In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining the

dog Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. All

the rest of that fine hot day and most of the next he was content and

peaceful, reposing in the shade, while the long lingering sunshine

showered gold on the lawns and the flowers. But on Thursday evening at

his lonely dinner he began to count the hours; sixty-five till he would

go down to meet her again in the little coppice, and walk up through

the fields at her side. He had intended to consult the doctor about

his fainting fit, but the fellow would be sure to insist on quiet, no

excitement and all that; and he did not mean to be tied by the leg, did

not want to be told of an infirmity--if there were one, could not afford

to hear of it at his time of life, now that this new interest had come.

And he carefully avoided making any mention of it in a letter to his

son. It would only bring them back with a run! How far this silence was

due to consideration for their pleasure, how far to regard for his own,

he did not pause to consider.

That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing

off, when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent of

violets. Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing by the

fireplace, holding out her arms. The odd thing was that, though those

arms seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if round someone's

neck, and her own neck was bent back, her lips open, her eyes closed.

She vanished at once, and there were the mantelpiece and his bronzes.

But those bronzes and the mantelpiece had not been there when she was,

only the fireplace and the wall! Shaken and troubled, he got up. 'I must

take medicine,' he thought; 'I can't be well.' His heart beat too fast,

he had an asthmatic feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he

opened it to get some air. A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs

at Gage's farm no doubt, beyond the coppice. A beautiful still night,

but dark. 'I dropped off,' he mused, 'that's it! And yet I'll swear my

eyes were open!' A sound like a sigh seemed to answer.

"What's that?" he said sharply, "who's there?"

Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he

stepped out on the terrace. Something soft scurried by in the dark.

"Shoo!" It was that great grey cat. 'Young Bosinney was like a great

cat!' he thought. 'It was him in there, that she--that she was--He's got

her still!' He walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down into

the darkness; he could just see the powdering of the daisies on the

unmown lawn. Here to-day and gone to-morrow! And there came the moon,

who saw all, young and old, alive and dead, and didn't care a dump! His

own turn soon. For a single day of youth he would give what was left!

And he turned again towards the house. He could see the windows of the

night nursery up there. His little sweet would be asleep. 'Hope that

dog won't wake her!' he thought. 'What is it makes us love, and makes us

die! I must go to bed.'




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