The Trespasser

Helena drew him to the edge of the cliff. He crushed her hand, drawing

slightly back. But it pleased her to feel the grip on her hand becoming

unbearable. They stood right on the edge, to see the smooth cliff slope

into the mist, under which the sea stirred noisily.

'Shall we walk over, then?' said Siegmund, glancing downwards. Helena's

heart stood still a moment at the idea, then beat heavily. How could he

play with the idea of death, and the five great days in front? She was

afraid of him just then.

'Come away, dear,' she pleaded.

He would, then, forgo the few consummate days! It was bitterness to her

to think so.

'Come away, dear!' she repeated, drawing him slowly to the path.

'You are not afraid?' he asked.

'Not afraid, no....' Her voice had that peculiar, reedy, harsh quality

that made him shiver.

'It is too easy a way,' he said satirically.

She did not take in his meaning.

'And five days of our own before us, Siegmund!' she scolded. 'The mist

is Lethe. It is enough for us if its spell lasts five days.' He laughed, and took her in his arms, kissing her very closely.

They walked on joyfully, locking behind them the doors of forgetfulness.

As the sun set, the fog dispersed a little. Breaking masses of mist went

flying from cliff to cliff, and far away beyond the cliffs the western

sky stood dimmed with gold. The lovers wandered aimlessly over the

golf-links to where green mounds and turfed banks suggested to Helena

that she was tired, and would sit down. They faced the lighted chamber

of the west, whence, behind the torn, dull-gold curtains of fog, the sun

was departing with pomp.

Siegmund sat very still, watching the sunset. It was a splendid, flaming

bridal chamber where he had come to Helena. He wondered how to express

it; how other men had borne this same glory.

'What is the music of it?' he asked.

She glanced at him. His eyelids were half lowered, his mouth slightly

open, as if in ironic rhapsody.

'Of what, dear?' 'What music do you think holds the best interpretation of sunset?' His skin was gold, his real mood was intense. She revered him for a

moment.

'I do not know,' she said quietly; and she rested her head against his

shoulder, looking out west.

There was a space of silence, while Siegmund dreamed on.

'A Beethoven symphony--the one--' and he explained to her.

She was not satisfied, but leaned against him, making her choice. The

sunset hung steady, she could scarcely perceive a change.