Chapter XXXIII

fromGeraldshouldbringhersuchpain.Shealmosthatedhimnowandyetwithallherheartshewishedtokissthepaperandeverywordthatwaswrittenuponit.Butthesheerviolenceofheremotionsmadehersetherteeth,asitwere,againstgivingway. “Iwon’treadit,”shesaid. Shewantedtoprovetoherselfthatshehadstrengthandthistemptationatleastshewasdeterminedtoresist.Berthalitacandleandtooktheletterinherhandtoburnit,butthenputitdownagain.Thatwouldsettlethemattertooquickly,andshewantedrathertoprolongthetrialsoastoreceivefullassuranceofherfortitude.Withastrangepleasureatthepainshewaspreparingforherself,Berthaplacedtheletteronthechimneypieceofherroom,prominently,sothatwhenevershewentinorout,shecouldnotfailtoseeit.Wishingtopunishherself,herdesirewastomakethetemptationasdistressingaspossible. Shewatchedtheunopenedenvelopeforamonthandsometimesthecravingtoopenitwasalmostirresistiblesometimessheawokeinthemiddleofthenight,thinkingofGerald,andtoldherselfshemustknowwhathesaid.Ah,howwellshecouldimagineit!Hevowedhelovedherandhespokeofthekissshehadgivenhimonthatlastday,andhesaiditwasdreadfullyhardtobewithouther.Berthalookedattheletter,clenchingherhandssoasnottoseizeitandtearitopenshehadtoholdherselfforciblybackfromcoveringitwithkisses.Butatlastsheconqueredalldesire,shewasabletolookatthehandwritingindifferentlyshescrutinisedherheartandfoundnotraceofemotion.Thetrialwascomplete. “Nowitcango,”shesaid. Againshelitacandle,andheldthelettertotheflametillitwasallconsumedandshegathereduptheashes,puttingtheminherhand,andblewthemoutofthewindow.Shefeltthatbythatactshehadfinishedwiththewholething,andGeraldwasdefinitelygoneoutofherlife. ButrestdidnotyetcometoBertha’stroubledsoul.Atfirstshefoundherlifefairlytolerablebutshehadnownoemotionstodistractherandtheroutineofherdaywasunvarying.Theweekspassedandthemonthsthewintercameuponher,moredrearythanshehadeverknownitthecountrybecameinsufferablydull.Thedaysweregrayandcold,andthecloudssolowthatshecouldalmosttouchthem.Thebroadfieldswhichoncehadaffordedsuchinspiringthoughtswerenowmerelytedious,andalltheruralsightssankintohermindwithapitilessmonotonydayafterday,monthaftermonth,shesawthesamethings.Shewasboredtodeath. SometimesBerthawanderedtotheseashoreandlookedacrossthedesolatewasteofwatershelongedtotravelashereyesandhermindtravelled,south,southtotheazureskies,tothelandsofbeautyandofsunshinebeyondthegrayness.Fortunatelyshedidnotknowthatshewaslookingalmostdirectlynorth,andthatifshereallywentonandonasshedesired,wouldreachnosouthernlandsofpleasure,butmerelytheNorthPole! Shewalkedalongthebeach,amongthecountlessshellsandnotcontentwithpresentdisquietude,torturedherselfwithanticipationofthefuture.Shecouldonlyimaginethatitwouldbringanincreaseofthisfrightfulennui,andherheadachedasshelookedforwardtothedullmonotonyofherlife.Shewenthome,andgroanedassheenteredthehouse,thinkingofthetiresomeevening.Invariablyafterdinnertheyplayedpiquet.Edwardlikedtoconducthislifeonthemostmechanicallines,andregularly,astheclockstrucknine,hesaid:“Shallwehavealittlegame?”Berthafetchedthecardswhilehearrangedthechairs.Theyplayedsixhands.Edwardaddedupthescoreandchuckledwhenhewon.Berthaputthecardsaway,herhusbandreplacedthechairsandsoitwentonnightafternight,automatically. Berthawasseizedwiththeintenserestlessnessofutterboredom.Shewouldwalkupanddownherroom