" In sending the child to the Rectory she had not
given him up; she had only declared a truce. She had tied Dr. King's
hands and gained a breathing-space in which to decide what she must
do; but she used to watch the hill road every morning, with scared
eyes, lest he should stop on his way up to Benjamin Wright's to say
that the truce was over. David came running joyously home two or three
times, for more clothes, or to see the rabbits, or to hang about her
neck and tell her of his journey. Upon one of these occasions, he
mentioned casually that "Alice had gone travelling." Helena's heart
stood still; then beat suffocatingly in her throat while she drew the
story piecemeal from the child's lips.
"She said," David babbled, "that he didn't know you. An' she said--"
"And where was he--Mr. Pryor, all this time?" she demanded,
breathlessly. She opened and shut her hands, and drew in her breath,
wincing as if in physical pain; across all the days since that meeting
of the Innocents, she felt his anger flaying her for the contretemps.
It brought home to her, with an aching sense of finality the
completeness of the break between them. But it did more than that.
Even while she cringed with personal dismay, she was groping blindly
towards a deeper and diviner despair: Those two young creatures were
the cherubims at the east of the garden, bearing the sword that turned
every way! By the unsparing light of that flashing blade the two
sinners, standing outside, saw each other; but the one, at least,
began to see something else: the glory of the garden upon which,
thirteen years ago, she had turned her back! .
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342