The Trespasser

In the miles of morning sunshine, Siegmund's shadows, his children,

Beatrice, his sorrow, dissipated like mist, and he was elated as a young

man setting forth to travel. When he had passed Portsmouth Town

everything had vanished but the old gay world of romance. He laughed as

he looked out of the carriage window.

Below, in the street, a military band passed glittering. A brave sound

floated up, and again he laughed, loving the tune, the clash and glitter

of the band, the movement of scarlet, blithe soldiers beyond the park.

People were drifting brightly from church. How could it be Sunday! It

was no time; it was Romance, going back to Tristan.

Women, like crocus flowers, in white and blue and lavender, moved gaily.

Everywhere fluttered the small flags of holiday. Every form danced

lightly in the sunshine.

And beyond it all were the silent hillsides of the island, with Helena.

It was so wonderful, he could bear to be patient. She would be all in

white, with her cool, thick throat left bare to the breeze, her face

shining, smiling as she dipped her head because of the sun, which

glistened on her uncovered hair.

He breathed deeply, stirring at the thought. But he would not grow

impatient. The train had halted over the town, where scarlet soldiers,

and ludicrous blue sailors, and all the brilliant women from church

shook like a kaleidoscope down the street. The train crawled on, drawing

near to the sea, for which Siegmund waited breathless. It was so like

Helena, blue, beautiful, strong in its reserve.

Another moment they were in the dirty station. Then the day flashed out,

and Siegmund mated with joy. He felt the sea heaving below him. He

looked round, and the sea was blue as a periwinkle flower, while gold

and white and blood-red sails lit here and there upon the blueness.

Standing on the deck, he gave himself to the breeze and to the sea,

feeling like one of the ruddy sails--as if he were part of it all. All

his body radiated amid the large, magnificent sea-moon like a piece

of colour.

The little ship began to pulse, to tremble. White with the softness of a

bosom, the water rose up frothing and swaying gently. Ships drew near

the inquisitive birds; the old _Victory_ shook her myriad pointed flags

of yellow and scarlet; the straight old houses of the quay passed by.

Outside the harbour, like fierce creatures of the sea come wildly up to

look, the battleships laid their black snouts on the water. Siegmund

laughed at them. He felt the foam on his face like a sparkling, felt the

blue sea gathering round.