The Rainbow

"Oh, well then," he said, "it's no worse here than what they

are up there."

She did not quite understand. His protective manner, and his

sureness, and his intimacy, puzzled her. What did he mean? If he

was her equal, why did he behave so without formality?

"No----" she said, vaguely, her eyes resting on

him.

She saw him fresh and naive, uncouth, almost entirely

beyond relationship with her. Yet he was good-looking, with his

fair hair and blue eyes full of energy, and with his healthy

body that seemed to take equality with her. She watched him

steadily. He was difficult for her to understand, warm, uncouth,

and confident as he was, sure on his feet as if he did not know

what it was to be unsure. What then was it that gave him this

curious stability?

She did not know. She wondered. She looked round the room he

lived in. It had a close intimacy that fascinated and almost

frightened her. The furniture was old and familiar as old

people, the whole place seemed so kin to him, as if it partook

of his being, that she was uneasy.

"It is already a long time that you have lived in this

house--yes?" she asked.

"I've always lived here," he said.

"Yes--but your people--your family?"

"We've been here above two hundred years," he said. Her eyes

were on him all the time, wide-open and trying to grasp him. He

felt that he was there for her.

"It is your own place, the house, the

farm----?"

"Yes," he said. He looked down at her and met her look. It

disturbed her. She did not know him. He was a foreigner, they

had nothing to do with each other. Yet his look disturbed her to

knowledge of him. He was so strangely confident and direct.

"You live quite alone?"

"Yes--if you call it alone?"

She did not understand. It seemed unusual to her. What was

the meaning of it?

And whenever her eyes, after watching him for some time,

inevitably met his, she was aware of a heat beating up over her

consciousness. She sat motionless and in conflict. Who was this

strange man who was at once so near to her? What was happening

to her? Something in his young, warm-twinkling eyes seemed to

assume a right to her, to speak to her, to extend her his

protection. But how? Why did he speak to her? Why were his eyes

so certain, so full of light and confident, waiting for no

permission nor signal?