Harvest by Mrs. Humphry Ward (i can read with my eyes shut .txt) 📖

a Cambridge man--and all that. We danced together almost all the evening. Then he found out where I lived, and used to be always coming to see me. My brother never liked him. He said to me often, 'Why do you encourage that unprincipled cad? I'm certain there's a screw loose about him!' And I wasn't in love with Roger--not really--for one moment. But I _think_ he was in love with me--yes, I'm sure he was--at first. And he excited and interested me. I was proud, too, of taking him away from other girls, who were always running after him. And my sister-in-law was just mad to get rid of me! Don't you understand?"

"Of course I do!"

Her eyelids wavered a little under the emotion of his tone.

"Well, then, we got married. My brother tried to get out of him what his money-affairs were. But he always evaded everything. He talked a great deal about this rich sister, and she did send him a wedding present. But he never showed me her letter, and that was the last we ever heard of her while I knew him...."

Her voice dropped. She sat looking at the fire--a grey, pale woman, from whom light and youth had momentarily gone out.

"Well, it's a hateful story--and as common!--as common as dirt. We began to quarrel almost immediately. He was jealous and tyrannical, and I always had a quick temper. I found that he drank, that he told me all sorts of lies about his past life, that he presently only cared about me as--well, as his mistress!"--and again she faced Ellesborough with hard, insistent eyes--"that he was hopelessly in debt--a gambler--and everything else. When the baby came, I could only get the wife of a neighbouring settler to come and look after me. And Roger behaved so abominably to her that she went home when the baby was a week old--and I was left to manage for myself. Then when baby was three months old, she caught whooping-cough, and had bronchitis on the top. I had a few pounds of my own, and I gave them to Roger to go in to Winnipeg and bring out a doctor and medicines. He drank all the money on the way--that I found out afterwards--he was a week away instead of two days--and the baby died. When he came back he told me a lie about having been ill. But I never lived with him--as a wife--after that. Then, of course, he hated me, and one night he nearly killed me. Next morning he apologized--said that he loved me passionately--and that kind of stuff--that I was cruel to him--and what could he do to make up? So then I suggested that he should go away for a month--and we should both think things over. He was rather frightened, because--well--he'd knocked me about a good deal in the horrible scene between us--and he thought I should bring my brother down on him. So he agreed to go, and I said I would have a girl friend to stay with me. But, of course, as soon as he was gone, I just left the house and departed. I had got evidence enough by then to set me free--about the Italian girl. I met my brother in Winnipeg. We went to his lawyers together, and I began proceedings--"

She stopped abruptly. "The rest I told you.--_No!_--I've told you the horrible things--now I'll say something of the things which--have made life worth living again. Till the divorce was settled I went back to my brother in Toronto. I dropped my married name then and called myself Henderson. And then I came home--because my mother's brother, who was a manufacturer in Bradford, wrote to ask me. But when I arrived he was dead, and he had left me three thousand pounds. Then I went to Swanley and got trained for farm-work. And I found Janet Leighton, and we made friends. And I love farm-work--and I love Janet--and the whole world looks so different to me! Why, of course, I didn't want to be reminded of that old horrible life! I didn't want people to say, 'Mrs. Delane? Who and where is her husband? Is he dead?' 'No--she's divorced.' 'Why?' There's!--don't you see?--all the old vile business over again! So I cut it all!"

She paused--resuming in another voice--hesitating and uncertain,--

"And yet--it seems--you can't do a simple thing like that without--hurting somebody--injuring somebody. I can't help it! I didn't mean to deceive _you_. But I had a right to get free from the old life if I could!"

She threw back her head proudly. Her eyes were full of tears. Then she rose impetuously.

"There!--I've told you. I suppose you don't want to be friends with me any more. It was rotten of me, I know, for, of course--I saw--you seemed to be getting to care for me. I told Janet when we set up work together that I wasn't a bad woman. And I'm not. But I'm weak. You'd better not trust me. And besides--I fell into the mud--and I expect it sticks to me still!"

She spoke with passionate animation--almost fierceness. While through her inner mind there ran the thought, "I've told him!--I've told him! If he doesn't understand, it's not my fault. I can always say, 'I _did_ tell you--about Roger--_and the rest_!--as much as I was bound to tell you.' Why should I make him miserable--and destroy my own chances with him for _nothing_?"

They stood fronting each other. Over the fine bronzed face of the forester there ran a ripple of profound emotion--nostril and lip--and eye. Then she found herself in his arms--with no power to resist or free herself. Two or three deep, involuntary sobs--sobs of excitement--shook her, as she felt his kisses on her cheek.

"Darling!--I'll try and make up to you--for all you've suffered. Poor child!--poor little Rachel!"

She clung to him, a great wave of passion sweeping through her also. She thought, "Now I shall be happy!--and I shall make him happy, too. Of course I shall!--I'm doing quite right."

Presently he put her back in her chair, and sat beside her on the low fender stool, in front of the fire. His aspect was completely transformed. The triumphant joy which filled him had swept away the slightly stiff and reserved manner which was on the whole natural to him. And it had swept away at the same time all the doubts and hesitations of his inner mind. She had told her story, it seemed to him, with complete frankness, and a humility which appealed to all that was chivalrous and generous in a strong man. He was ready now to make more excuses for her, in the matter of his own misleading, than she seemed to wish to make for herself. How natural that she should act as she had acted! The thought of her suffering, of her ill-treatment was intolerable to him--and of the brute who had inflicted it.

"Do you know where that man is now?" he said to her presently. She had fallen back in her chair--pale and shaken, but dressed, for his eyes, in a loveliness, a pathos, that was every moment strengthening her hold upon him.

"Roger? No, I have no idea. I always suppose he's in Canada still. He never appeared when the case was tried. But the summons had to be served on him, and my lawyers succeeded in tracking him to a lodging in Calgary, where he was living--with the Italian girl. But after that we never heard any more of him--except that I had a little pencil note--unsigned, undated, delivered by hand--just before the trial came on. It said I should repent casting him off--that I had treated him shamefully--that I was a vile woman--and though I had got the better of him for the time, he would have his revenge before long."

Ellesborough shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"Threats are cheap! I hope you soon put that out of your mind?"

She made a little restless movement.

"Yes, I--I suppose so. But I did tell you once, didn't I, that--I often had fears--about nothing?"

"Yes, you did tell me," he said, smiling. "Don't have any more fears, darling! I'll see to that."

He took her hands again, and raised them to his lips and kissed them. It astonished him to feel them so cold, and see her again so excited and pale. Was she really afraid of the villain she had escaped from? The dear, foolish woman! The man in his self-confident strength loved her the more for the vague terrors he felt himself so well able to soothe.

For half an hour more they sat together, in that first intimacy of love, which transfigures men and women, so that when they pass back from it into ordinary life they scarcely recognize life or themselves again. They talked much less of the past than of the future--and that in the light of the glorious war news coming in day by day. Austria was on the point of surrender--the German landslide might come at any moment--then _peace_!--incredible word. Ellesborough would hardly now get to France. They might be able to marry soon--within a few weeks. As to the farm, he asked her, laughing, whether she would take him in as a junior partner for a time, till they could settle their plans. "I've got a bit of money of my own. But first you must let me go back, as soon as there are ships to go in--to see after my own humble business. We could launch out--get some fine stock--try experiments. It's a going concern, and I've got a good share in it. Why shouldn't you go, too?"

He saw her shrink.

"To Canada? Oh, no!"

He scourged himself mentally for having taken her thoughts back to the old unhappy times. But she soon recovered herself. Then it was time for him to go, and he stood up.

"I should like to have seen Janet!" he said joyously. "She'll have to get used to Christian names. How soon will you tell her? Directly she comes in?"

"Certainly not. I shall wait--till to-morrow morning."

He laughed, whispering into her ear, as her soft, curly head lay against his breast.

"You won't wait ten minutes--you couldn't! Well, I must be going, or they'll shut me out of the camp."

"Why do you hurry so?"

"Hurry? Why, I shall be an hour late, anyway. I shall have to give myself C.B. to-morrow."

She laughed--a sound of pure content. Then she suddenly drew herself away, frowning at him.

"You do love me--you do--you will always!--whatever people may say?"

He was surprised at the note almost of violence in her voice. He answered it by a passionate caress, which she bore with trembling. Then she resolutely moved away.

"Do go!" she said to him, imploringly. "I'd like to be a few minutes--alone--before they come back."

He saw her settle herself by the fire, her hands stretched out to the blaze. Seeing that the fire was low, and remembering the chill of her hands in his, he looked around for the wood-basket which was generally kept in a corner behind the piano.

His movement was suddenly arrested. He was looking towards the uncurtained window. The night had grown pitch dark outside, and there were splashes of rain against the glass. But he distinctly saw as he turned a man's face pressed against the glass--a strained, sallow, face, framed in straggling black hair, a face with regular features, and eyes deeply set in blackened orbits. It was a face of hatred; the lips tightly drawn over the teeth, seemed to have a curse on them.

The vision