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night　and　her　love　had　stolen　forth。





CHAPTER　XIV

On　a　spur　of　the　Sussex　Downs；　inland　from　Nettle…Cold；　there　stands
a　beech…grove。　　The　traveller　who　enters　it　out　of　the　heat　and
brightness；　takes　off　the　shoes　of　his　spirit　before　its；　sanctity；
and；　reaching　the　centre；　across　the　clean　beech…mat；　he　sits
refreshing　his　brow　with　air；　and　silence。　　For　the　flowers　of
sunlight　on　the　ground　under　those　branches　are　pale　and　rare；　no
insects　hum；　the　birds　are　almost　mute。　　And　close　to　the　border
trees　are　the　quiet；　milk…white　sheep；　in　congregation；　escaping　from
noon　heat。　　Here；　above　fields　and　dwellings；　above　the　ceaseless
network　of　men's　doings；　and　the　vapour　of　their　talk；　the　traveller
feels　solemnity。　　All　seems　conveying　divinitythe　great　white
clouds　moving　their　wings　above　him；　the　faint　longing　murmur　of　the
boughs；　and　in　far　distance；　the　sea。。。。　　And　for　a　space　his
restlessness　and　fear　know　the　peace　of　God。

So　it　was　with　Miltoun　when　he　reached　this　temple；　three　days　after
that　passionate　night；　having　walked　for　hours；　alone　and　full　of
conflict。　　During　those　three　days　he　had　been　borne　forward　on　the
flood　tide；　and　now；　tearing　himself　out　of　London；　where　to　think
was　impossible；　he　had　come　to　the　solitude　of　the　Downs　to　walk；　and
face　his　new　position。

For　that　position　he　saw　to　be　very　serious。　　In　the　flush　of　full
realization；　there　was　for　him　no　question　of　renunciation。　　She　was
his；　he　hers；　that　was　determined。　　But　what；　then；　was　he　to　do？
There　was　no　chance　of　her　getting　free。　　In　her　husband's　view；　it
seemed；　under　no　circumstances　was　marriage　dissoluble。　　Nor；　indeed；
to　Miltoun　would　divorce　have　made　things　easier；　believing　as　he　did
that　he　and　she　were　guilty；　and　that　for　the　guilty　there　could　be
no　marriage。　　She；　it　was　true；　asked　nothing　but　just　to　be　his　in
secret；　and　that　was　the　course　he　knew　most　men　would　take；　without
further　thought。　　There　was　no　material　reason　in　the　world　why　he
should　not　so　act；　and　maintain　unchanged　every　other　current　of　his
life。　　It　would　be　easy；　usual。　　And；　with　her　faculty　for　self…
effacement；　he　knew　she　would　not　be　unhappy。　　But　conscience；　in
Miltoun；　was　a　terrible　and　fierce　thing。　　In　the　delirium　of　his
illness　it　had　become　that　Great　Face　which　had　marched　over　him。
And；　though　during　the　weeks　of　his　recuperation；　struggle　of　all
kind　had　ceased；　now　that　he　had　yielded　to　his　passion；　conscience；
in　a　new　and　dismal　shape；　had　crept　up　again　to　sit　above　his　heart：
He　must　and　would　let　this　man；　her　husband；　know；　but　even　if　that
caused　no　open　scandal；　could　he　go　on　deceiving　those　who；　if　they
knew　of　an　illicit　love；　would　no　longer　allow　him　to　be　their
representative？　　If　it　were　known　that　she　was　his　mistress；　he　could
no　longer　maintain　his　position　in　public　lifewas　he　not　therefore
in　honour　bound；　of　his　own　accord；　to　resign　it？　　Night　and　day　he
was　haunted　by　the　thought：　How　can　I；　living　in　defiance　of
authority；　pretend　to　authority　over　my　fellows？　　How　can　I　remain　in
public　life？　　But　if　he　did　not　remain　in　public　life；　what　was　he　to
do？　　That　way　of　life　was　in　his　blood；　he　had　been　bred　and　born
into　it；　had　thought　of　nothing　else　since　he　was　a　boy。　　There　was
no　other　occupation　or　interest　that　could　hold　him　for　a　momenthe
saw　very　plainly　that　he　would　be　cast　away　on　the　waters　of
existence。

So　the　battle　raged　in　his　proud　and　twisted　spirit；　which　took
everything　so　hardhis　nature　imperatively　commanding　him　to　keep
his　work　and　his　power　for　usefulness；　his　conscience　telling　him　as
urgently　that　if　he　sought　to　wield　authority；　he　must　obey　it。

He　entered　the　beech…grove　at　the　height　of　this　misery；　flaming　with
rebellion　against　the　dilemma　which　Fate　had　placed　before　him；
visited　by　gusts　of　resentment　against　a　passion；　which　forced　him　to
pay　the　price；　either　of　his　career；　or　of　his　self…respect；　gusts；
followed　by　remorse　that　he　could　so　for　one　moment　regret　his　love
for　that　tender　creature。　　The　face　of　Lucifer　was　not　more　dark；
more　tortured；　than　Miltoun's　face　in　the　twilight　of　the　grove；
above　those　kingdoms　of　the　world；　for　which　his　ambition　and　his
conscience　fought。　　He　threw　himself　down　among　the　trees；　and
stretching　out　his　arms；　by　chance　touched　a　beetle　trying　to　crawl
over　the　grassless　soil。　　Some　bird　had　maimed　it。　　He　took　the
little　creature　up。　　The　beetle　truly　could　no　longer　work；　but　it
was　spared　the　fate　lying　before　himself。　　The　beetle　was　not；　as　he
would　be；　when　his　power　of　movement　was　destroyed；　conscious　of　his
own　wasted　life。　　The　world　would　not　roll　away　down　there。　　He　would
still　see　himself　cumbering　the　ground；　when　his　powers　were　taken；
from　him。　　This　thought　was　torture。　　Why　had　he　been　suffered　to
meet　her；　to　love　her；　and　to　be　loved　by　her？　　What　had　made　him　so
certain　from　the　first　moment；　if　she　were　not　meant　for　him？　　If　he
lived　to　be　a　hundred；　he　would　never　meet　another。　　Why；　because　of
his　love；　must　he　bury　the　will　and　force　of　a　man？　　If　there　were　no
more　coherence　in　God's　scheme　than　this；　let　him　too　be　incoherent！
Let　him　hold　authority；　and　live　outside　authority！　　Why　stifle　his
powers　for　the　sake　of　a　coherence　which　did　not　exist！　　That　would
indeed　be　madness　greater　than　that　of　a　mad　world！

There　was　no　answer　to　his　thoughts　in　the　stillness　of　the　grove；
unless　it　were　the　cooing　of　a　dove；　or　the　faint　thudding　of　the
sheep　issuing　again　into　sunlight。　　But　slowly　that　stillness　stole
into　Miltoun's　spirit。　　〃Is　it　like　this　in　the　grave？〃　he　thought。
〃Are　the　boughs　of　those　trees　the　dark　earth　over　me？　　And　the　sound
in　them　the　sound　the　dead　hear　when　flowers　are　growing；　and　the
wind　passing　through　them？　　And　is　the　feel　of　this　earth　how　it
feels　to　lie　looking　up　for　ever　at　nothing？　　Is　life　anything　but　a
nightmare；　a　dream；　and　is　not　this　the　reality？　　And　why　my　fury；　my
insignificant　flame；　blowing　here　and　there；　when　there　is　really　no
wind；　only　a　shroud　of　still　air；　and　these　flowers　of　sunlight　that
have　been　dropped　on　me！　　Why　not　let　my　spirit　sleep；　instead　of
eating　itself　away　with　rage；　why　not　resign　myself　at　once　to　wait
for　the　substance；　of　which　this　is　but　the　shadow！〃

And　he　lay　scarcely　breathing；　looking　up　at　the　unmoving　branches
setting　with　their　darkness　the　pearls　of　the　sky。

〃Is　not　peace　enough？〃　he　thought。　　〃Is　not　love　enough？　　Can　I　not
be　reconciled；　like　a　woman？　　Is　not　that　salvation；　and　happiness？
What　is　all　the　rest；　but　'sound　and　fury；　signifying　nothing？〃

And　as　though　afraid　to　lose　his　hold　of　that　thought；　he　got　up　and
hurried　from　the　grove。

The　whole　wide　landscape　of　field　and　wood；　cut　by　the　pale　roads；
was　glimmering　under　the　afternoon　sun；　Here　was　no　wild；　wind…swept
land；　gleaming　red　and　purple；　and　guarded　by　the　grey　rocks；　no　home
of　the　winds；　and　the　wild　gods。　　It　was　all　serene　and　silver…
golden。　　In　place　of　the　shrill　wailing　pipe　of　the　hunting　buzzard…
hawks　half　lost　up　in　the　wind；　invisible　larks　were　letting　fall
hymns　to　tranquillity；　and　even　the　seano　adventuring　spirit
sweeping　the　shore　with　its　wingseemed　to　lie　resting　by　the　side
of　the　land。




CHAPTER　XV

When　on　the　afternoon　of　that　same　day　Miltoun　did　not　come；　all　the
chilly　doubts　which　his　presence　alone　kept　away；　crowded　thick　and
fast　into　the　mind　of　one　only　too　prone　to　distrust　her　own
happiness。　　It　could　not　lasthow　could　it？

His　nature　and　her　own　were　so　far　apart！　　Even　in　that　giving　of
herself　which　had　been　such　happiness；　she　had　yet　doubted；　for　there
was　so　much　in　him　that　was　to　her　mysterious。　　All　that　he　loved　in
poetry　and　nature；　had　in　it　something　craggy　and　culminating。　　The
soft　and　fiery；　the　subtle　and　harmonious；　seemed　to　leave　him　cold。
He　had　no　particular　love　for　all　those　simple　natural　things；　birds；
bees；　animals；　trees；　and　flowers；　that　seemed　to　her　precious　and
divine。

Though　it　was　not　yet　four　o'clock　she　was　already　beginning　to　droop
like　a　flower　that　wants　water。　　But　she　sat　down　to　her　piano；
resolutely；　till　tea　came；　playing　on　and　on　with　a　spirit　only　half
present；　the　other　half　of　her　wandering　in　the　Town；　seeking　for
Miltoun。　　After　tea　she　tried　first　to　read；　then　to　sew；　and　once
more　came　back　to　her　piano。　　The　clock　struck　six；　and　as　if　its
last　stroke　had　broken　the　armour　of　her　mind；　she　felt　suddenly　sick
with　anxiety。　　Why　was　he　so　long？　　But　she　kept　on　playing；　turning
the　pages　without　taking　in　the　notes；　haunted　by　the　idea　that　he
might　again　have　fallen　ill。　　Should　she　telegraph？　　What　good；　when
she　could　not　tell　in　the　least　where　he　might　be？　　And　all　the
unreasoning　terror　of　not　knowing　where　the　loved　one　is；　beset　her
so　that　her　hands；　in　sheer　numbness；　dropped　from　the　keys。　　Unable
to　keep　still；　now；　she　wandered　from　window　to　door；　out　into　the
little　hall；　and　back　hastily　to　the　window。　　Over　her　anxiety
brooded　a　darkness；　compounded　of　vague　growing　fears。　　What　if　it
were　the　end？　　What　if　he　had　chosen　this　as　the　most　merciful　way　of
leaving　h