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Updated: May 10, 2025
Full of new hopes and ambitions, he scarcely thought of Morva, who kept out of his way as much as possible, dreading only the usual request that she would meet him by the broom bushes; but no such request came, and, if the truth be told, he never remembered to seek an interview with her, so filled was his mind with thoughts of Gwenda.
He had told himself that the first evening didn't count. For he had quarreled with Gwenda the first evening. Neither of them knew how it had happened or what it was about. But he had hardly come before he had left her in his anger. The actual outburst moved her only to laughter, but the memory of it was violent in her nerves, it shook and shattered her.
The bridge of her nose and the arch of her upper lip were higher, lifted as it were in a decided and defiant manner of their own. About Gwenda there was something alert and impatient. Her very supineness was alive. It had distinction, the savage grace of a creature utterly abandoned to a sane fatigue. Gwenda had gone fifteen miles over the moors that evening.
Has anybody set fire to them?" "Tha silly laass! "What about the thorn-trees, Gwenda?" "Only that they're all in flower," Gwenda said. She didn't know where it had come from, the sudden impulse to tell Ally about the beauty of the thorn-trees. But the impulse had gone. She thought sadly, "They want me. But they don't want me for myself. They don't want to talk to me. They don't know what to say.
If you'd been quite sure you'd have told me. You wouldn't have waited. You're not quite sure now. You're only telling me now because I'm going away. If I hadn't said I was going away you'd never have told me. You'd just have gone on waiting till you were quite sure." She had irritated him now beyond endurance. "Gwenda," he said savagely, "you're enough to drive a man mad."
Gwenda seated herself familiarly on the arm of the chair he had left. "You'll have to, I'm afraid," she said. "Please take your head out of the desk, Papa. There's no use behaving like an ostrich. I can see you all the time. The trouble is, you know, that you won't think. And you must think. How's Essy going to do without those two months' wages she might have had?
Twice a week or more in those five weeks he had to pass the little gray house above the churchyard; twice a week or more the small shy window in its gable end looked sidelong at him as he went by. But he always pretended not to see it. And if anybody in the village spoke to him of Gwenda Cartaret he pretended not to hear, so that presently they left off speaking.
Did you or did you not go into the barn?" At that she cried out with a voice of anguish. "No No No!" But Mary had her knife ready and she drove it home. "Ally Ned Langstaff saw you." When Rowcliffe came back from Upthorne he found Alice cowering in a corner of the couch and crying out to her tormentors. "You brutes you brutes if Gwenda was here she wouldn't let you bully me!"
Their pathos lightened and softened; it became compassion; they smiled at her with a little pitiful smile, half tender, half ironic, as if they said, "Poor Gwenda, is that what you're driven to?" He opened the book and turned the pages, reading a little here and there. He scowled. His look changed. It darkened. It was angry, resentful, inimical. The dying youth in it came a little nearer to death.
She watched him now; she inquired into his goings out and comings in. Sometimes she knew that he had been to Garthdale, and, though he went there many more times than she knew, she had noticed that these moods of his followed invariably on his going. It was as if Gwenda left her mark on him. So much was certain, and by that certainty she went on to infer his going from his mood.
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