that passionate night； having walked for hours； alone and full of
conflict。 During those three days he had been borne forward on the
flood tide； and now； tearing himself out of London； where to think
was impossible； he had come to the solitude of the Downs to walk； and
face his new position。
For that position he saw to be very serious。 In the flush of full
realization； there was for him no question of renunciation。 She was
his； he hers； that was determined。 But what； then； was he to do？
There was no chance of her getting free。 In her husband's view； it
seemed； under no circumstances was marriage dissoluble。 Nor； indeed；
to Miltoun would divorce have made things easier； believing as he did
that he and she were guilty； and that for the guilty there could be
no marriage。 She； it was true； asked nothing but just to be his in
secret； and that was the course he knew most men would take； without
further thought。 There was no material reason in the world why he
should not so act； and maintain unchanged every other current of his
life。 It would be easy； usual。 And； with her faculty for self…
effacement； he knew she would not be unhappy。 But conscience； in
Miltoun； was a terrible and fierce thing。 In the delirium of his
illness it had become that Great Face which had marched over him。
And； though during the weeks of his recuperation； struggle of all
kind had ceased； now that he had yielded to his passion； conscience；
in a new and dismal shape； had crept up again to sit above his heart：
He must and would let this man； her husband； know； but even if that
caused no open scandal； could he go on deceiving those who； if they
knew of an illicit love； would no longer allow him to be their
representative？ If it were known that she was his mistress； he could
no longer maintain his position in public lifewas he not therefore
in honour bound； of his own accord； to resign it？ Night and day he
was haunted by the thought： How can I； living in defiance of
authority； pretend to authority over my fellows？ How can I remain in
public life？ But if he did not remain in public life； what was he to
do？ That way of life was in his blood； he had been bred and born
into it； had thought of nothing else since he was a boy。 There was
no other occupation or interest that could hold him for a momenthe
saw very plainly that he would be cast away on the waters of
existence。
So the battle raged in his proud and twisted spirit； which took
everything so hardhis nature imperatively commanding him to keep
his work and his power for usefulness； his conscience telling him as
urgently that if he sought to wield authority； he must obey it。
He entered the beech…grove at the height of this misery； flaming with
rebellion against the dilemma which Fate had placed before him；
visited by gusts of resentment against a passion； which forced him to
pay the price； either of his career； or of his self…respect； gusts；
followed by remorse that he could so for one moment regret his love
for that tender creature。 The face of Lucifer was not more dark；
more tortured； than Miltoun's face in the twilight of the grove；
above those kingdoms of the world； for which his ambition and his
conscience fought。 He threw himself down among the trees； and
stretching out his arms； by chance touched a beetle trying to crawl
over the grassless soil。 Some bird had maimed it。 He took the
little creature up。 The beetle truly could no longer work； but it
was spared the fate lying before himself。 The beetle was not； as he
would be； when his power of movement was destroyed； conscious of his
own wasted life。 The world would not roll away down there。 He would
still see himself cumbering the ground； when his powers were taken；
from him。 This thought was torture。 Why had he been suffered to
meet her； to love her； and to be loved by her？ What had made him so
certain from the first moment； if she were not meant for him？ If he
lived to be a hundred； he would never meet another。 Why； because of
his love； must he bury the will and force of a man？ If there were no
more coherence in God's scheme than this； let him too be incoherent！
Let him hold authority； and live outside authority！ Why stifle his
powers for the sake of a coherence which did not exist！ That would
indeed be madness greater than that of a mad world！
There was no answer to his thoughts in the stillness of the grove；
unless it were the cooing of a dove； or the faint thudding of the
sheep issuing again into sunlight。 But slowly that stillness stole
into Miltoun's spirit。 〃Is it like this in the grave？〃 he thought。
〃Are the boughs of those trees the dark earth over me？ And the sound
in them the sound the dead hear when flowers are growing； and the
wind passing through them？ And is the feel of this earth how it
feels to lie looking up for ever at nothing？ Is life anything but a
nightmare； a dream； and is not this the reality？ And why my fury； my
insignificant flame； blowing here and there； when there is really no
wind； only a shroud of still air； and these flowers of sunlight that
have been dropped on me！ Why not let my spirit sleep； instead of
eating itself away with rage； why not resign myself at once to wait
for the substance； of which this is but the shadow！〃
And he lay scarcely breathing； looking up at the unmoving branches
setting with their darkness the pearls of the sky。
〃Is not peace enough？〃 he thought。 〃Is not love enough？ Can I not
be reconciled； like a woman？ Is not that salvation； and happiness？
What is all the rest； but 'sound and fury； signifying nothing？〃
And as though afraid to lose his hold of that thought； he got up and
hurried from the grove。
The whole wide landscape of field and wood； cut by the pale roads；
was glimmering under the afternoon sun； Here was no wild； wind…swept
land； gleaming red and purple； and guarded by the grey rocks； no home
of the winds； and the wild gods。 It was all serene and silver…
golden。 In place of the shrill wailing pipe of the hunting buzzard…
hawks half lost up in the wind； invisible larks were letting fall
hymns to tranquillity； and even the seano adventuring spirit
sweeping the shore with its wingseemed to lie resting by the side
of the land。
CHAPTER XV
When on the afternoon of that same day Miltoun did not come； all the
chilly doubts which his presence alone kept away； crowded thick and
fast into the mind of one only too prone to distrust her own
happiness。 It could not lasthow could it？
His nature and her own were so far apart！ Even in that giving of
herself which had been such happiness； she had yet doubted； for there
was so much in him that was to her mysterious。 All that he loved in
poetry and nature； had in it something craggy and culminating。 The
soft and fiery； the subtle and harmonious； seemed to leave him cold。
He had no particular love for all those simple natural things； birds；
bees； animals； trees； and flowers； that seemed to her precious and
divine。
Though it was not yet four o'clock she was already beginning to droop
like a flower that wants water。 But she sat down to her piano；
resolutely； till tea came； playing on and on with a spirit only half
present； the other half of her wandering in the Town； seeking for
Miltoun。 After tea she tried first to read； then to sew； and once
more came back to her piano。 The clock struck six； and as if its
last stroke had broken the armour of her mind； she felt suddenly sick
with anxiety。 Why was he so long？ But she kept on playing； turning
the pages without taking in the notes； haunted by the idea that he
might again have fallen ill。 Should she telegraph？ What good； when
she could not tell in the least where he might be？ And all the
unreasoning terror of not knowing where the loved one is； beset her
so that her hands； in sheer numbness； dropped from the keys。 Unable
to keep still； now； she wandered from window to door； out into the
little hall； and back hastily to the window。 Over her anxiety
brooded a darkness； compounded of vague growing fears。 What if it
were the end？ What if he had chosen this as the most merciful way of
leaving her？ But surely he would never be so cruel！ Close on the
heels of this too painful thought came reaction； and she told herself
that she was a fool。 He was at the House； something quite ordinary
was keeping him。 It was absurd to be anxious！ She would have to get
used to this now。 To be a drag on him would be dreadful。 Sooner
than that she would ratheryesrather he never came back！ And she
took up her book； determined to read quietly till he came。 But the
moment she sat down her fears returned with redoubled force…the cold
sickly horrible feeling of uncertainty； of the knowledge that she
could do nothing but wait till she was relieved by something over
which she had no control。 And in the superstition that to stay there
in the window where she could see him come； was keeping him from her；
she went into her bedroom。 From there she could watch the sunset
clouds wine…dark over the river。 A little talking wind shivered
along the houses； the dusk began creeping in。 She would not turn on
the light； unwilling to admit that it was really getting late； but
began to change her dress； lingering desperately over every little
detail of her toilette； deriving therefrom a faint； mysterious
comfort； trying to make herself feel beautiful。 From sheer dread of
going back before he came； she let her hair fall； though it was quite
smooth and tidy； and began brushing it。 Suddenly she thought with
horror of her efforts at adornmentby specially preparing for him；
she must seem presumptuous to Fate。 At any little sound she stopped
and stood listeningsave for her hair and eyes； as white from head
to foot as a double narcissus flower in the dusk； bending towards
some faint tune played to it somewhere oft in the fields。 But all
those little sounds ceased； one after anotherthey had meant
nothing； and each time； her spirit returningwithin the pale walls
of the room； began once more to inhabit her lingering fingers。
During that hour in her bedroom she lived through years。 It was dark
when she left it。
CHAPTER XVI