But now--now I was in an emotional state that distorted the factors of life,all those things I hitherto had valued;even such a prize as this Iweighed in terms of one supreme desire:how would the acceptance of the senatorship affect the accomplishment of this desire?That was the question.I began making rapid calculations:the actual election would take place in the legislature a year from the following January;provided I were able to overcome Nancy's resistance--which I was determined to do--nothing in the way of divorce proceedings could be thought of for more than a year;and I feared delay.On the other hand,if we waited until after I had been duly elected to get my divorce and marry Nancy my chances of reelection would be small.What did I care for the senatorship anyway--if I had her?and I wanted her now,as soon as Icould get her.She--a life with her represented new values,new values Idid not define,that made all I had striven for in the past of little worth.This was a bauble compared with the companionship of the woman Iloved,the woman intended for me,who would give me peace of mind and soul and develop those truer aspirations that had long been thwarted and starved for lack of her.Gradually,as she regained the ascendency over my mind she ordinarily held--and from which she had been temporarily displaced by the arrival of Mr.Watling's letter and the talk in the bank--I became impatient and irritated by the intrusion.But what answer should I give to Dickinson and Gorse?what excuse for declining such an offer?I decided,as may be imagined,to wait,to temporize.
The irony of circumstances--of what might have been--prevented now my laying this trophy at Nancy's feet,for I knew I had only to mention the matter to be certain of losing her.
XXIII.
I had bought a small automobile,which I ran myself,and it was my custom to arrive at the farm every evening about five o'clock.But as I look back upon those days they seem to have lost succession,to be fused together,as it were,into one indeterminable period by the intense pressure of emotion;unsatisfied emotion,--and the state of physical and mental disorganization set up by it is in the retrospect not a little terrifying.The world grew more and more distorted,its affairs were neglected,things upon which I had set high values became as nothing.
And even if I could summon back something of the sequence of our intercourse,it would be a mere repetition--growing on my part more irrational and insistent--of what I have already related.There were long,troubled,and futile silences when we sat together on the porch or in the woods and fields;when I wondered whether it were weakness or strength that caused Nancy to hold out against my importunities:the fears she professed of retribution,the benumbing effects of the conventional years,or the deep-rooted remnants of a Calvinism which--as she proclaimed--had lost definite expression to persist as an intuition.
I recall something she said when she turned to me after one of these silences.
"Do you know how I feel sometimes?as though you and I had wandered together into a strange country,and lost our way.We have lost our way,Hugh--it's all so clandestine,so feverish,so unnatural,so unrelated to life,this existence we're leading.I believe it would be better if it were a mere case of physical passion.I can't help it,"she went on,when I had exclaimed against this,"we are too--too complicated,you are too complicated.It's because we want the morning stars,don't you see?"She wound her fingers tightly around mine."We not only want this,but all of life besides--you wouldn't be satisfied with anything less.Oh,Iknow it.That's your temperament,you were made that way,and Ishouldn't be satisfied if you weren't.The time would come when you would blame me I don't mean vulgarly--and I couldn't stand that.If you weren't that way,if that weren't your nature,I mean,I should have given way long ago."I made some sort of desperate protest.
"No,if I didn't know you so well I believe I should have given in long ago.I'm not thinking of you alone,but of myself,too.I'm afraid Ishouldn't be happy,that I should begin to think--and then I couldn't stop.The plain truth,as I've told you over and over again,is that I'm not big enough."She continued smiling at me,a smile on which I could not bear to look."I was wrong not to have gone away,"I heard her say.
"I will go away."
I was,at the time,too profoundly discouraged to answer....
One evening after an exhausting talk we sat,inert,on the grass hummock beside the stream.Heavy clouds had gathered in the sky,the light had deepened to amethyst,the valley was still,swooning with expectancy,louder and louder the thunder rolled from behind the distant hills,and presently a veil descended to hide them from our view.Great drops began to fall,unheeded.
"We must go in,"said Nancy,at length.
I followed her across the field and through the orchard.From the porch we stood gazing out at the whitening rain that blotted all save the nearer landscape,and the smell of wet,midsummer grasses will always be associated with the poignancy of that moment....At dinner,between the intervals of silence,our talk was of trivial things.We made a mere pretence of eating,and I remember having my attention arrested by the sight of a strange,pitying expression on the face of Mrs.Olsen,who waited on us.Before that the woman had been to me a mere ministering automaton.But she must have had ideas and opinions,this transported Swedish peasant....Presently,having cleared the table,she retired....
