The Daffodil Fields Part 9

By G.o.d, I know your beauty now too well.

We are each other's, flesh and soul, we two."

"That was sweet knowledge once," she said; "we knew That truth of old. Now, in a strange man's bed, I read it in my soul, and find it written red."

"Is he a brute?" he asked. "No," she replied.

"I did not understand what it would mean.

And now that you are back, would I had died; Died, and the misery of it not have been.

Lion would not be wrecked, nor I unclean.

I was a proud one once, and now I'm tame; Oh, Michael, say some word to take away my shame."

She sobbed; his arms went round her; the night heard Intense fierce whispering pa.s.sing, soul to soul, Love running hot on many a murmured word, Love's pa.s.sionate giving into new control.

Their present misery did but blow the coal, Did but entangle deeper their two wills, While the brown brook ran on by buried daffodils.

VII

Upon a light gust came a waft of bells, Ringing the chimes for nine; a broken sweet, Like waters bubbling out of hidden wells, Dully upon those lovers' ears it beat, Their time was at an end. Her tottering feet Trod the dim field for home; he sought an inn.

"Oh, I have sinned," she cried, "but not a secret sin."

Inside The Roughs they waited for her coming; Eyeing the ticking clock the household sat.

"Nine," the clock struck; the clock-weights ran down drumming; Old Mother Occleve stretched her sewing flat.

"It's nine," she said. Old Occleve stroked the cat.

"Ah, cat," he said, "hast had good go at mouse?"

Lion sat listening tense to all within the house

"Mary is late to-night," the gammer said.

"The times have changed," her merry husband roared.

"Young married couples now like lonely trade, Don't think of bed at all, they think of board.

No multiplying left in people. Lord!

When I was Lion's age I'd had my five.

There was some go in folk when us two took to wive."

Lion arose and stalked and bit his lip.

"Or was it six?" the old man muttered, "six.

Us had so many I've alost the tip.

Us were two right good souls at getting chicks.

Two births of twins, then Johnny's birth, then d.i.c.k's" ...

"Now give a young man time," the mother cried.

Mary came swiftly in and flung the room door wide.

Lion was by the window when she came, Old Occleve and his wife were by the fire; Big shadows leapt the ceiling from the flame.

She fronted the three figures and came nigher.

"Lion," she whispered, "I return my hire."

She dropped her marriage-ring upon the table.

Then, in a louder voice, "I bore what I was able,

"And Time and marriage might have worn me down, Perhaps, to be a good wife and a blest, With little children clinging to my gown, And little blind mouths fumbling for my breast, And this place would have been a place of rest For you and me; we could have come to know The depth; but that is over; I have got to go.

"He has come back, and I have got to go.

Our marriage ends." She stood there white and breathed.

Old Occleve got upon his feet with "So."

Blazing with wrath upon the hearth he seethed.

A log fell from the bars; blue spirals wreathed Across the still old woman's startled face; The cat arose and yawned. Lion was still a s.p.a.ce.

Old Occleve turned to Lion. Lion moved Nearer to Mary, picking up the ring.

His was grim physic from the soul beloved; His face was white and twitching with the sting.

"You are my wife, you cannot do this thing,"

He said at last. "I can respect your pride.

This thing affects your soul; my judgment must decide.

"You are unsettled, shaken from the shock."

"Not so," she said. She stretched a hand to him, White, large and n.o.ble, steady as a rock, Cunning with many powers, curving, slim.

The smoke, drawn by the door-draught, made it dim.

"Right," Lion answered. "You are steady. Then There is but one world, Mary; this, the world of men.

"And there's another world, without its bounds, Peopled by streaked and spotted souls who prize The flas.h.i.+ness that comes from marshy grounds Above plain daylight. In their blinkered eyes Nothing is bright but sentimental lies, Such as are offered you, dear, here and now; Lies which betray the strongest, G.o.d alone knows how.

"You, in your beauty and your whiteness, turn Your strong, white mind, your faith, your fearless truth, All for these rotten fires that so burn.

A sentimental clutch at perished youth.

I am too sick for wisdom, sick with ruth, And this comes suddenly; the unripe man Misses the hour, oh G.o.d. But you, what is your plan?

"What do you mean to do, how act, how live?

What warrant have you for your life? What trust?

You are for going sailing in a sieve.

This brightness is too mortal not to rust.

So our beginning marriage ends in dust.

I have not failed you, Mary. Let me know What you intend to do, and whither you will go."

"Go from this place; it chokes me," she replied.

"This place has branded me; I must regain My truth that I have soiled, my faith, my pride, It is all poison and it leaves a stain.

I cannot stay nor be your wife again.

Never. You did your best, though; you were kind.

I have grown old to-night and left all that behind.

"Goodbye." She turned. Old Occleve faced his son.

Wrath at the woman's impudence was blent, Upon his face, with wrath that such an one Should stand unthrashed until her words were spent.

He stayed for Lion's wrath; but Mary went Unchecked; he did not stir. Her footsteps ground The gravel to the gate; the gate-hinge made a sound

Like to a cry of pain after a shot.

Swinging, it clicked, it clicked again, it swung Until the iron latch bar hit the slot.

Mary had gone, and Lion held his tongue.

Old Mother Occleve sobbed; her white head hung Over her sewing while the tears ran down Her worn, blood-threaded cheeks and splashed upon her gown.

"Yes, it is true," said Lion, "she must go.

Michael is back. Michael was always first, I did but take his place. You did not know.

Now it has happened, and you know the worst.

So pa.s.sion makes the pa.s.sionate soul accurst And crucifies his darling. Michael comes And the savage truth appears and rips my life to thrums."

Upon Old Occleve's face the fury changed First to contempt, and then to terror lest Lion, beneath the shock, should be deranged.

But Lion's eyes were steady, though distressed.