Women in Love

Gerald guessed where he was. At least, when he came to Whatmore, he

would know. He was glad to be on a high road. He walked forward as in a

sleep of decision.

That was Whatmore Village--? Yes, the King's Head--and there the hall

gates. He descended the steep hill almost running. Winding through the

hollow, he passed the Grammar School, and came to Willey Green Church.

The churchyard! He halted.

Then in another moment he had clambered up the wall and was going among

the graves. Even in this darkness he could see the heaped pallor of old

white flowers at his feet. This then was the grave. He stooped down.

The flowers were cold and clammy. There was a raw scent of

chrysanthemums and tube-roses, deadened. He felt the clay beneath, and

shrank, it was so horribly cold and sticky. He stood away in revulsion.

Here was one centre then, here in the complete darkness beside the

unseen, raw grave. But there was nothing for him here. No, he had

nothing to stay here for. He felt as if some of the clay were sticking

cold and unclean, on his heart. No, enough of this.

Where then?--home? Never! It was no use going there. That was less than

no use. It could not be done. There was somewhere else to go. Where?

A dangerous resolve formed in his heart, like a fixed idea. There was

Gudrun--she would be safe in her home. But he could get at her--he

would get at her. He would not go back tonight till he had come to her,

if it cost him his life. He staked his all on this throw.

He set off walking straight across the fields towards Beldover. It was

so dark, nobody could ever see him. His feet were wet and cold, heavy

with clay. But he went on persistently, like a wind, straight forward,

as if to his fate. There were great gaps in his consciousness. He was

conscious that he was at Winthorpe hamlet, but quite unconscious how he

had got there. And then, as in a dream, he was in the long street of

Beldover, with its street-lamps.

There was a noise of voices, and of a door shutting loudly, and being

barred, and of men talking in the night. The 'Lord Nelson' had just

closed, and the drinkers were going home. He had better ask one of

these where she lived--for he did not know the side streets at all.

'Can you tell me where Somerset Drive is?' he asked of one of the

uneven men.

'Where what?' replied the tipsy miner's voice.