Siegmund was gathering strength from the thought of that other woman's
courage. If she had so much restraint as not to cry out, or alarm the
boy, if she had so much grace not to complain to her husband, surely he
himself might refrain from revealing his own fear of Helena, and from
lamenting his hard fate.
They sailed on past the chequered round towers. The sea opened, and they
looked out to eastward into the sea-space. Siegmund wanted to flee. He
yearned to escape down the open ways before him. Yet he knew he would be
carried on to London. He watched the sea-ways closing up. The shore came
round. The high old houses stood flat on the right hand. The shore swept
round in a sickle, reaping them into the harbour. There the old
_Victory_, gay with myriad pointed pennons, was harvested, saved for
a trophy.
'It is a dreadful thing,' thought Siegmund, 'to remain as a trophy when
there is nothing more to do.' He watched the landing-stages swooping
nearer. There were the trains drawn up in readiness. At the other end of
the train was London.
He could scarcely bear to have Helena before him for another two hours.
The suspense of that protracted farewell, while he sat opposite her in
the beating train, would cost too much. He longed to be released
from her.
They had got their luggage, and were standing at the foot of the ladder,
in the heat of the engines and the smell of hot oil, waiting for the
crowd to pass on, so that they might ascend and step off the ship on to
the mainland.
'Won't you let me go by the South-Western, and you by the Brighton?'
asked Siegmund, hesitating, repeating the morning's question.
Helena looked at him, knitting her brows with misgiving and perplexity.
'No,' she replied. 'Let us go together.' Siegmund followed her up the iron ladder to the quay.
There was no great crowd on the train. They easily found a second-class
compartment without occupants. He swung the luggage on the rack and sat
down, facing Helena.
'Now,' said he to himself, 'I wish I were alone.' He wanted to think and prepare himself.
Helena, who was thinking actively, leaned forward to him to say: 'Shall I not go down to Cornwall?' By her soothing willingness to do anything for him, Siegmund knew that
she was dogging him closely. He could not bear to have his anxiety
protracted.
'But you have promised Louisa, have you not?' he replied.
'Oh, well!' she said, in the peculiar slighting tone she had when she
wished to convey the unimportance of affairs not touching him.