I took her
with me because I feared to leave her alone with Gabriel; it seemed
unwise. Besides, I could not leave them; I am indeed intolerably
jealous; I never leave them now for the fraction of a minute. I
cannot, it is too cruel pain; and I am grown such a coward, I cannot
bear it.
Yet it was foolish to take her with me; I might have foretold how it
would be. I saw very soon that she pined for him, perhaps as much as
I did. And I knew that he wandered to and fro at home, meeting her
thoughts with his. I brought her back as soon as I could. Gabriel
met us at the station; the engine shrieked, as I did in my heart. It
was a strange mingling of the Heaven of my life with the sordid
greyness of the world. I saw at once that there was a change; I had
parted them and taught them what each was worth to the other.
So now I know. It is well, perhaps, to have reached the end, the
limit of misery, to know that, come what may, I have suffered my
fill. And I was so happy. I cannot think to-night; I know not what
to do; I stare at my dead joy,--it is dead and cold, nothing can
wake it now. When I have stared a little longer, I must dig its
grave, bury it in the bare earth, in eternal darkness.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128