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AN ISLAND TALE
With her knees drawn up, Lena rested her elbows on them and held her head in both her hands.
"Are you tired of sitting here?” Heyst asked.
An almost imperceptible negative movement of the head was all the answer she made.
“Why are you looking so serious ?" he pursued, and immediately thought that habitual seriousness, in the long run,
was much more bearable than constant gaiety. “However, this expression suits you exceedingly,” he added, not diplomatically, but because, by the tendency of his taste, it was a true
statement. “And as long as I can be certain that it is not boredom which gives you this severe air, willing to sit here and look at you till you are ready to go."
And this was true. He was still under the fresh sortilege of their common life, the surprise of novelty, the flattered vanity of his possession of this woman; for a man must feel that, unless he has ceased to be masculine. Her eyes moved in his direction, rested on him, then returned to their stare into the deeper gloom at the foot of the straight tree-trunks, whose spreading crowns were slowly withdrawing their shade. The warm air stirred slightly about her motionless head. She would not look at him, from some obscure fear of betraying herself. She felt in her innermost depths an irresistible desire to give herself up to him more completely, by some act of absolute sacrifice. This was something of which he did not seem to have an idea. He was a strange being without needs.
She felt his eyes fixed upon her; and as he kept silent, she said uneasily—for she didn't know what his silences might mean:
"And so you lived with that friend—that good man ?"
“Excellent fellow," Heyst responded, with a readiness that she did not expect.
“But it was a weakness on my part. I really didn't want to, only But they
he wouldn't let me off, and I couldn't explain. He was the sort of man to whom you can't explain anything. He was extremely sensitive, and it would have been a tigerish thing to do to mangle his delicate feelings by the sort of plain speaking that would have been necessary.
His mind was like a whitewalled, pure chamber, furnished with, say, six strawbottomed chairs, and he was always placing and displacing them in various combinations. were always the same chairs. He was extremely easy to live with; but then he got hold of this coal idea-or, rather, the idea got hold of him. It entered into that scantily furnished chamber of which I have just spoken, and sat on all the chairs. There was no dislodging it, you know! It was going to make his fortune, my fortune, everybody's fortune. years, in moments of doubt that will come to a man determined to remain free from absurdities of existence, I often asked myself, with a momentary dread, in what way would life try to get hold of me ? And this was the way ! He got it into his head that he could do nothing without me. And was I now, he asked me, to spurn and ruin him ? Well, one morning—I wonder if he had gone down on his knees to pray that night!—one morning I gave in.”
I Heyst tugged violently at a tuft of dried grass, and cast it
from him with a nervous gesture,
In past "I gave in," he repeated.
Looking toward him with a movement of her eyes only, the girl noticed the strong feeling on his face with that intense interest which his person awakened in her mind and in her heart. But it soon passed away, leaving only a moody expression.
“It's difficult to resist where nothing matters,” he observed. "And perhaps there is a grain of freakishness in my nature. It amused me to go about uttering silly, commonplace phrases. I was never so well thought of in the islands till I began to jabber commercial gibberish like the veriest idiot. Upon my word, I believe that I was actually respected for a time. I was as grave as an owl over it; I had to be loyal to the man. I have been from first to last, completely, utterly loyal to the best of my ability. I thought he understood something about coal. And if I had been aware that he knew nothing of it, as in fact he didn't, well—I don't know what I could have done to stop him. In one way or another I should have had to be loyal. Truth, work, ambition, love itself, may be only counters in the lamentable or despicable game of life, but when one takes a hand one must play the game. No, the shade of Morrison needn't haunt me. What's the matter ? Lena, why are you staring like that? Do you feel ill ??