The Trespasser

She glanced up at Siegmund. Tiny drops of mist greyed his eyebrows. He

was looking out to sea, screwing up his eyes, and smiling brutally. Her

face became heavy and sullen. He was like the heart and the brute sea,

just here; he was not her Siegmund. She hated the brute in him.

Turning suddenly, she plunged over the shingle towards the wide,

populous bay. He remained alone, grinning at the smashing turmoil,

careless of her departure. He would easily catch her.

When at last he turned from the wrestling water, he had spent his

savagery, and was sad. He could never take part in the great battle of

action. It was beyond him. Many things he had let slip by. His life was

whittled down to only a few interests, only a few necessities. Even

here, he had but Helena, and through her the rest. After this

week--well, that was vague. He left it in the dark, dreading it.

And Helena was toiling over the rough beach alone. He saw her small

figure bowed as she plunged forward. It smote his heart with the keenest

tenderness. She was so winsome, a playmate with beauty and fancy. Why

was he cruel to her because she had not his own bitter wisdom of

experience? She was young and naïve, and should he be angry with her for

that? His heart was tight at the thought of her. She would have to

suffer also, because of him.

He hurried after her. Not till they had nearly come to a little green

mound, where the downs sloped, and the cliffs were gone, did he catch

her up. Then he took her hand as they walked.

They halted on the green hillock beyond the sand, and, without a word,

he folded her in his arms. Both were put of breath. He clasped her

close, seeming to rock her with his strong panting. She felt his body

lifting into her, and sinking away. It seemed to force a rhythm, a new

pulse, in her. Gradually, with a fine, keen thrilling, she melted down

on him, like metal sinking on a mould. He was sea and sunlight mixed,

heaving, warm, deliciously strong.

Siegmund exulted. At last she was moulded to him in pure passion.

They stood folded thus for some time. Then Helena raised her burning

face, and relaxed. She was throbbing with strange elation and

satisfaction.

'It might as well have been the sea as any other way, dear,' she said,

startling both of them. The speech went across their thoughtfulness like

a star flying into the night, from nowhere. She had no idea why she said

it. He pressed his mouth on hers. 'Not for you,' he thought, by reflex.

'You can't go that way yet.' But he said nothing, strained her very

tightly, and kept her lips.