Chapter 9 - Page 2

the fields over
there. And she would far, far rather remember the kind hours and know
that they were hidden in his heart for him to remember as he died--if he
died! She had lain upon his breast holding him close and fast and she
had sobbed hard--hard--but she had said it again and again and over and
over when he had asked her.

It was this aspect of her and things akin to it which had risen in his
incoherent thoughts when he was manoeuvering to get away from the
drawing-room full of chattering people. He knew himself overwhelmed
again by the exquisite compassion because the thing Mrs. Gareth-Lawless
had told him had brought back all the silent anguish of impotent
childish rebellion the morning when he had been awakened before the day,
and during the day when he had thought his small breast would burst as
the train rushed on with him--away--away!

And Robin had told him the rest--sitting one afternoon in the same chair
with him--a roomy, dingy red arm-chair in an old riverside inn where
they had managed to meet and had spent a long rainy day together. She
had told him--in a queer little strained voice--about the waiting--and
waiting--and waiting. And about the certainty of her belief in his
coming. And the tiny foot which grew numb. And the slow lump climbing in
her throat. And the rush under the shrubs--and the beating hands--and
cries--and of the rose dress and socks and crushed hat covered with mud.
She had not been piteous or dramatic. She had been so simple that she
had broken his heart in two and he had actually hidden his face in her
hair.

"Oh! Donal, dear. You're crying!" she had said and she had broken down
too and for a few seconds they had cried together rocking in each
other's arms, while the rain streamed down the window panes and
beautifully shut them in, since there are few places more enclosing than
the little, dingy private parlour of a remote English inn on a
ceaselessly rainy day.

It had all come back before he reached the house in Kensington whose
windows looked into the thick leaves of the plane trees. And at the same
time he knew that the burning anger which kept rising in him was perhaps
undue and not quite fair. But he was thinking it had _not_ been mere
cruel chance--it could have been helped--it need never have been! It
had been the narrow cold hard planning of grown-up people who knew that
they were powerful enough to enforce any hideous cruelty on creatures
who had no defence. He actually found his heated mind making a statement
of the case as wild as this and its very mercilessness of phrase checked
him. The grown-up person had been his mother--his long-beloved--and he
was absolutely calling her names. He pulled himself up vigorously and