Night and Day by Virginia Woolf (websites to read books for free .TXT) 📖

>He crossed his knees in a discomfited silence. By all his codes it was

impossible to ask a woman with whom he had just broken off his

engagement to help him to become acquainted with another woman with a

view to his falling in love with her. If it was announced that their

engagement was over, a long and complete separation would inevitably

follow; in those circumstances, letters and gifts were returned; after

years of distance the severed couple met, perhaps at an evening party,

and touched hands uncomfortably with an indifferent word or two. He

would be cast off completely; he would have to trust to his own

resources. He could never mention Cassandra to Katharine again; for

months, and doubtless years, he would never see Katharine again;

anything might happen to her in his absence.

 

Katharine was almost as well aware of his perplexities as he was. She

knew in what direction complete generosity pointed the way; but pride

—for to remain engaged to Rodney and to cover his experiments hurt

what was nobler in her than mere vanity—fought for its life.

 

“I’m to give up my freedom for an indefinite time,” she thought, “in

order that William may see Cassandra here at his ease. He’s not the

courage to manage it without my help—he’s too much of a coward to

tell me openly what he wants. He hates the notion of a public breach.

He wants to keep us both.”

 

When she reached this point, Rodney pocketed the letter and

elaborately looked at his watch. Although the action meant that he

resigned Cassandra, for he knew his own incompetence and distrusted

himself entirely, and lost Katharine, for whom his feeling was

profound though unsatisfactory, still it appeared to him that there

was nothing else left for him to do. He was forced to go, leaving

Katharine free, as he had said, to tell her mother that the engagement

was at an end. But to do what plain duty required of an honorable man,

cost an effort which only a day or two ago would have been

inconceivable to him. That a relationship such as he had glanced at

with desire could be possible between him and Katharine, he would have

been the first, two days ago, to deny with indignation. But now his

life had changed; his attitude had changed; his feelings were

different; new aims and possibilities had been shown him, and they had

an almost irresistible fascination and force. The training of a life

of thirty-five years had not left him defenceless; he was still master

of his dignity; he rose, with a mind made up to an irrevocable

farewell.

 

“I leave you, then,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand

with an effort that left him pale, but lent him dignity, “to tell your

mother that our engagement is ended by your desire.”

 

She took his hand and held it.

 

“You don’t trust me?” she said.

 

“I do, absolutely,” he replied.

 

“No. You don’t trust me to help you… . I could help you?”

 

“I’m hopeless without your help!” he exclaimed passionately, but

withdrew his hand and turned his back. When he faced her, she thought

that she saw him for the first time without disguise.

 

“It’s useless to pretend that I don’t understand what you’re offering,

Katharine. I admit what you say. Speaking to you perfectly frankly, I

believe at this moment that I do love your cousin; there is a chance

that, with your help, I might—but no,” he broke off, “it’s

impossible, it’s wrong—I’m infinitely to blame for having allowed

this situation to arise.”

 

“Sit beside me. Let’s consider sensibly—”

 

“Your sense has been our undoing—” he groaned.

 

“I accept the responsibility.”

 

“Ah, but can I allow that?” he exclaimed. “It would mean—for we must

face it, Katharine—that we let our engagement stand for the time

nominally; in fact, of course, your freedom would be absolute.”

 

“And yours too.”

 

“Yes, we should both be free. Let us say that I saw Cassandra once,

twice, perhaps, under these conditions; and then if, as I think

certain, the whole thing proves a dream, we tell your mother

instantly. Why not tell her now, indeed, under pledge of secrecy?”

 

“Why not? It would be over London in ten minutes, besides, she would

never even remotely understand.”

 

“Your father, then? This secrecy is detestable—it’s dishonorable.”

 

“My father would understand even less than my mother.”

 

“Ah, who could be expected to understand?” Rodney groaned; “but it’s

from your point of view that we must look at it. It’s not only asking

too much, it’s putting you into a position—a position in which I

could not endure to see my own sister.”

 

“We’re not brothers and sisters,” she said impatiently, “and if we

can’t decide, who can? I’m not talking nonsense,” she proceeded. “I’ve

done my best to think this out from every point of view, and I’ve come

to the conclusion that there are risks which have to be taken,—though

I don’t deny that they hurt horribly.”

 

“Katharine, you mind? You’ll mind too much.”

 

“No I shan’t,” she said stoutly. “I shall mind a good deal, but I’m

prepared for that; I shall get through it, because you will help me.

You’ll both help me. In fact, we’ll help each other. That’s a

Christian doctrine, isn’t it?”

 

“It sounds more like Paganism to me,” Rodney groaned, as he reviewed

the situation into which her Christian doctrine was plunging them.

 

And yet he could not deny that a divine relief possessed him, and that

the future, instead of wearing a lead-colored mask, now blossomed with

a thousand varied gaieties and excitements. He was actually to see

Cassandra within a week or perhaps less, and he was more anxious to

know the date of her arrival than he could own even to himself. It

seemed base to be so anxious to pluck this fruit of Katharine’s

unexampled generosity and of his own contemptible baseness. And yet,

though he used these words automatically, they had now no meaning. He

was not debased in his own eyes by what he had done, and as for

praising Katharine, were they not partners, conspirators, people bent

upon the same quest together, so that to praise the pursuit of a

common end as an act of generosity was meaningless. He took her hand

and pressed it, not in thanks so much as in an ecstasy of comradeship.

 

“We will help each other,” he said, repeating her words, seeking her

eyes in an enthusiasm of friendship.

 

Her eyes were grave but dark with sadness as they rested on him. “He’s

already gone,” she thought, “far away—he thinks of me no more.” And

the fancy came to her that, as they sat side by side, hand in hand,

she could hear the earth pouring from above to make a barrier between

them, so that, as they sat, they were separated second by second by an

impenetrable wall. The process, which affected her as that of being

sealed away and for ever from all companionship with the person she

cared for most, came to an end at last, and by common consent they

unclasped their fingers, Rodney touching hers with his lips, as the

curtain parted, and Mrs. Hilbery peered through the opening with her

benevolent and sarcastic expression to ask whether Katharine could

remember was it Tuesday or Wednesday, and did she dine in Westminster?

 

“Dearest William,” she said, pausing, as if she could not resist the

pleasure of encroaching for a second upon this wonderful world of love

and confidence and romance. “Dearest children,” she added,

disappearing with an impulsive gesture, as if she forced herself to

draw the curtain upon a scene which she refused all temptation to

interrupt.