The Trespasser

He hurried down the platform, wincing at every stride, from the memory

of Helena's last look of mute, heavy yearning. He gripped his fists till

they trembled; his thumbs were again closed under his fingers. Like a

picture on a cloth before him he still saw Helena's face, white,

rounded, in feature quite mute and expressionless, just made terrible by

the heavy eyes, pleading dumbly. He thought of her going on and on,

still at the carriage window looking out; all through the night rushing

west and west to the land of Isolde. Things began to haunt Siegmund like

a delirium. He knew not where he was hurrying. Always in front of him,

as on a cloth, was the face of Helena, while somewhere behind the cloth

was Cornwall, a far-off lonely place where darkness came on intensely.

Sometimes he saw a dim, small phantom in the darkness of Cornwall, very

far off. Then the face of Helena, white, inanimate as a mask, with heavy

eyes, came between again.

He was almost startled to find himself at home, in the porch of his

house. The door opened. He remembered to have heard the quick thud of

feet. It was Vera. She glanced at him, but said nothing. Instinctively

she shrank from him. He passed without noticing her. She stood on the

door-mat, fastening the door, striving to find something to say to him.

'You have been over an hour,' she said, still more troubled when she

found her voice shaking. She had no idea what alarmed her.

'Ay,' returned Siegmund.

He went into the dining-room and dropped into his chair, with his head

between his hands. Vera followed him nervously.

'Will you have anything to eat?' she asked.

He looked up at the table, as if the supper laid there were curious and

incomprehensible. The delirious lifting of his eyelids showed the whole

of the dark pupils and the bloodshot white of his eyes. Vera held her

breath with fear. He sank his head again and said nothing. Vera sat down

and waited. The minutes ticked slowly off. Siegmund neither moved nor

spoke. At last the clock struck midnight. She was weary with sleep,

querulous with trouble.

'Aren't you going to bed?' she asked.

Siegmund heard her without paying any attention. He seemed only to half

hear. Vera waited awhile, then repeated plaintively: 'Aren't you going to bed, Father?' Siegmund lifted his head and looked at her. He loathed the idea of

having to move. He looked at her confusedly.

'Yes, I'm going,' he said, and his head dropped again. Vera knew he was

not asleep. She dared not leave him till he was in his bedroom. Again

she sat waiting.