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This language of a proud and tameless individuality, this modern gospel of the divine right of self-development her soul loathed it! And yet, since that night in Marrisdale, there had been a new yearning in her to understand. Suddenly, however, Rose stopped, lost her thread. Two figures were crossing the lawn, and their shadows were thrown far beyond them by the fast disappearing sun.
Well, then, at worst, when they met they would meet on a different footing, with a sense of something critical between them. Oh, if he did but know a little more clearly how he stood! He spent a noonday hour on a gray rock on the side of the fell between Whindale and Marrisdale, studying the path opposite, the stepping-stones, the bit of white road.
For his more modern sense, deeply Christianised as it is, assumes almost without argument the sacredness of passion and its claim wherein a vast difference between himself and that solitary wrestler in Marrisdale. Meanwhile he kept all his hopes and fears to himself. Mrs.
Then presently she looked up, a flash of exquisite feeling breaking up the delicate resolution of the face. 'I am not sad about that, Robert. Oh, how you have widened my world for me! Suddenly that hour in Marrisdale came back to her. They were in the woodpath. She crept inside her husband's arm and put up her face to him, swept away by an overmastering impulse of self-humiliating love.
She hid her eyes with her other hand, struggling to recall that far away moment in Marrisdale. But the mind refused to work. Consciousness seemed to retain nothing but the warm grasp of his hand the tones of his voice. He saw her struggle, and pressed on remorselessly. 'Speak to me say one little kind word. Oh, you cannot send me away miserable and empty!
They were thus most her own. She climbed on till at last she reached the crest of the ridge. Behind her lay the valley, and on its further side the fells she had crossed in the afternoon. Before her spread a long green vale, compared to which Whindale with its white road, its church, and parsonage, and scattered houses, was the great world itself. Marrisdale had no road and not a single house.
To her healthful youth a sleepless night was almost unknown. She wondered through the long hours of it, whether now, like other women, she had had her story, passed through her one supreme moment, and she thought of one or two worthy old maids she knew in the neighborhood with a new and curious pity. Had any of them, too, gone down into Marrisdale and come up widowed indeed?
This language of a proud and tameless individuality, this modern gospel of the divine right of self-development her soul loathed it! And yet, since that night in Marrisdale, there had been a new yearning in her to understand. Suddenly, however, Rose stopped, lost her thread. Two figures were crossing the lawn, and their shadows were thrown far beyond them by the fast disappearing sun.
They were thus most her own. She climbed on till at last she reached the crest of the ridge. Behind her lay the valley, and on its further side the fells she had crossed in the afternoon. Before her spread a long green vale, compared to which Whindale with its white road, its church, and parsonage, and scattered houses, was the great world itself. Marrisdale had no road and not a single house.
To her healthful youth a sleepless night was almost unknown. She wondered through the long hours of it, whether now, like other women, she had had her story, passed through her one supreme moment, and she thought of one or two worthy old maids she knew in the neighbourhood with a new and curious pity. Had any of them, too, gone down into Marrisdale and come up widowed indeed?
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