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have had that ceremony in the little dark disused chapel at the
Court； those two； and the priest alone。 Here； in this half…pagan
little country church smothered hastily in flowers； with the raw
singing of the half…pagan choir； and all the village curiosity and
homage…everything had jarred； and the stale aftermath sickened him。
Changing his swallow…tail to an old smoking jacket； he went out on to
the lawn。 In the wide darkness he could rid himself of his
exasperation。
Since the day of his election he had not once been at Monkland； since
Mrs。 Noel's flight he had never left London。 In London and work he
had buried himself； by London and work he had saved himself！ He had
gone down into the battle。
Dew had not yet fallen； and he took the path across the fields。
There was no moon； no stars； no wind； the cattle were noiseless under
the trees； there were no owls calling； no night…jars churring； the
fly…by…night chafers were not abroad。 The stream alone was alive in
the quiet darkness。 And as Miltoun followed the wispy line of grey
path cleaving the dim glamour of daisies and buttercups； there came
to him the feeling that he was in the presence； not of sleep； but of
eternal waiting。 The sound of his footfalls seemed desecration。 So
devotional was that hush； burning the spicy incense of millions of
leaves and blades of grass。
Crossing the last stile he came out； close to her deserted cottage；
under her lime…tree； which on the night of Courtier's adventure had
hung blue…black round the moon。 On that side； only a rail； and a few
shrubs confined her garden。
The house was all dark； but the many tall white flowers； like a
bright vapour rising from earth； clung to the air above the beds。
Leaning against the tree Miltoun gave himself to memory。
》From the silent boughs which drooped round his dark figure； a little
sleepy bird uttered a faint cheep； a hedgehog； or some small beast of
night； rustled away in the grass close by； a moth flew past； seeking
its candle flame。 And something in Miltoun's heart took wings after
it； searching for the warmth and light of his blown candle of love。
Then； in the hush he heard a sound as of a branch ceaselessly trailed
through long grass； fainter and fainter； more and more distinct；
again fainter； but nothing could he see that should make that
homeless sound。 And the sense of some near but unseen presence crept
on him； till the hair moved on his scalp。 If God would light the
moon or stars； and let him see！ If God would end the expectation of
this night； let one wan glimmer down into her garden； and one wan
glimmer into his breast！ But it stayed dark； and the homeless noise
never ceased。 The weird thought came to Miltoun that it was made by
his own heart； wandering out there； trying to feel warm again。 He
closed his eyes and at once knew that it was not his heart； but
indeed some external presence； unconsoled。 And stretching his hands
out he moved forward to arrest that sound。 As he reached the
railing； it ceased。 And he saw a flame leap up； a pale broad pathway
of light blanching the grass。
And； realizing that she was there； within； he gasped。 His finger…
nails bent and broke against the iron railing without his knowing。
It was not as on that night when the red flowers on her windowsill
had wafted their scent to him； it was no sheer overpowering rush of
passion。 Profounder； more terrible； was this rising up within him of
yearning for loveas if； now defeated； it would nevermore stir； but
lie dead on that dark grass beneath those dark boughs。 And if
victoriouswhat then？ He stole back under the tree。
He could see little white moths travelling down that path of
lamplight； he could see the white flowers quite plainly now； a pale
watch of blossoms guarding the dark sleepy ones； and he stood； not
reasoning； hardly any longer feeling； stunned； battered by struggle。
His face and hands were sticky with the honey…dew； slowly； invisibly
distilling from the lime…tree。 He bent down and felt the grass。 And
suddenly there came over him the certainty of her presence。 Yes； she
was thereout on the verandah！ He could see her white figure from
head to foot； and； not realizing that she could not see him； he
expected her to utter some cry。 But no sound came from her； no
gesture； she turned back into the house。 Miltoun ran forward to the
railing。 But there； once more； he stoppedunable to think； unable
to feel； as it were abandoned by himself。 And he suddenly found his
hand up at his mouth； as though there were blood there to be
staunched that had escaped from his heart。
Still holding that hand before his mouth； and smothering the sound of
his feet in the long grass； he crept away。
CHAPTER XXX
In the great glass house at Ravensham； Lady Casterley stood close to
some Japanese lilies； with a letter in her hand。 Her face was very
white； for it was the first day she had been allowed down after an
attack of influenza； nor had the hand in which she held the letter
its usual steadiness。 She read：
〃MONKLAND COURT。
〃Just a line； dear； before the post goes； to tell you that Babs has
gone off happily。 The child looked beautiful。 She sent you her
love； and some absurd messagethat you would be glad to hear； she
was perfectly safe； with both feet firmly on the ground。〃
A grim little smile played on Lady Casterley's pale lips：… Yes；
indeed； and time too！ The child had been very near the edge of the
cliffs！ Very near committing a piece of romantic folly！ That was
well over！ And raising the letter again； she read on：
〃We were all down for it； of course； and come back tomorrow。
Geoffrey is quite cut up。 Things can't be what they were without our
Babs。 I've watched Eustace very carefully； and I really believe he's
safely over that affair at last。 He is doing extraordinarily well in
the House just now。 Geoffrey says his speech on the Poor Law was
head and shoulders the best made。〃
Lady Casterley let fall the hand which held the letter。 Safe？ Yes；
he was safe！ He had done the rightthe natural thing！ And in time
he would be happy！ He would rise now to that pinnacle of desired
authority which she had dreamed of for him； ever since he was a tiny
thing； ever since his little thin brown hand had clasped hers in
their wanderings amongst the flowers； and the furniture of tall
rooms。 But； as she stoodcrumpling the letter； grey…white as some
small resolute ghost； among her tall lilies that filled with their
scent the great glass house…shadows flitted across her face。 Was it
the fugitive noon sunshine？ Or was it some glimmering perception of
the old Greek saying'Character is Fate；' some sudden sense of the
universal truth that all are in bond to their own natures； and what a
man has most desired shall in the end enslave him？
End