Thyrza

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'Yes, that is all very reasonable. It lies with yourself to decide
whether you might not have a breezier existence in America.'

'True. But not with myself to decide whether I remain here or go
back again. I ask you to help me in determining that.'

Annabel stood as one who reflects gravely yet collectedly. Egremont
fixed his eyes upon her, until she looked at him then his gaze
questioned silently.

'Let us understand each other,' said Annabel. 'Do you say this
because of anything that has been in the past?'

'Not _because_ of it; in continuance of it.'

'Yet we are both very different from what we were when that
happened.'

'Both, I think. I do not speak now as I did then, yet the wish I
have is far more real.'

They were more than half-way up the ascent; it was after sunset, and
the mood of the season was changing.

The plain of Pevensey lay like a vision of fairyland, the colouring
indescribably delicate, unreal; bands of dark green alternated with
the palest and most translucent emeralds. The long stretch of the
coast was a faint outline, yet so clear that every tongue of sand,
every smallest headland was distinguishable. The sky that rested on
the eastern semicircle of horizon was rather neutral tint than blue,
and in it hung long clouds of the colour of faded daffodils. A
glance overhead gave the reason of this wondrous effect of light;
there, and away to the west, brooded a vast black storm-cloud,
ragged at the edge, yet seeming motionless; the western sea was very
night, its gloom intensified by one slip of silver shimmer, wherein
a sail was revealed. The hillside immediately in front of those who
stood here was so deeply shadowed that its contrast threw the vision
of unearthly light into distance immeasurable. A wind was rising,
but, though its low whistling sound was very audible, it seemed to
be in the upper air; here scarcely a breath was felt.

Annabel said:

'Have you seen Thyrza's portrait?

'Yes.'

She raised her eyes; they were sad, compassionate, yet smiled.

'She could not have lived. But you are conscious now of what that
face means?'

'I know nothing of her history from the day when I last saw her,
except the mere outward circumstances.'

'Nor do I. But I saw her once, here, and I have seen her portrait.
The crisis of your life was there. There was your one great
opportunity, and you let it pass. She could not have lived; but that
is no matter. You were tried, Mr. Egremont, and found Wanting.'

'Her love for me did not continue. It was already too late at the
end of those two years.

'Was it?'

'What secret knowledge have you?'

'None whatever, as you mean it. But it was not too late.'

They were silent. And as they stood thus the sky was again
transformed. A steady yet soft wind from the northwest was
propelling the great black cloud seaward, over to France; it moved
in a solid mass, its ragged edges little by little broken off, its
bulk detached from the night which lay behind it. And in the sky
which it disclosed rose as it were a pale dawn, the restored
twilight. Thereamid glimmered the pole-star.

Eastward on the coast, at the far end of Pevensey Bay, the lights of
Hastings began to twinkle; out at sea was visible a single gleam,
appearing and disappearing, the lightship on the Sovereign Shoals.

Annabel continued speaking:

'We have both missed something, something that will never again he
offered us. When you asked me to be your wife, four years ago at
Ullswater, I did not love you. I admired you; I liked you; it would
have been very possible to me to marry you. But I had my ideal of
love, and I hoped to give my husband something more than I felt for
you at that time. A year after, I loved you. I suffered when you
were suffering. I was envious of the love you gave to another woman,
and I said to myself that the moment I hoped for had come only in
vain. Since then I have changed more than I changed in those twelve
months. I am not in love with you now; I can talk of these things
without a flutter of the pulse. Is it not true?'

She held her hand to him, baring the wrist. Egremont retained the
hand in both his own.

'I can tell you, you see,' she went on, 'what I know to be the
truth, that you missed the great opportunity of your life when you
abandoned Thyrza. Her love would have made of you what mine never
could, even though she herself had been taken from you very soon. I
can tell you the mere truth, you see. Dare you still ask for me?'

'I don't ask, Annabel. I have your hand and I keep it.'

'You may. I don't think I should ever give it to any other man.'

The night was thickening about them.

'Shall we go up to the Head?' Egremont asked.

'No higher.'

She said it with a significant look, and he understood her.