*BOOK THREE*
*THE POTTER’S TOUCH*
*I.*
The long months had swelled into two years and more before Trevelyancame home—to England and to Cary.
Cary and the Captain had spent one winter in Palestine and on the Nile,and the summers in travel. When the Captain mildly suggested Italy or areturn to America on the dawning of the second winter, Cary shook herhead and begged for London and the old lodgings. Cary, for some reasonnever spoke of going home now. And so the Captain took her back toLondon, and Cary seemed to enjoy the great familiar city, better thanall the sights and novelties of Egypt and the Holy Land.
The weekly gift of violets or of roses began again with her return toEngland. Now and then, letters came from John, but they were notfrequent, and were, to Cary’s critical judgment, unsatisfactory. Ofcourse, she was glad to hear of the life of the Station, and what themen and officers did to pass the off-duty time; and how the army womenspent the days in India, and how they all kept cool—or tried to. It waskind of John, too, to think to tell her all the details, and the accountof their hunting trip and the "man-eater" Trevelyan had killed,—Carywondered if the skin was for her—and what their quarters looked like,but somehow Cary wanted more. She wasn’t quite sure what she did want;perhaps she told herself it was some more definite mention of Trevelyan.Trevelyan never wrote.
She thought of Trevelyan often, and in the silences of the night shewould sometimes recall the blackness and the thunder of that Scottishstorm, and the terror of the hour without its charm would come back toher and she would cower among her white pillows and shut, very fast, hereyes.
In the fall the Camerons had asked her to a house party but for somereason she herself could not define, she sent regrets. The Camerons’place was so near his home! She wondered if it were because he wouldnot be there, or if she would be afraid when she saw his home again.When Trevelyan came back—
But she was lonelier in the late afternoon when the Captain had gone towalk, than at any part of the day, and she would sit with idle handsfolded in her lap and look at the silent little tea-kettle on thetea-table; or rise and watch the sunset, quite alone. She wasn’t everafraid then, she was only unutterably lonely! Perhaps when Trevelyancame back—
And then Trevelyan did come back. She heard it from the Captain oneafternoon, and it was then the Captain told her, gently, of the delayedaccounts of Stewart’s and Trevelyan’s part in the native struggle.There were no details regarding them; it was only known certainly, thatboth Stewart and Trevelyan had been hurt; that Stewart was still ill atthe Station, and that Trevelyan had sent in a resignation. His returnwas expected. They would have to wait.
They waited; and Cary grew older in the waiting.
Little by little details were added to the story, and she would goaround to the Stewarts’ and talk it over with John’s mother and John’ssister, and women-like they would try to fit the ill-formed piecestogether.
Then she would go back slowly to the lodgings.
She had waited so long for Trevelyan to come home, and she had thoughtto welcome him in promotion; she had dreamed that some day Trevelyanwould do something great for the Service and for England; she hadbelieved it, and now—Trevelyan was coming home—resigned; and all herdreams and all her faith had not been worth while.
The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today Page 22
