SKEATON-ON-SEA
She was swinging higher, higher, higher--swinging with that delightful rhythm that one knows best in dreams, lazily, idly, and yet with purpose and resolve.She was swinging far above the pain, the rebellion, the surrender.That was left for ever; the time of her tears, of her loneliness was over.Above her, yet distant, was a golden cloud, soft, iridescent, and in the heart of this lay, she knew, the solution of the mystery; when she reached it the puzzle would be resolved, and in a wonderful tranquillity she could rest after her journey.Nearer and nearer she swung; the cloud was a blaze of gold so that she must not look, but could feel its warmth and heat already irradiating about her.Only to know!...to connect the two worlds, to find the bridge, to destroy the gulf!
Then suddenly the rhythm changed.She was descending again; slowly the cloud diminished, a globe of light, a ball of fire, a dazzling star.The air was cold, her eyes could not penetrate the dark; with a sigh she awoke.
It was early morning, and a filmy white shadow pervaded the room.
For a moment she did not know where she was; she saw the ghostly shadows of chairs, of the chest of drawers, of a high cupboard.Then the large picture of "The Crucifixion," very, very dim, reminded her.She knew where she was; she turned and saw her husband sleeping at her side, huddled, like a child, his face on his arm, gently breathing, in the deepest sleep.She watched him.There had been a moment that night when she had hated him, hated him so bitterly that she could have fought him and even killed him.There had been another moment after that, when she had been so miserable that her own death seemed the only solution, when she had watched him tumble into sleep and had herself lain, with burning eyes and her flesh dry and hot, staring into the dark, ashamed, humiliated.Then the old Maggie had come to her rescue, the old Maggie who bade her make the best of her conditions whatever they might be, who told her there was humour in everything, hope always, courage everywhere, and that in her own inviolable soul lay her strength, that no one could defeat her did she not defeat herself.
Now, most strangely, in that early light, she felt a great tenderness for him, the tenderness of the mother for the child.She put out her hand, touched his shoulder, stroked it with her hand, laid her head against it.He, murmuring in his sleep, turned towards her, put his arm around her and so, in the shadow of his heart, she fell into deep, dreamless slumber.
At breakfast that morning she felt with him a strange shyness and confusion.She had never been shy with him before.At the very first she had been completely at her ease; that had been one of his greatest attractions for her.But now she realised that she would be for a whole fortnight alone with him, that she did not know him in the least, and that he himself was strangely embarrassed by his own discoveries that he was making.
So they, both of them, took the world that was on every side of them, put it in between them and left their personal relationship to wait for a better time.
Maggie was childishly excited.She had, for the first time in her life, a house of her own to order and arrange; by the middle of that first afternoon she had forgotten that Paul existed.
She admitted to herself at once, so that there should be no pretence about the matter, that the house was hideous."Yes, it's hideous,"she said aloud, standing in the middle of the dining-room and looking about her.It never could have been very much of a house, but they (meaning Paul and Grace) had certainly not done their best for it.
Maggie had had no education, she had not perhaps much natural taste, but she knew when things and people were sympathetic, and this house was as unsympathetic as a house could well be.To begin with, the wall-papers were awful; in the dining-room there was a dark dead green with some kind of pink flower; the drawing-room was dressed in a kind of squashed strawberry colour; the wall-paper of the staircases and passages was of imitation marble, and the three bedrooms were pink, green, and yellow, perfect horticultural shows.
It was the distinctive quality of all the wall-papers that nothing looked well against them, and the cheap reproductions in gilt frames, the religious prints, the photographs (groups of the Rev.
Paul at Cambridge, at St.Ermand's Theological College, with the Skeaton Band of Hope) were all equally forlorn and out of place.
It was evident that everything in the house was arranged and intended to stay for ever where it was, the chairs against the walls, the ornaments on the mantelpieces, the photograph-frames, the plush mats, the bright red pots with ferns, the long blue vases, and yet the impression was not one of discipline and order.Aunt Anne's house had been untidy, but it had had an odd life and atmosphere of its own.This house was dead, utterly and completely dead.The windows of the dining-room looked out on to a lawn and round the lawn was a stone wall with broken glass to protect it."As though there were anything to steal!" thought Maggie.But then you cannot expect a garden to look its best at the beginning of April."I'll wait a little," thought Maggie."And then I'll make this house better.I'll destroy almost everything in it."About mid-day with rather a quaking heart Maggie penetrated the kitchen.Here were gathered together Alice the cook, Emily the housemaid, and Clara the between maid.
Alice was large, florid, and genial.Nevertheless at once Maggie distrusted her.No servant had any right to appear so wildly delighted to see a new mistress.Alice had doubtless her own plans.
