Chapter XXXIII

by Virginia Woolf

　　Considering that Mr. Hilbery lived in a house which was accuratelynumbered in order with its fellows, and that he filled up forms, paidrent, and had seven more years of tenancy to run, he had an excuse forlaying down laws for the conduct of those who lived in his house, andthis excuse, though profoundly inadequate, he found useful during theinterregnum of civilization with which he now found himself faced. Inobedience to those laws, Rodney disappeared; Cassandra was dispatchedto catch the eleven-thirty on Monday morning; Denham was seen no more;so that only Katharine, the lawful occupant of the upper rooms,remained, and Mr. Hilbery thought himself competent to see that shedid nothing further to compromise herself. As he bade her good morningnext day he was aware that he knew nothing of what she was thinking,but, as he reflected with some bitterness, even this was an advanceupon the ignorance of the previous mornings. He went to his study,wrote, tore up, and wrote again a letter to his wife, asking her tocome back on account of domestic difficulties which he specified atfirst, but in a later draft more discreetly left unspecified. Even ifshe started the very moment that she got it, he reflected, she wouldnot be home till Tuesday night, and he counted lugubriously the numberof hours that he would have to spend in a position of detestableauthority alone with his daughter.What was she doing now, he wondered, as he addressed the envelope tohis wife. He could not control the telephone. He could not play thespy. She might be making any arrangements she chose. Yet the thoughtdid not disturb him so much as the strange, unpleasant, illicitatmosphere of the whole scene with the young people the night before.His sense of discomfort was almost physical.Had he known it, Katharine was far enough withdrawn, both physicallyand spiritually, from the telephone. She sat in her room with thedictionaries spreading their wide leaves on the table before her, andall the pages which they had concealed for so many years arranged in apile. She worked with the steady concentration that is produced by thesuccessful effort to think down some unwelcome thought by means ofanother thought. Having absorbed the unwelcome thought, her mind wenton with additional vigor, derived from the victory; on a sheet ofpaper lines of figures and symbols frequently and firmly written downmarked the different stages of its progress. And yet it was broaddaylight; there were sounds of knocking and sweeping, which provedthat living people were at work on the other side of the door, and thedoor, which could be thrown open in a second, was her only protectionagainst the world. But she had somehow risen to be mistress in her ownkingdom, assuming her sovereignty unconsciously.Steps approached her unheard. It is true that they were steps thatlingered, divagated, and mounted with the deliberation natural to onepast sixty whose arms, moreover, are full of leaves and blossoms; butthey came on steadily, and soon a tap of laurel boughs against thedoor arrested Katharine's pencil as it touched the page. She did notmove, however, and sat blank-eyed as if waiting for the interruptionto cease. Instead, the door opened. At first, she attached no meaningto the moving mass of green which seemed to enter the roomindependently of any human agency. Then she recognized parts of hermother's face and person behind the yellow flowers and soft velvet ofthe palm-buds."From Shakespeare's tomb!" exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, dropping the entiremass upon the floor, with a gesture that seemed to indicate an act ofdedication. Then she flung her arms wide and embraced her daughter."Thank God, Katharine!" she exclaimed. "Thank God!" she repeated."You've come back?" said Katharine, very vaguely, standing up toreceive the embrace.Although she recognized her mother's presence, she was very far fromtaking part in the scene, and yet felt it to be amazingly appropriatethat her mother should be there, thanking God emphatically for unknownblessings, and strewing the floor with flowers and leaves fromShakespeare's tomb."Nothing else matters in the world!" Mrs. Hilbery continued. "Namesaren't everything; it's what we feel that's everything. I didn't wantsilly, kind, interfering letters. I didn't want your father to tellme. I knew it from the first. I prayed that it might be so.""You knew it?" Katharine repeated her mother's words softly andvaguely, looking past her. "How did you know it?" She began, like achild, to finger a tassel hanging from her mother's cloak."The first evening you told me, Katharine. Oh, and thousands of times--dinner-parties--talking about books--the way he came into the room--your voice when you spoke of him."Katharine seemed to consider each of these proofs separately. Then shesaid gravely:"I'm not going to marry William. And then there's Cassandra--""Yes, there's Cassandra," said Mrs. Hilbery. "I own I was a littlegrudging at first, but, after all, she plays the piano so beautifully.Do tell me, Katharine," she asked impulsively, "where did you go thatevening she played Mozart, and you thought I was asleep?"Katharine recollected with difficulty."To Mary Datchet's," she remembered."Ah!" said Mrs. Hilbery, with a slight note of disappointment in hervoice. "I had my little romance--my little speculation." She looked ather daughter. Katharine faltered beneath that innocent and penetratinggaze; she flushed, turned away, and then looked up with very brighteyes."I'm not in love with Ralph Denham," she said."Don't marry unless you're in love!" said Mrs. Hilbery very quickly."But," she added, glancing momentarily at her daughter, "aren't theredifferent ways, Katharine--different--?""We want to meet as often as we like, but to be free," Katharinecontinued."To meet here, to meet in his house, to meet in the street." Mrs.Hilbery ran over these phrases as if she were trying chords that didnot quite satisfy her ear. It was plain that she had her sources ofinformation, and, indeed, her bag was stuffed with what she called"kind letters" from the pen of her sister-in-law."Yes. Or to stay away in the country," Katharine concluded.Mrs. Hilbery paused, looked unhappy, and sought inspiration from thewindow."What a comfort he was in that shop--how he took me and found theruins at once--how safe I felt with him--""Safe? Oh, no, he's fearfully rash--he's always taking risks. He wantsto throw up his profession and live in a little cottage and writebooks, though he hasn't a penny of his own, and there are any numberof sisters and brothers dependent on him.""Ah, he has a mother?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired."Yes. Rather a fine-looking old lady, with white hair." Katharinebegan to describe her visit, and soon Mrs. Hilbery elicited the factsthat not only was the house of excruciating ugliness, which Ralph borewithout complaint, but that it was evident that every one depended onhim, and he had a room at the top of the house, with a wonderful viewover London, and a rook."A wretched old bird in a corner, with half its feathers out," shesaid, with a tenderness in her voice that seemed to commiserate thesufferings of humanity while resting assured in the capacity of RalphDenham to alleviate them, so that Mrs. Hilbery could not helpexclaiming:"But, Katharine, you are in love!" at which Katharine flushed, lookedstartled, as if she had said something that she ought not to havesaid, and shook her head.Hastily Mrs. Hilbery asked for further details of this extraordinaryhouse, and interposed a few speculations about the meeting betweenKeats and Coleridge in a lane, which tided over the discomfort of themoment, and drew Katharine on to further descriptions andindiscretions. In truth, she found an extraordinary pleasure in beingthus free to talk to some one who was equally wise and equallybenignant, the mother of her earliest childhood, whose silence seemedto answer questions that were never asked. Mrs. Hilbery listenedwithout making any remark for a considerable time. She seemed to drawher conclusions rather by looking at her daughter than by listening toher, and, if cross-examined, she would probably have given a highlyinaccurate version of Ralph Denham's life-history except that he waspenniless, fatherless, and lived at Highgate--all of which was much inhis favor. But by means of these furtive glances she had assuredherself that Katharine was in a state which gave her, alternately, themost exquisite pleasure and the most profound alarm.She could not help ejaculating at last:"It's all done in five minutes at a Registry Office nowadays, if youthink the Church service a little florid--which it is, though thereare noble things in it.""But we don't want to be married," Katharine replied emphatically, andadded, "Why, after all, isn't it perfectly possible to live togetherwithout being married?"Again Mrs. Hilbery looked discomposed, and, in her trouble, took upthe sheets which were lying upon the table, and began turning themover this way and that, and muttering to herself as she glanced:"A plus B minus C equals 'x y z'. It's so dreadfully ugly, Katharine.That's what I feel--so dreadfully ugly."Katharine took the sheets from her mother's hand and began shufflingthem absent-mindedly together, for her fixed gaze seemed to show thather thoughts were intent upon some other matter."Well, I don't know about ugliness," she said at length."But he doesn't ask it of you?" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "Not thatgrave young man with the steady brown eyes?""He doesn't ask anything--we neither of us ask anything.""If I could help you, Katharine, by the memory of what I felt--""Yes, tell me what you felt."Mrs. Hilbery, her eyes growing blank, peered down the enormously longcorridor of days at the far end of which the little figures of herselfand her husband appeared fantastically attired, clasping hands upon amoonlit beach, with roses swinging in the dusk."We were in a little boat going out to a ship at night," she began."The sun had set and the moon was rising over our heads. There werelovely silver lights upon the waves and three green lights upon thesteamer in the middle of the bay. Your father's head looked so grandagainst the mast. It was life, it was death. The great sea was roundus. It was the voyage for ever and ever."The ancient fairy-tale fell roundly and harmoniously upon Katharine'sears. Yes, there was the enormous space of the sea; there were thethree green lights upon the steamer; the cloaked figures climbed up ondeck. And so, voyaging over the green and purple waters, past thecliffs and the sandy lagoons and through pools crowded with the mastsof ships and the steeples of churches--here they were. The riverseemed to have brought them and deposited them here at this precisepoint. She looked admiringly at her mother, that ancient voyager."Who knows," exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery, continuing her reveries, "wherewe are bound for, or why, or who has sent us, or what we shallfind--who knows anything, except that love is our faith--love--" shecrooned, and the soft sound beating through the dim words was heard byher daughter as the breaking of waves solemnly in order upon the vastshore that she gazed upon. She would have been content for her motherto repeat that word almost indefinitely--a soothing word when utteredby another, a riveting together of the shattered fragments of theworld. But Mrs. Hilbery, instead of repeating the word love, saidpleadingly:"And you won't think those ugly thoughts again, will you, Katharine?"at which words the ship which Katharine had been considering seemed toput into harbor and have done with its seafaring. Yet she was in greatneed, if not exactly of sympathy, of some form of advice, or, atleast, of the opportunity of setting forth her problems before a thirdperson so as to renew them in her own eyes."But then," she said, ignoring the difficult problem of ugliness, "youknew you were in love; but we're different. It seems," she continued,frowning a little as she tried to fix the difficult feeling, "as ifsomething came to an end suddenly--gave out--faded--an illusion--as ifwhen we think we're in love we make it up--we imagine what doesn'texist. That's why it's impossible that we should ever marry. Always tobe finding the other an illusion, and going off and forgetting aboutthem, never to be certain that you cared, or that he wasn't caring forsome one not you at all, the horror of changing from one state to theother, being happy one moment and miserable the next--that's thereason why we can't possibly marry. At the same time," she continued,"we can't live without each other, because--" Mrs. Hilbery waitedpatiently for the sentence to be completed, but Katharine fell silentand fingered her sheet of figures."We have to have faith in our vision," Mrs. Hilbery resumed, glancingat the figures, which distressed her vaguely, and had some connectionin her mind with the household accounts, "otherwise, as you say--" Shecast a lightning glance into the depths of disillusionment which were,perhaps, not altogether unknown to her."Believe me, Katharine, it's the same for every one--for me, too--foryour father," she said earnestly, and sighed. They looked togetherinto the abyss and, as the elder of the two, she recovered herselffirst and asked:"But where is Ralph? Why isn't he here to see me?"Katharine's expression changed instantly."Because he's not allowed to come here," she replied bitterly.Mrs. Hilbery brushed this aside."Would there be time to send for him before luncheon?" she asked.Katharine looked at her as if, indeed, she were some magician. Oncemore she felt that instead of being a grown woman, used to advise andcommand, she was only a foot or two raised above the long grass andthe little flowers and entirely dependent upon the figure ofindefinite size whose head went up into the sky, whose hand was inhers, for guidance."I'm not happy without him," she said simply.Mrs. Hilbery nodded her head in a manner which indicated completeunderstanding, and the immediate conception of certain plans for thefuture. She swept up her flowers, breathed in their sweetness, and,humming a little song about a miller's daughter, left the room.The case upon which Ralph Denham was engaged that afternoon was notapparently receiving his full attention, and yet the affairs of thelate John Leake of Dublin were sufficiently confused to need all thecare that a solicitor could bestow upon them, if the widow Leake andthe five Leake children of tender age were to receive any pittance atall. But the appeal to Ralph's humanity had little chance of beingheard to-day; he was no longer a model of concentration. The partitionso carefully erected between the different sections of his life hadbeen broken down, with the result that though his eyes were fixed uponthe last Will and Testament, he saw through the page a certaindrawing-room in Cheyne Walk.He tried every device that had proved effective in the past forkeeping up the partitions of the mind, until he could decently gohome; but a little to his alarm he found himself assailed sopersistently, as if from outside, by Katharine, that he launched forthdesperately into an imaginary interview with her. She obliterated abookcase full of law reports, and the corners and lines of the roomunderwent a curious softening of outline like that which sometimesmakes a room unfamiliar at the moment of waking from sleep. Bydegrees, a pulse or stress began to beat at regular intervals in hismind, heaping his thoughts into waves to which words fittedthemselves, and without much consciousness of what he was doing, hebegan to write on a sheet of draft paper what had the appearance of apoem lacking several words in each line. Not many lines had been setdown, however, before he threw away his pen as violently as if thatwere responsible for his misdeeds, and tore the paper into manyseparate pieces. This was a sign that Katharine had asserted herselfand put to him a remark that could not be met poetically. Her remarkwas entirely destructive of poetry, since it was to the effect thatpoetry had nothing whatever to do with her; all her friends spenttheir lives in making up phrases, she said; all his feeling was anillusion, and next moment, as if to taunt him with his impotence, shehad sunk into one of those dreamy states which took no accountwhatever of his existence. Ralph was roused by his passionate attemptsto attract her attention to the fact that he was standing in themiddle of his little private room in Lincoln's Inn Fields at aconsiderable distance from Chelsea. The physical distance increasedhis desperation. He began pacing in circles until the process sickenedhim, and then took a sheet of paper for the composition of a letterwhich, he vowed before he began it, should be sent that same evening.It was a difficult matter to put into words; poetry would have done itbetter justice, but he must abstain from poetry. In an infinite numberof half-obliterated scratches he tried to convey to her thepossibility that although human beings are woefully ill-adapted forcommunication, still, such communion is the best we know; moreover,they make it possible for each to have access to another worldindependent of personal affairs, a world of law, of philosophy, ormore strangely a world such as he had had a glimpse of the otherevening when together they seemed to be sharing something, creatingsomething, an ideal--a vision flung out in advance of our actualcircumstances. If this golden rim were quenched, if life were nolonger circled by an illusion (but was it an illusion after all?),then it would be too dismal an affair to carry to an end; so he wrotewith a sudden spurt of conviction which made clear way for a space andleft at least one sentence standing whole. Making every allowance forother desires, on the whole this conclusion appeared to him to justifytheir relationship. But the conclusion was mystical; it plunged himinto thought. The difficulty with which even this amount was written,the inadequacy of the words, and the need of writing under them andover them others which, after all, did no better, led him to leave offbefore he was at ail satisfied with his production, and unable toresist the conviction that such rambling would never be fit forKatharine's eye. He felt himself more cut off from her than ever. Inidleness, and because he could do nothing further with words, he beganto draw little figures in the blank spaces, heads meant to resembleher head, blots fringed with flames meant to represent--perhaps theentire universe. From this occupation he was roused by the messagethat a lady wished to speak to him. He had scarcely time to run hishands through his hair in order to look as much like a solicitor aspossible, and to cram his papers into his pocket, already overcomewith shame that another eye should behold them, when he realized thathis preparations were needless. The lady was Mrs. Hilbery."I hope you're not disposing of somebody's fortune in a hurry," sheremarked, gazing at the documents on his table, "or cutting off anentail at one blow, because I want to ask you to do me a favor. AndAnderson won't keep his horse waiting. (Anderson is a perfect tyrant,but he drove my dear father to the Abbey the day they buried him.) Imade bold to come to you, Mr. Denham, not exactly in search of legalassistance (though I don't know who I'd rather come to, if I were introuble), but in order to ask your help in settling some tiresomelittle domestic affairs that have arisen in my absence. I've been toStratford-on-Avon (I must tell you all about that one of these days),and there I got a letter from my sister-in-law, a dear kind goose wholikes interfering with other people's children because she's got noneof her own. (We're dreadfully afraid that she's going to lose thesight of one of her eyes, and I always feel that our physical ailmentsare so apt to turn into mental ailments. I think Matthew Arnold sayssomething of the same kind about Lord Byron.) But that's neither herenor there."The effect of these parentheses, whether they were introduced for thatpurpose or represented a natural instinct on Mrs. Hilbery's part toembellish the bareness of her discourse, gave Ralph time to perceivethat she possessed all the facts of their situation and was come,somehow, in the capacity of ambassador."I didn't come here to talk about Lord Byron," Mrs. Hilbery continued,with a little laugh, "though I know that both you and Katharine,unlike other young people of your generation, still find him worthreading." She paused. "I'm so glad you've made Katharine read poetry,Mr. Denham!" she exclaimed, "and feel poetry, and look poetry! Shecan't talk it yet, but she will--oh, she will!"Ralph, whose hand was grasped and whose tongue almost refused toarticulate, somehow contrived to say that there were moments when hefelt hopeless, utterly hopeless, though he gave no reason for thisstatement on his part."But you care for her?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired."Good God!" he exclaimed, with a vehemence which admitted of noquestion."It's the Church of England service you both object to?" Mrs. Hilberyinquired innocently."I don't care a damn what service it is," Ralph replied."You would marry her in Westminster Abbey if the worst came to theworst?" Mrs. Hilbery inquired."I would marry her in St. Paul's Cathedral," Ralph replied. His doubtsupon this point, which were always roused by Katharine's presence, hadvanished completely, and his strongest wish in the world was to bewith her immediately, since every second he was away from her heimagined her slipping farther and farther from him into one of thosestates of mind in which he was unrepresented. He wished to dominateher, to possess her."Thank God!" exclaimed Mrs. Hilbery. She thanked Him for a variety ofblessings: for the conviction with which the young man spoke; and notleast for the prospect that on her daughter's wedding-day the noblecadences, the stately periods, the ancient eloquence of the marriageservice would resound over the heads of a distinguished congregationgathered together near the very spot where her father lay quiescentwith the other poets of England. The tears filled her eyes; but sheremembered simultaneously that her carriage was waiting, and with dimeyes she walked to the door. Denham followed her downstairs.It was a strange drive. For Denham it was without exception the mostunpleasant he had ever taken. His only wish was to go as straightlyand quickly as possible to Cheyne Walk; but it soon appeared that Mrs.Hilbery either ignored or thought fit to baffle this desire byinterposing various errands of her own. She stopped the carriage atpost-offices, and coffee-shops, and shops of inscrutable dignity wherethe aged attendants had to be greeted as old friends; and, catchingsight of the dome of St. Paul's above the irregular spires of LudgateHill, she pulled the cord impulsively, and gave directions thatAnderson should drive them there. But Anderson had reasons of his ownfor discouraging afternoon worship, and kept his horse's noseobstinately towards the west. After some minutes, Mrs. Hilberyrealized the situation, and accepted it good-humoredly, apologizing toRalph for his disappointment."Never mind," she said, "we'll go to St. Paul's another day, and itmay turn out, though I can't promise that it will, that he'll take uspast Westminster Abbey, which would be even better."Ralph was scarcely aware of what she went on to say. Her mind and bodyboth seemed to have floated into another region of quick-sailingclouds rapidly passing across each other and enveloping everything ina vaporous indistinctness. Meanwhile he remained conscious of his ownconcentrated desire, his impotence to bring about anything he wished,and his increasing agony of impatience.Suddenly Mrs. Hilbery pulled the cord with such decision that evenAnderson had to listen to the order which she leant out of the windowto give him. The carriage pulled up abruptly in the middle ofWhitehall before a large building dedicated to one of our Governmentoffices. In a second Mrs. Hilbery was mounting the steps, and Ralphwas left in too acute an irritation by this further delay even tospeculate what errand took her now to the Board of Education. He wasabout to jump from the carriage and take a cab, when Mrs. Hilberyreappeared talking genially to a figure who remained hidden behindher."There's plenty of room for us all," she was saying. "Plenty of room.We could find space for four of you, William," she added, opening thedoor, and Ralph found that Rodney had now joined their company. Thetwo men glanced at each other. If distress, shame, discomfort in itsmost acute form were ever visible upon a human face, Ralph could readthem all expressed beyond the eloquence of words upon the face of hisunfortunate companion. But Mrs. Hilbery was either completely unseeingor determined to appear so. She went on talking; she talked, it seemedto both the young men, to some one outside, up in the air. She talkedabout Shakespeare, she apostrophized the human race, she proclaimedthe virtues of divine poetry, she began to recite verses which brokedown in the middle. The great advantage of her discourse was that itwas self-supporting. It nourished itself until Cheyne Walk was reachedupon half a dozen grunts and murmurs."Now," she said, alighting briskly at her door, "here we are!"There was something airy and ironical in her voice and expression asshe turned upon the doorstep and looked at them, which filled bothRodney and Denham with the same misgivings at having trusted theirfortunes to such an ambassador; and Rodney actually hesitated upon thethreshold and murmured to Denham:"You go in, Denham. I . . ." He was turning tail, but the door openingand the familiar look of the house asserting its charm, he bolted inon the wake of the others, and the door shut upon his escape. Mrs.Hilbery led the way upstairs. She took them to the drawing-room. Thefire burnt as usual, the little tables were laid with china andsilver. There was nobody there."Ah," she said, "Katharine's not here. She must be upstairs in herroom. You have something to say to her, I know, Mr. Denham. You canfind your way?" she vaguely indicated the ceiling with a gesture ofher hand. She had become suddenly serious and composed, mistress inher own house. The gesture with which she dismissed him had a dignitythat Ralph never forgot. She seemed to make him free with a wave ofher hand to all that she possessed. He left the room.The Hilberys' house was tall, possessing many stories and passageswith closed doors, all, once he had passed the drawing-room floor,unknown to Ralph. He mounted as high as he could and knocked at thefirst door he came to."May I come in?" he asked.A voice from within answered "Yes."He was conscious of a large window, full of light, of a bare table,and of a long looking-glass. Katharine had risen, and was standingwith some white papers in her hand, which slowly fluttered to theground as she saw her visitor. The explanation was a short one. Thesounds were inarticulate; no one could have understood the meaningsave themselves. As if the forces of the world were all at work totear them asunder they sat, clasping hands, near enough to be takeneven by the malicious eye of Time himself for a united couple, anindivisible unit."Don't move, don't go," she begged of him, when he stooped to gatherthe papers she had let fall. But he took them in his hands and, givingher by a sudden impulse his own unfinished dissertation, with itsmystical conclusion, they read each other's compositions in silence.Katharine read his sheets to an end; Ralph followed her figures as faras his mathematics would let him. They came to the end of their tasksat about the same moment, and sat for a time in silence."Those were the papers you left on the seat at Kew," said Ralph atlength. "You folded them so quickly that I couldn't see what theywere."She blushed very deeply; but as she did not move or attempt to hideher face she had the appearance of some one disarmed of all defences,or Ralph likened her to a wild bird just settling with wings tremblingto fold themselves within reach of his hand. The moment of exposurehad been exquisitely painful--the light shed startlingly vivid. Shehad now to get used to the fact that some one shared her loneliness.The bewilderment was half shame and half the prelude to profoundrejoicing. Nor was she unconscious that on the surface the whole thingmust appear of the utmost absurdity. She looked to see whether Ralphsmiled, but found his gaze fixed on her with such gravity that sheturned to the belief that she had committed no sacrilege but enrichedherself, perhaps immeasurably, perhaps eternally. She hardly daredsteep herself in the infinite bliss. But his glance seemed to ask forsome assurance upon another point of vital interest to him. Itbeseeched her mutely to tell him whether what she had read upon hisconfused sheet had any meaning or truth to her. She bent her head oncemore to the papers she held."I like your little dot with the flames round it," she saidmeditatively.Ralph nearly tore the page from her hand in shame and despair when hesaw her actually contemplating the idiotic symbol of his most confusedand emotional moments.He was convinced that it could mean nothing to another, althoughsomehow to him it conveyed not only Katharine herself but all thosestates of mind which had clustered round her since he first saw herpouring out tea on a Sunday afternoon. It represented by itscircumference of smudges surrounding a central blot all thatencircling glow which for him surrounded, inexplicably, so many of theobjects of life, softening their sharp outline, so that he could seecertain streets, books, and situations wearing a halo almostperceptible to the physical eye. Did she smile? Did she put the paperdown wearily, condemning it not only for its inadequacy but for itsfalsity? Was she going to protest once more that he only loved thevision of her? But it did not occur to her that this diagram hadanything to do with her. She said simply, and in the same tone ofreflection:"Yes, the world looks something like that to me too."He received her assurance with profound joy. Quietly and steadilythere rose up behind the whole aspect of life that soft edge of firewhich gave its red tint to the atmosphere and crowded the scene withshadows so deep and dark that one could fancy pushing farther intotheir density and still farther, exploring indefinitely. Whether therewas any correspondence between the two prospects now opening beforethem they shared the same sense of the impending future, vast,mysterious, infinitely stored with undeveloped shapes which each wouldunwrap for the other to behold; but for the present the prospect ofthe future was enough to fill them with silent adoration. At any rate,their further attempts to communicate articulately were interrupted bya knock on the door, and the entrance of a maid who, with a due senseof mystery, announced that a lady wished to see Miss Hilbery, butrefused to allow her name to be given.When Katharine rose, with a profound sigh, to resume her duties, Ralphwent with her, and neither of them formulated any guess, on their waydownstairs, as to who this anonymous lady might prove to be. Perhapsthe fantastic notion that she was a little black hunchback providedwith a steel knife, which she would plunge into Katharine's heart,appeared to Ralph more probable than another, and he pushed first intothe dining-room to avert the blow. Then he exclaimed "Cassandra!" withsuch heartiness at the sight of Cassandra Otway standing by thedining-room table that she put her finger to her lips and begged himto be quiet."Nobody must know I'm here," she explained in a sepulchral whisper. "Imissed my train. I have been wandering about London all day. I canbear it no longer. Katharine, what am I to do?"Katharine pushed forward a chair; Ralph hastily found wine and pouredit out for her. If not actually fainting, she was very near it."William's upstairs," said Ralph, as soon as she appeared to berecovered. "I'll go and ask him to come down to you." His ownhappiness had given him a confidence that every one else was bound tobe happy too. But Cassandra had her uncle's commands and anger toovividly in her mind to dare any such defiance. She became agitated andsaid that she must leave the house at once. She was not in a conditionto go, had they known where to send her. Katharine's common sense,which had been in abeyance for the past week or two, still failed her,and she could only ask, "But where's your luggage?" in the vaguebelief that to take lodgings depended entirely upon a sufficiency ofluggage. Cassandra's reply, "I've lost my luggage," in no way helpedher to a conclusion."You've lost your luggage," she repeated. Her eyes rested upon Ralph,with an expression which seemed better fitted to accompany a profoundthanksgiving for his existence or some vow of eternal devotion than aquestion about luggage. Cassandra perceived the look, and saw that itwas returned; her eyes filled with tears. She faltered in what she wassaying. She began bravely again to discuss the question of lodgingwhen Katharine, who seemed to have communicated silently with Ralph,and obtained his permission, took her ruby ring from her finger andgiving it to Cassandra, said: "I believe it will fit you without anyalteration."These words would not have been enough to convince Cassandra of whatshe very much wished to believe had not Ralph taken the bare hand inhis and demanded:"Why don't you tell us you're glad?" Cassandra was so glad that thetears ran down her cheeks. The certainty of Katharine's engagement notonly relieved her of a thousand vague fears and self-reproaches, butentirely quenched that spirit of criticism which had lately impairedher belief in Katharine. Her old faith came back to her. She seemed tobehold her with that curious intensity which she had lost; as a beingwho walks just beyond our sphere, so that life in their presence is aheightened process, illuminating not only ourselves but a considerablestretch of the surrounding world. Next moment she contrasted her ownlot with theirs and gave back the ring."I won't take that unless William gives it me himself," she said."Keep it for me, Katharine.""I assure you everything's perfectly all right," said Ralph. "Let metell William--"He was about, in spite of Cassandra's protest, to reach the door, whenMrs. Hilbery, either warned by the parlor-maid or conscious with herusual prescience of the need for her intervention, opened the door andsmilingly surveyed them."My dear Cassandra!" she exclaimed. "How delightful to see you backagain! What a coincidence!" she observed, in a general way. "Williamis upstairs. The kettle boils over. Where's Katharine, I say? I go tolook, and I find Cassandra!" She seemed to have proved something toher own satisfaction, although nobody felt certain what thingprecisely it was."I find Cassandra," she repeated."She missed her train," Katharine interposed, seeing that Cassandrawas unable to speak."Life," began Mrs. Hilbery, drawing inspiration from the portraits onthe wall apparently, "consists in missing trains and in finding--" Butshe pulled herself up and remarked that the kettle must have boiledcompletely over everything.To Katharine's agitated mind it appeared that this kettle was anenormous kettle, capable of deluging the house in its incessantshowers of steam, the enraged representative of all those householdduties which she had neglected. She ran hastily up to thedrawing-room, and the rest followed her, for Mrs. Hilbery put her armround Cassandra and drew her upstairs. They found Rodney observing thekettle with uneasiness but with such absence of mind that Katharine'scatastrophe was in a fair way to be fulfilled. In putting the matterstraight no greetings were exchanged, but Rodney and Cassandra choseseats as far apart as possible, and sat down with an air of peoplemaking a very temporary lodgment. Either Mrs. Hilbery was imperviousto their discomfort, or chose to ignore it, or thought it high timethat the subject was changed, for she did nothing but talk aboutShakespeare's tomb."So much earth and so much water and that sublime spirit brooding overit all," she mused, and went on to sing her strange, half-earthly songof dawns and sunsets, of great poets, and the unchanged spirit ofnoble loving which they had taught, so that nothing changes, and oneage is linked with another, and no one dies, and we all meet inspirit, until she appeared oblivious of any one in the room. Butsuddenly her remarks seemed to contract the enormously wide circle inwhich they were soaring and to alight, airily and temporarily, uponmatters of more immediate moment."Katharine and Ralph," she said, as if to try the sound. "William andCassandra.""I feel myself in an entirely false position," said Williamdesperately, thrusting himself into this breach in her reflections."I've no right to be sitting here. Mr. Hilbery told me yesterday toleave the house. I'd no intention of coming back again. I shall now--""I feel the same too," Cassandra interrupted. "After what Uncle Trevorsaid to me last night--""I have put you into a most odious position," Rodney went on, risingfrom his seat, in which movement he was imitated simultaneously byCassandra. "Until I have your father's consent I have no right tospeak to you--let alone in this house, where my conduct"--he looked atKatharine, stammered, and fell silent--"where my conduct has beenreprehensible and inexcusable in the extreme," he forced himself tocontinue. "I have explained everything to your mother. She is sogenerous as to try and make me believe that I have done no harm--youhave convinced her that my behavior, selfish and weak as itwas--selfish and weak--" he repeated, like a speaker who has lost hisnotes.Two emotions seemed to be struggling in Katharine; one the desire tolaugh at the ridiculous spectacle of William making her a formalspeech across the tea-table, the other a desire to weep at the sightof something childlike and honest in him which touched herinexpressibly. To every one's surprise she rose, stretched out herhand, and said:"You've nothing to reproach yourself with--you've been always--" buthere her voice died away, and the tears forced themselves into hereyes, and ran down her cheeks, while William, equally moved, seizedher hand and pressed it to his lips. No one perceived that thedrawing-room door had opened itself sufficiently to admit at leasthalf the person of Mr. Hilbery, or saw him gaze at the scene round thetea-table with an expression of the utmost disgust and expostulation.He withdrew unseen. He paused outside on the landing trying to recoverhis self-control and to decide what course he might with most dignitypursue. It was obvious to him that his wife had entirely confused themeaning of his instructions. She had plunged them all into the mostodious confusion. He waited a moment, and then, with much preliminaryrattling of the handle, opened the door a second time. They had allregained their places; some incident of an absurd nature had now setthem laughing and looking under the table, so that his entrance passedmomentarily unperceived. Katharine, with flushed cheeks, raised herhead and said:"Well, that's my last attempt at the dramatic.""It's astonishing what a distance they roll," said Ralph, stooping toturn up the corner of the hearthrug."Don't trouble--don't bother. We shall find it--" Mrs. Hilbery began,and then saw her husband and exclaimed: "Oh, Trevor, we're looking forCassandra's engagement-ring!"Mr. Hilbery looked instinctively at the carpet. Remarkably enough, thering had rolled to the very point where he stood. He saw the rubiestouching the tip of his boot. Such is the force of habit that he couldnot refrain from stooping, with an absurd little thrill of pleasure atbeing the one to find what others were looking for, and, picking thering up, he presented it, with a bow that was courtly in the extreme,to Cassandra. Whether the making of a bow released automaticallyfeelings of complaisance and urbanity, Mr. Hilbery found hisresentment completely washed away during the second in which he bentand straightened himself. Cassandra dared to offer her cheek andreceived his embrace. He nodded with some degree of stiffness toRodney and Denham, who had both risen upon seeing him, and nowaltogether sat down. Mrs. Hilbery seemed to have been waiting for theentrance of her husband, and for this precise moment in order to putto him a question which, from the ardor with which she announced it,had evidently been pressing for utterance for some time past."Oh, Trevor, please tell me, what was the date of the firstperformance of 'Hamlet'?"In order to answer her Mr. Hilbery had to have recourse to the exactscholarship of William Rodney, and before he had given his excellentauthorities for believing as he believed, Rodney felt himself admittedonce more to the society of the civilized and sanctioned by theauthority of no less a person than Shakespeare himself. The power ofliterature, which had temporarily deserted Mr. Hilbery, now came backto him, pouring over the raw ugliness of human affairs its soothingbalm, and providing a form into which such passions as he had felt sopainfully the night before could be molded so that they fell roundlyfrom the tongue in shapely phrases, hurting nobody. He wassufficiently sure of his command of language at length to look atKatharine and again at Denham. All this talk about Shakespeare hadacted as a soporific, or rather as an incantation upon Katharine. Sheleaned back in her chair at the head of the tea-table, perfectlysilent, looking vaguely past them all, receiving the most generalizedideas of human heads against pictures, against yellow-tinted walls,against curtains of deep crimson velvet. Denham, to whom he turnednext, shared her immobility under his gaze. But beneath his restraintand calm it was possible to detect a resolution, a will, set now withunalterable tenacity, which made such turns of speech as Mr. Hilberyhad at command appear oddly irrelevant. At any rate, he said nothing.He respected the young man; he was a very able young man; he waslikely to get his own way. He could, he thought, looking at his stilland very dignified head, understand Katharine's preference, and, as hethought this, he was surprised by a pang of acute jealousy. She mighthave married Rodney without causing him a twinge. This man she loved.Or what was the state of affairs between them? An extraordinaryconfusion of emotion was beginning to get the better of him, when Mrs.Hilbery, who had been conscious of a sudden pause in the conversation,and had looked wistfully at her daughter once or twice, remarked:"Don't stay if you want to go, Katharine. There's the little room overthere. Perhaps you and Ralph--""We're engaged," said Katharine, waking with a start, and lookingstraight at her father. He was taken aback by the directness of thestatement; he exclaimed as if an unexpected blow had struck him. Hadhe loved her to see her swept away by this torrent, to have her takenfrom him by this uncontrollable force, to stand by helpless, ignored?Oh, how he loved her! How he loved her! He nodded very curtly toDenham."I gathered something of the kind last night," he said. "I hope you'lldeserve her." But he never looked at his daughter, and strode out ofthe room, leaving in the minds of the women a sense, half of awe, halfof amusement, at the extravagant, inconsiderate, uncivilized male,outraged somehow and gone bellowing to his lair with a roar whichstill sometimes reverberates in the most polished of drawing-rooms.Then Katharine, looking at the shut door, looked down again, to hideher tears.