattheheartthrilledwithjoywhenitgaverest,andpeace,andthemostdelightfulidleness?ReallifewasgloomyandstrenuousitssettingaGeorgianmansion,surroundedbydesolate,wind-sweptfields.Inreallifeeveryonewasveryvirtuousandverydullthetencommandmentshedgedoneroundwiththemenaceofhell-fireandeternaldamnation,adungeonmoreterriblebecauseithadnotwalls,norbarsandbolts. ButbeyondthesegloomystoneswiththeirharshThoushaltnotisalandoffragranceandoflight,wherethesunbeamssendthebloodrunninggailythroughtheveinswheretheflowersgivetheirperfumefreelytotheair,intokenthatrichesmustbespentandvirtuemustbesquanderedwheretheamoretsflutterhereandthereonthespringbreezes,unknowingwhithertheygo,uncaring.Itisalandofolivetreesandofpleasantshade,andtheseakissestheshoregentlytoshowtheyouthshowtheymustkissthemaidens.Theredarkeyesflashlambently,tellingthetravellerheneednotfear,sincelovemaybehadfortheasking.Bloodiswarm,andhandslingerwithgratefulpressureinhands,andredlipsaskforthekissesthataresosweettogive.Therethefleshandthespiritwalksidebyside,andeachiswellsatisfiedwiththeother.Ah,givemethesunshineofthisblissfulcountry,andagardenofroses,andthemurmurofapleasantbrookgivemeashadybank,andwine,andbooks,andthecorallipsofAmaryllis,andIwillliveincompletefelicity—foratleasttendays. ToBerthathelifeinRomeseemedlikeaplay.MissLeyslefthermuchfreedom,andshewanderedaloneinstrangeplaces.Shewentoftentothemarketandspentthemorningamongthebooths,lookingatathousandthingsshedidnotwanttobuyshefingeredrichsilksandantiquebitsofsilver,smilingatthecomplimentsofafriendlydealer.Thepeoplebustledaroundher,talkingvolubly,intenselyalive,andyet,inherinabilitytounderstandthatwhatshesawwastrue,theyseemedbutpup