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The Ladybird

Page 9

by D. H. Lawrence

sex and the desire gone. He didn't want it--he hadn't wanted it.

  This new pure feeling was so much more wonderful.

  He went to her side.

  'Forgive me, darling,' he said, 'for having questioned you.'

  She looked up at him with the wide eyes, without a word. His face

  was good and beautiful. Tears came to her eyes.

  'You have the right to question me,' she said sadly.

  'No,' he said. 'No, darling. I have no right to question you.

  Daphne! Daphne, darling! It shall be as YOU wish, between us.

  Shall it? Shall it be as you wish?'

  'You are the husband, Basil,' she said sadly.

  'Yes, darling. But'--he went on his knees beside her--'perhaps,

  darling, something has changed in us. I feel as if I ought never

  to touch you again--as if I never WANTED to touch you--in that way.

  I feel it was wrong, darling. Tell me what you think.'

  'Basil, don't be angry with me.'

  'It isn't anger; it's pure love, darling--it is.'

  'Let us not come any nearer to one another than this, Basil--

  physically--shall we?' she said. 'And don't be angry with me, will

  you?'

  'Why,' he said. 'I think myself the sexual part has been a

  mistake. I had rather love you--as I love now. I KNOW that this

  is true love. The other was always a bit whipped up. I KNOW I

  love you now, darling: now I'm free from that other. But what if

  it comes upon me, that other, Daphne?'

  'I am always your wife,' she said quietly. 'I am always your wife.

  I want always to obey you, Basil: what you wish.'

  'Give me your hand, dear.'

  She gave him her hand. But the look in her eyes at the same time

  warned him and frightened him. He kissed her hand and left her.

  It was to the Count she belonged. This had decided itself in her

  down to the depths of her soul. If she could not marry him and be

  his wife in the world, it had nevertheless happened to her for

  ever. She could no more question it. Question had gone out of

  her.

  Strange how different she had become--a strange new quiescence.

  The last days were slipping past. He would be going away--Dionys:

  he with the still remote face, the man she belonged to in the dark

  and in the light, for ever. He would be going away. He said it

  must be so. And she acquiesced. The grief was deep, deep inside

  her. He must go away. Their lives could not be one life, in this

  world's day. Even in her anguish she knew it was so. She knew he

  was right. He was for her infallible. He spoke the deepest soul

  in her.

  She never SAW him as a lover. When she saw him, he was the little

  officer, a prisoner, quiet, claiming nothing in all the world. And

  when she went to him as his lover, his wife, it was always dark.

  She only knew his voice and his contact in darkness. 'My wife in

  darkness,' he said to her. And in this too she believed him. She

  would not have contradicted him, no, not for anything on earth:

  lest contradicting him she should lose the dark treasures of

  stillness and bliss which she kept in her breast even when her

  heart was wrung with the agony of knowing he must go.

  No, she had found this wonderful thing after she had heard him

  singing: she had suddenly collapsed away from her old self into

  this darkness, this peace, this quiescence that was like a full

  dark river flowing eternally in her soul. She had gone to sleep

  from the nuit blanche of her days. And Basil, wonderful, had

  changed almost at once. She feared him, lest he might change back

  again. She would always have him to fear. But deep inside her she

  only feared for this love of hers for the Count: this dark,

  everlasting love that was like a full river flowing for ever inside

  her. Ah, let that not be broken.

  She was so still inside her. She could sit so still, and feel the

  day slowly, richly changing to night. And she wanted nothing, she

  was short of nothing. If only Dionys need not go away! If only he

  need not go away!

  But he said to her, the last morning:

  'Don't forget me. Always remember me. I leave my soul in your

  hands and your womb. Nothing can ever separate us, unless we

  betray one another. If you have to give yourself to your husband,

  do so, and obey him. If you are true to me, innerly, innerly true,

  he will not hurt us. He is generous, be generous to him. And

  never fail to believe in me. Because even on the other side of

  death I shall be watching for you. I shall be king in Hades when I

  am dead. And you will be at my side. You will never leave me any

  more, in the after-death. So don't be afraid in life. Don't be

  afraid. If you have to cry tears, cry them. But in your heart of

  hearts know that I shall come again, and that I have taken you for

  ever. And so, in your heart of hearts be still, be still, since

  you are the wife of the ladybird.' He laughed as he left her, with

  his own beautiful, fearless laugh. But they were strange eyes that

  looked after him.

  He went in the car with Basil back to Voynich Hall.

  'I believe Daphne will miss you,' said Basil.

  The Count did not reply for some moments.

  'Well, if she does,' he said, 'there will be no bitterness in it.'

  'Are you sure?' smiled Basil.

  'Why--if we are sure of anything,' smiled the Count.

  'She's changed, isn't she?'

  'Is she?'

  'Yes, she's quite changed since you came, Count.'

  'She does not seem to me so very different from the girl of

  seventeen whom I knew.'

  'No--perhaps not. I didn't know her then. But she's very

  different from the wife I have known.'

  'A regrettable difference?'

  'Well--no, not as far as she goes. She is much quieter inside

  herself. You know, Count, something of me died in the war. I feel

  it will take me an eternity to sit and think about it all.'

  'I hope you may think it out to your satisfaction, Major.'

  'Yes, I hope so too. But that is how it has left me--feeling as if

  I needed eternity now to brood about it all, you know. Without the

  need to act--or even to love, really. I suppose love is action.'

  'Intense action,' said the Count.

  'Quite so. I know really how I feel. I only ask of life to spare

  me from further effort of action of any sort--even love. And then

  to fulfil myself, brooding through eternity. Of course, I don't

  mind WORK, mechanical action. That in itself is a form of

  inaction.'

  'A man can only be happy following his own inmost need,' said the

  Count.

  'Exactly!' said Basil. 'I will lay down the law for nobody, not

  even for myself. And live my day--'

  'Then you will be happy in your own way. I find it so difficult to

  keep from laying the law down for myself,' said the Count. 'Only

  the thought of death and the after life saves me from doing it any

  more.'

  'As the thought of eternity helps me,' said Basil. 'I suppose it

  amounts to the same thing.'

  End of this Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

  The Ladybird by D
H Lawrence

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