第113章
Margaret did not speak for a moment.So tired was she that her attention had actually wandered to the teeth--the teeth that had been thrust into the tree's bark to medicate it.From where she sat she could see them gleam.She had been trying to count them.
"Leonard is a better growth than madness,"she said."I was afraid that you would react against Paul until you went over the verge.""I did react until I found poor Leonard.I
am steady now.I shan't ever like your Henry,dearest Meg,or even speak kindly about him,but all that blinding hate is over.I shall never rave against Wilcoxes any more.I understand how you married him,and you will now be very happy."Margaret did not reply.
"Yes,"repeated Helen,her voice growing more tender,"I do at last understand.""Except Mrs.Wilcox,dearest,no one understands our little movements.""Because in death--I agree."
"Not quite.I feel that you and I and Henry are only fragments of that woman's mind.She knows everything.
She is everything.She is the house,and the tree that leans over it.People have their own deaths as well as their own lives,and even if there is nothing beyond death,we shall differ in our nothingness.
I cannot believe that knowledge such as hers will perish with knowledge such as mine.She knew about realities.She knew when people were in love,though she was not in the room.I don't doubt that she knew when Henry deceived her.""Good-night,Mrs.Wilcox,"called a voice.
"Oh,good-night,Miss Avery."
"Why should Miss Avery work for us?"Helen murmured.
"Why,indeed?"
Miss Avery crossed the lawn and merged into the hedge that divided it from the farm.An old gap,which Mr.Wilcox had filled up,had reappeared,and her track through the dew followed the path that he had turfed over,when he improved the garden and made it possible for games.
"This is not quite our house yet,"said Helen.
"When Miss Avery called,I felt we are only a couple of tourists.""We shall be that everywhere,and for ever."
"But affectionate tourists--"
"But tourists who pretend each hotel is their home.""I can't pretend very long,"said Helen."Sitting under this tree one forgets,but I know that tomorrow I shall see the moon rise out of Germany.Not all your goodness can alter the facts of the case.Unless you will come with me."Margaret thought for a moment.In the past year she had grown so fond of England that to leave it was a real grief.
Yet what detained her?No doubt Henry would pardon her outburst,and go on blustering and muddling into a ripe old age.But what was the good?She had just as soon vanish from his mind.
"Are you serious in asking me,Helen?Should I get on with your Monica?""You would not,but I am serious in asking you.""Still,no more plans now.And no more reminiscences."They were silent for a little.It was Helen's evening.
The present flowed by them like a stream.
The tree rustled.It had made music before they were born,and would continue after their deaths,but its song was of the moment.The moment had passed.The tree rustled again.Their senses were sharpened,and they seemed to apprehend life.Life passed.
The tree nestled again.
"Sleep now,"said Margaret.
The peace of the country was entering into her.
It has no commerce with memory,and little with hope.Least of all is it concerned with the hopes of the next five minutes.It is the peace of the present,which passes understanding.Its murmur came "now,"and "now"once more as they trod the gravel,and "now,"as the moonlight fell upon their father's sword.They passed upstairs,kissed,and amidst the endless iterations fell asleep.The house had enshadowed the tree at first,but as the moon rose higher the two disentangled,and were clear for a few moments at midnight.Margaret awoke and looked into the garden.How incomprehensible that Leonard Bast should have won her this night of peace!Was he also part of Mrs.Wilcox's mind?