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Martha did not perceive that she had not had her desire. She was drunk with the sense of her own power over Luke and gulped more and more of the perilous draught until she was incapable of distinguishing any other taste. She lived only for seeing him again, but would not place herself in his path. It was three days later that, walking along the street, she heard his voice behind her and turned. The look she gave him was a direct continuance of the look with which she had left him, as though all that had passed between had not existed and they were still at their moment of exquisite communion in beauty. But he was not aware of the look. He had been much occupied in the interval and plunged at once into the theme that engrossed him.
‘Tremendous news, Marty. If you have tears, prepare, etcetera.’
And suddenly very grave:
‘Marty, how long have you known me? − four years, is it? And have you seen me in all that time accomplish anything? Lord, I’ve strewn the street with corpses! − things I’ve begun and cast away unfinished. And you’ve seen it and never said a word. Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?’
‘Tell you,’ stammered Martha. How could she have told what she had not perceived?
‘You should have stabbed me awake to it sooner. There I’ve been, junketting at a thousand occupations, while you walk steadily on at one. So that’s why I’m going away.’
‘Away.’
‘Imphm. A spell of hard labour. Hard labour and prison fare. It’s you that’s sending me away, you know. Aren’t you upset by the responsibility?’
‘Sending you away,’ she said again. She had not fully grasped his meaning. He always went away in summer; but, was there more in this? And her responsibility? Wildly self-conscious, remembering the night in the wood, she queried: Was he fleeing her? Afraid of her power? And black exultation shook her. But he was speaking − she forced herself to listen.
‘We’re bound for Liverpool, Marty. I’ve just completed the purchase of a practice − a fine slummy practice, plenty of work and little pay. I’m leaving the University − old Dunster has his hanky out.’
She stared at him without speaking. Her mind seemed to have stopped working.
‘Got a shock?’ he said, looking down on her. ‘We’re giving shocks all round, it seems.’
‘It’s so − sudden.’
‘Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. It’s been under consideration for awhile, but we didn’t want to say anything till it was all settled.’
She asked,
‘Does Dussie know?’
‘Dussie? − Rather!’
‘I mean, did she know? − before.’
‘Before? − When? − But of course she knew. A man doesn’t do that sort of thing without consulting his wife.’
He was still unaware that Martha loved him. Rapidly though his education had progressed in the last few months, he was still able to believe that a woman could be all spirit. He had told Dussie, with a certain defiant diffidence, of his meeting Martha in the wood.
‘You know when I walked the other night − sounds like a ghost, doesn’t it? And it was ghosty − you wanted to say a bit out of the Litany, that bit we used to say when we went the long way round home at nights, after theatres and things, in the out-of-way streets, you know − “Fae ghaisties, ghoulies an’ lang-leggity beasties, fae things that go dunt in the dark, Good Lord, deliver us.” Only it wasn’t things that go dunt in the dark that you wanted protection from, but things that go lithe in the light. Ghosts of light, not of darkness. You never saw such a night! Moon up and the whole sky like silk − gleamed. So did the earth. You felt like − or at least I felt like − a stitch or two of Chinese embroidery. You know − as though you were on a panel of silk. Unreal. I went as far as Marty’s wood − the Quarry Wood. You’ve no idea, Duss − you couldn’t imagine what it was like. At least I couldn’t have. You know that thing − Rossetti’s − about going down to the deep wells of light and bathing. It was like that. Only it was like an ocean, not a well. Submarine. Seas of light washing over you, far up above your head, and all the boughs and things were like the sea-blooms and the oozy woods that wear − you know. It was like being dissolved in a Shelley ode. Your body hadn’t substance − it was all dissolved away except its shape. You walked about among shapes that hadn’t substance, unreal shapes like things under the sea. Even some of the horrid rapscallion fishes out of the sea-bottom were there − one was, anyhow. That great sumph of a man that lives near Marty − what’s his name? − Stoddart something. I met him just inside the wood − like a monstrous unnatural fish, one of those repulsive deep-sea creatures. Meeting him’s like finding a slug in your salad. It was that night, anyhow. He had his eternal pipe in his mouth, and when he cracked a spunk the lowe of the flame was like an evil eye winking. Horrid feel it gave you. But further into the wood you forgot ugly fishes. You forgot ugly everything, and when Marty came walking through the wood you knew she wasn’t real − just a ghost of light. I’ve no idea why she came − perhaps it really wasn’t herself but just her phantom. I don’t know. I didn’t ask. She didn’t speak a single word all the time. Just glided in and stood beside me − stood at gaze, so to speak. We looked and looked for a long time. Then she got tired, standing so long in one position, and made a stumbling sort of movement. And I put out my arm to give her support − and kept it there. And then somehow or other − God knows why I did it − I kissed her.’
He had paused there, diffident. Dussie had made no answer.
‘And she just melted away − if I were a mediaeval chiel I’d honestly be tempted to believe she was an apparition. A false Florimel. An accident of light. She never spoke, you see. A voice is rather a comforting thing, don’t you think?’
He paused again: and suddenly his wife was in his arms, her bright capriciousness gone out, sobbing as though she could not stop.
When he understood her fear, Luke went through one of those moments that are like eternity, so full it was of revelation. In that moment his boyhood was over. When he had held Martha in his arms in the wood, he had felt no lust for her possession