by H. G. Wells
CHAPTER VI.
THE SCANDALOUS RAMBLE.
As soon as school was dismissed Lewisham made a gaol-delivery of hisoutstanding impositions, and hurried back to his lodgings, to spendthe time until his dinner was ready--Well?... It seems hardly fair,perhaps, to Lewisham to tell this; it is doubtful, indeed, whether amale novelist's duty to his sex should not restrain him, but, as thewall in the shadow by the diamond-framed window insisted, "_Magna estveritas et prevalebit_." Mr. Lewisham brushed his hair withelaboration, and ruffled it picturesquely, tried the effect of all histies and selected a white one, dusted his boots with an oldpocket-handkerchief, changed his trousers because the week-day pairwas minutely frayed at the heels, and inked the elbows of his coatwhere the stitches were a little white. And, to be still moreintimate, he studied his callow appearance in the glass from variouspoints of view, and decided that his nose might have been a littlesmaller with advantage....
Directly after dinner he went out, and by the shortest path to theallotment lane, telling himself he did not care if he met Bonoverforthwith in the street. He did not know precisely what he intended todo, but he was quite clear that he meant to see the girl he had met inthe avenue. He knew he should see her. A sense of obstacles merelybraced him and was pleasurable. He went up the stone steps out of thelane to the stile that overlooked the Frobishers, the stile from whichhe had watched the Frobisher bedroom. There he seated himself with hisarms, folded, in full view of the house.
That was at ten minutes to two. At twenty minutes to three he wasstill sitting there, but his hands were deep in his jacket pockets,and he was scowling and kicking his foot against the step with animpatient monotony. His needless glasses had been thrust into hiswaistcoat pocket--where they remained throughout the afternoon--andhis cap was tilted a little back from his forehead and exposed a wispof hair. One or two people had gone down the lane, and he hadpretended not to see them, and a couple of hedge-sparrows chasing eachother along the side of the sunlit, wind-rippled field had been hischief entertainment. It is unaccountable, no doubt, but he felt angrywith her as the time crept on. His expression lowered.
He heard someone going by in the lane behind him. He would not lookround--it annoyed him to think of people seeing him in thisposition. His once eminent discretion, though overthrown, still mademuffled protests at the afternoon's enterprise. The feet down the lanestopped close at hand.
"Stare away," said Lewisham between his teeth. And then beganmysterious noises, a violent rustle of hedge twigs, a something like avery light foot-tapping.
Curiosity boarded Lewisham and carried him after the briefeststruggle. He looked round, and there she was, her back to him,reaching after the spiky blossoming blackthorn that crested theopposite hedge. Remarkable accident! She had not seen him!
In a moment Lewisham's legs were flying over the stile. He went downthe steps in the bank with such impetus that it carried him up intothe prickly bushes beside her. "Allow me," he said, too excited to seeshe was not astonished.
"Mr. Lewisham!" she said in feigned surprise, and stood away to givehim room at the blackthorn.
"Which spike will you have?" he cried, overjoyed. "The whitest? Thehighest? Any!"
"That piece," she chose haphazard, "with the black spike sticking outfrom it."
A mass of snowy blossom it was against the April sky, and Lewisham,straggling for it--it was by no means the most accessible--saw withfantastic satisfaction a lengthy scratch flash white on his hand, andturn to red.
"Higher up the lane," he said, descending triumphant and breathless,"there is blackthorn.... This cannot compare for a moment...."
She laughed and looked at him as he stood there flushed, his eyestriumphant, with an unpremeditated approval. In church, in thegallery, with his face foreshortened, he had been effective in a way,but this was different. "Show me," she said, though she knew this wasthe only place for blackthorn for a mile in either direction.
"I _knew_ I should see you," he said, by way of answer, "I felt sure Ishould see you to-day."
"It was our last chance almost," she answered with as frank a qualityof avowal. "I'm going home to London on Monday."
"I knew," he cried in triumph. "To Clapham?" he asked.
"Yes. I have got a situation. You did not know that I was a shorthandclerk and typewriter, did you? I am. I have just left the school, theGrogram School. And now there is an old gentleman who wants anamanuensis."
"So you know shorthand?" said he. "That accounts for the stylographicpen. Those lines were written.... I have them still."
She smiled and raised her eyebrows. "Here," said Mr. Lewisham, tappinghis breast-pocket.
"This lane," he said--their talk was curiously inconsecutive--"someway along this lane, over the hill and down, there is a gate, and thatgoes--I mean, it opens into the path that runs along the riverbank. Have you been?"
"No," she said.
"It's the best walk about Whortley. It brings you out upon ImmeringCommon. You _must_--before you go."
"_Now_?" she said with her eyes dancing.
"Why not?"
"I told Mrs. Frobisher I should be back by four," she said.
"It's a walk not to be lost."
"Very well," said she.
"The trees are all budding," said Mr. Lewisham, "the rushes areshooting, and all along the edge of the river there are millions oflittle white flowers floating on the water, _I_ don't know the namesof them, but they're fine.... May I carry that branch of blossom?"
As he took it their hands touched momentarily ... and there cameanother of those significant gaps.
"Look at those clouds," said Lewisham abruptly, remembering the remarkhe had been about to make and waving the white froth of blackthorn,"And look at the blue between them."
"It's perfectly splendid. Of all the fine weather the best has beenkept for now. My last day. My very last day."
And off these two young people went together in a highly electricalstate--to the infinite astonishment of Mrs. Frobisher, who was lookingout of the attic window--stepping out manfully and finding the wholeworld lit and splendid for their entertainment. The things theydiscovered and told each other that afternoon down by the river!--thatspring was wonderful, young leaves beautiful, bud scales astonishingthings, and clouds dazzling and stately!--with an air of supremeoriginality! And their naive astonishment to find one another inagreement upon these novel delights! It seemed to them quite outsidethe play of accident that they should have met each other.
They went by the path that runs among the trees along the river bank,and she must needs repent and wish to take the lower one, the towingpath, before they had gone three hundred yards. So Lewisham had tofind a place fit for her descent, where a friendly tree proffered itsprotruding roots as a convenient balustrade, and down she clamberedwith her hand in his.
Then a water-vole washing his whiskers gave occasion for a suddentouching of hands and the intimate confidence of whispers and silencetogether. After which Lewisham essayed to gather her a marsh mallow atthe peril, as it was judged, of his life, and gained it together witha bootful of water. And at the gate by the black and shiny lock, wherethe path breaks away from the river, she overcame him by an unexpectedfeat, climbing gleefully to the top rail with the support of his hand,and leaping down, a figure of light and grace, to the ground.
They struck boldly across the meadows, which were gay with lady'ssmock, and he walked, by special request, between her and threematronly cows--feeling as Perseus might have done when he fended offthe sea-monster. And so by the mill, and up a steep path to ImmeringCommon. Across the meadows Lewisham had broached the subject of heroccupation. "And are you really going away from here to be anamanuensis?" he said, and started her upon the theme of herself, atheme she treated with a specialist's enthusiasm. They dealt with itby the comparative methods and neither noticed the light was out ofthe sky until the soft feet of the advancing shower had stolen rightupon them.
"Look!" said he. "Yonder! A shed," and they ran to
gether. She ranlaughing, and yet swiftly and lightly. He pulled her through the hedgeby both hands, and released her skirt from an amorous bramble, and sothey came into a little black shed in which a rusty harrow of giganticproportions sheltered. He noted how she still kept her breath afterthat run.
She sat down on the harrow and hesitated. "I _must_ take off my hat,"she said, "that rain will spot it," and so he had a chance of admiringthe sincerity of her curls--not that he had ever doubted them. Shestooped over her hat, pocket-handkerchief in hand, daintily wiping offthe silvery drops. He stood up at the opening of the shed and lookedat the country outside through the veil of the soft vehemence of theApril shower.
"There's room for two on this harrow," she said.
He made inarticulate sounds of refusal, and then came and sat downbeside her, close beside her, so that he was almost touching her. Hefelt a fantastic desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, andovercame the madness by an effort. "I don't even know your name," hesaid, taking refuge from his whirling thoughts in conversation.
"Henderson," she said.
"_Miss_ Henderson?"
She smiled in his face--hesitated. "Yes--_Miss_ Henderson."
Her eyes, her atmosphere were wonderful. He had never felt quite thesame sensation before, a strange excitement, almost like a faint echoof tears. He was for demanding her Christian name. For calling her"dear" and seeing what she would say. He plunged headlong into arambling description of Bonover and how he had told a lie about herand called her Miss Smith, and so escaped this unaccountable emotionalcrisis....
The whispering of the rain about them sank and died, and the sunlightstruck vividly across the distant woods beyond Immering. Just thenthey had fallen on a silence again that was full of daring thoughtsfor Mr. Lewisham. He moved his arm suddenly and placed it so that itwas behind her on the frame of the harrow.
"Let us go on now," she said abruptly. "The rain has stopped."
"That little path goes straight to Immering," said Mr. Lewisham.
"But, four o'clock?"
He drew out his watch, and his eyebrows went up. It was already nearlya quarter past four.
"Is it past four?" she asked, and abruptly they were face to face withparting. That Lewisham had to take "duty" at half-past five seemed athing utterly trivial. "Surely," he said, only slowly realising whatthis parting meant. "But must you? I--I want to talk to you."
"Haven't you been talking to me?"
"It isn't that. Besides--no."
She stood looking at him. "I promised to be home by four," shesaid. "Mrs. Frobisher has tea...."
"We may never have a chance to see one another again."
"Well?"
Lewisham suddenly turned very white.
"Don't leave me," he said, breaking a tense silence and with a suddenstress in his voice. "Don't leave me. Stop with me yet--for a littlewhile.... You ... You can lose your way."
"You seem to think," she said, forcing a laugh, "that I live withouteating and drinking."
"I have wanted to talk to you so much. The first time I saw you.... Atfirst I dared not.... I did not know you would let me talk.... Andnow, just as I am--happy, you are going."
He stopped abruptly. Her eyes were downcast. "No," she said, tracing acurve with the point of her shoe. "No. I am not going."
Lewisham restrained an impulse to shout. "You will come to Immering?"he cried, and as they went along the narrow path through the wetgrass, he began to tell her with simple frankness how he cared for hercompany, "I would not change this," he said, casting about for anoffer to reject, "for--anything in the world.... I shall not be backfor duty. I don't care. I don't care what happens so long as we havethis afternoon."
"Nor I," she said.
"Thank you for coming," he said in an outburst of gratitude.--"Oh,thank you for coming," and held out his hand. She took it and pressedit, and so they went on hand in hand until the village street wasreached. Their high resolve to play truant at all costs had begottena wonderful sense of fellowship. "I can't call you Miss Henderson," hesaid. "You know I can't. You know ... I must have your Christianname."
"Ethel," she told him.
"Ethel," he said and looked at her, gathering courage as he didso. "Ethel," he repeated. "It is a pretty name. But no name is quitepretty enough for you, Ethel ... _dear_."...
The little shop in Immering lay back behind a garden full ofwallflowers, and was kept by a very fat and very cheerful littlewoman, who insisted on regarding them as brother and sister, andcalling them both "dearie." These points conceded she gave them anadmirable tea of astonishing cheapness. Lewisham did not like thesecond condition very much, because it seemed to touch a little on hislatest enterprise. But the tea and the bread and butter and the whortjam were like no food on earth. There were wallflowers, heavy scented,in a jug upon the table, and Ethel admired them, and when they set outagain the little old lady insisted on her taking a bunch with her.
It was after they left Immering that this ramble, properly speaking,became scandalous. The sun was already a golden ball above the bluehills in the west--it turned our two young people into little figuresof flame--and yet, instead of going homeward, they took the Wentworthroad that plunges into the Forshaw woods. Behind them the moon, almostfull, hung in the blue sky above the tree-tops, ghostly andindistinct, and slowly gathered to itself such light as the settingsun left for it in the sky.
Going out of Immering they began to talk of the future. And for thevery young lover there is no future but the immediate future.
"You must write to me," he said, and she told him she wrote such_silly_ letters. "But I shall have reams to write to you," he toldher.
"How are you to write to me?" she asked, and they discussed a newobstacle between them. It would never do to write home--never. She wassure of that with an absolute assurance. "My mother--" she said andstopped.
That prohibition cut him, for at that time he had the makings of avoluminous letter-writer. Yet it was only what one might expect. Thewhole world was unpropitious--obdurate indeed.... A splendid isolation_a deux_.
Perhaps she might find some place where letters might be sent to her?Yet that seemed to her deceitful.
So these two young people wandered on, full of their discovery oflove, and yet so full too of the shyness of adolescence that the word"Love" never passed their lips that day. Yet as they talked on, andthe kindly dusk gathered about them, their speech and their heartscame very close together. But their speech would seem so threadbare,written down in cold blood, that I must not put it here. To them itwas not threadbare.
When at last they came down the long road into Whortley, the silenttrees were black as ink and the moonlight made her face pallid andwonderful, and her eyes shone like stars. She still carried theblackthorn from which most of the blossoms had fallen. The fragrantwallflowers were fragrant still. And far away, softened by thedistance, the Whortley band, performing publicly outside the vicaragefor the first time that year, was playing with unctuous slowness asentimental air. I don't know if the reader remembers it that,favourite melody of the early eighties:--
"Sweet dreamland faces, passing to and fro, (pum, pum) Bring back to Mem'ry days of long ago-o-o-oh,"
was the essence of it, very slow and tender and with an accompanimentof pum, pum. Pathetically cheerful that pum, pum, hopelessly cheerfulindeed against the dirge of the air, a dirge accentuated by sporadicvocalisation. But to young people things come differently.
"I _love_ music," she said.
"So do I," said he.
They came on down the steepness of West Street. They walked athwartthe metallic and leathery tumult of sound into the light cast by thelittle circle of yellow lamps. Several people saw them and wonderedwhat the boys and girls were coming to nowadays, and one eye-witnesseven subsequently described their carriage as "brazen." Mr. Lewishamwas wearing his mortarboard cap of office--there was no mistakinghim. They passed the Proprietary School and saw a yellow pictureframed and glazed, of Mr. Bonover taking duty
for his aberrantassistant master. And outside the Frobisher house at last they partedperforce.
"Good-bye," he said for the third time. "Good-bye, Ethel."
She hesitated. Then suddenly she darted towards him. He felt her handsupon his shoulders, her lips soft and warm upon his cheek, and beforehe could take hold of her she had eluded him, and had flitted into theshadow of the house. "Good-bye," came her sweet, clear voice out ofthe shadow, and while he yet hesitated an answer, the door opened.
He saw her, black in the doorway, heard some indistinct words, andthen the door closed and he was alone in the moonlight, his cheekstill glowing from her lips....
So ended Mr. Lewisham's first day with Love.
