XXXVI

Clare arose in the light of a dawn that was ashy and furtive, as

though associated with crime. The fireplace confronted him with its

extinct embers; the spread supper-table, whereon stood the two full

glasses of untasted wine, now flat and filmy; her vacated seat and

his own; the other articles of furniture, with their eternal look of

not being able to help it, their intolerable inquiry what was to be

done? From above there was no sound; but in a few minutes there came

a knock at the door. He remembered that it would be the neighbouring

cottager's wife, who was to minister to their wants while they

Advertisement..

remained here. The presence of a third person in the house would be extremely

awkward just now, and, being already dressed, he opened the window

and informed her that they could manage to shift for themselves that

morning. She had a milk-can in her hand, which he told her to leave

at the door. When the dame had gone away he searched in the back

quarters of the house for fuel, and speedily lit a fire. There was

plenty of eggs, butter, bread, and so on in the larder, and Clare

soon had breakfast laid, his experiences at the dairy having rendered

him facile in domestic preparations. The smoke of the kindled wood

rose from the chimney without like a lotus-headed column; local

people who were passing by saw it, and thought of the newly-married

couple, and envied their happiness. A

ngel cast a final glance round, and then going to the foot of the

stairs, called in a conventional voice

-"Breakfast is ready!" He opened the front door, and took a few steps in the morning air.

When, after a short space, he came back she was already in the

sitting-room mechanically readjusting the breakfast things. As she

was fully attired, and the interval since his calling her had been

but two or three minutes, she must have been dressed or nearly so

before he went to summon her. Her hair was twisted up in a large

round mass at the back of her head, and she had put on one of the

new frocks--a pale blue woollen garment with neck-frillings of

white. Her hands and face appeared to be cold, and she had possibly

been sitting dressed in the bedroom a long time without any fire.

The marked civility of Clare's tone in calling her seemed to have

inspired her, for the moment, with a new glimmer of hope. But it

soon died when she looked at him.

The pair were, in truth, but the ashes of their former fires. To the

hot sorrow of the previous night had succeeded heaviness; it seemed

as if nothing could kindle either of them to fervour of sensation any

more. He spoke gently to her, and she replied with a like

undemonstrativeness. At last she came up to him, looking in his

sharply-defined face as one who had no consciousness that her own

formed a visible object also.




Most Popular