The Trespasser

Feeling him abstract, withdrawn from her, Helena experienced the dread

of losing him. She was in his arms, but his spirit ignored her. That was

insufferable to her pride. Yet she dared not disturb him--she was

afraid. Bitterly she repented her of the giving way to her revulsion a

little space before. Why had she not smothered it and pretended? Why had

she, a woman, betrayed herself so flagrantly? Now perhaps she had lost

him for good. She was consumed with uneasiness.

At last she drew back from him, held him her mouth to kiss. As he

gently, sadly kissed her she pressed him to her bosom. She must get him

back, whatever else she lost. She put her hand tenderly on his brow.

'What are you thinking of?' she asked.

'I?' he replied. 'I really don't know. I suppose I was hardly thinking

anything.' She waited a while, clinging to him, then, finding some difficulty in

speech, she asked: 'Was I very cruel, dear?' It was so unusual to hear her grieved and filled with humility that he

drew her close into him.

'It was pretty bad, I suppose,' he replied. 'But I should think neither

of us could help it.' She gave a little sob, pressed her face into his chest, wishing she had

helped it. Then, with Madonna love, she clasped his head upon her

shoulder, covering her hands over his hair. Twice she kissed him softly

in the nape of the neck, with fond, reassuring kisses. All the while,

delicately, she fondled and soothed him, till he was child to

her Madonna.

They remained standing with his head on her shoulder for some time, till

at last he raised himself to lay his lips on hers in a long kiss of

healing and renewal--long, pale kisses of after-suffering.

Someone was coming along the path. Helena let him go, shook herself

free, turned sharply aside, and said: 'Shall we go down to the water?' 'If you like,' he replied, putting out his hand to her. They went thus

with clasped hands down the cliff path to the beach.

There they sat in the shadow of the uprising island, facing the restless

water. Around them the sand and shingle were grey; there stretched a

long pale line of surf, beyond which the sea was black and smeared with

star-reflections. The deep, velvety sky shone with lustrous stars.

As yet the moon was not risen. Helena proposed that they should lie on a

tuft of sand in a black cleft of the cliff to await its coming. They lay

close together without speaking. Each was looking at a low, large star

which hung straight in front of them, dripping its brilliance in a thin

streamlet of light along the sea almost to their feet. It was a

star-path fine and clear, trembling in its brilliance, but certain upon

the water. Helena watched it with delight. As Siegmund looked at the

star, it seemed to him a lantern hung at the gate to light someone home.

He imagined himself following the thread of the star-track. What was

behind the gate?