He went out, and on his way to the mill stood still, and wished for a
moment that he had responded yet more kindly, and kissed her once at
least. Thus they lived through this despairing day or two; in the same
house, truly; but more widely apart than before they were lovers. It
was evident to her that he was, as he had said, living with paralyzed
activities in his endeavour to think of a plan of procedure. She
was awe-stricken to discover such determination under such apparent
flexibility. His consistency was, indeed, too cruel. She no longer
expected forgiveness now. More than once she thought of going away
from him during his absence at the mill; but she feared that this,
instead of benefiting him, might be the means of hampering and
humiliating him yet more if it should become known.
Meanwhile Clare was meditating, verily. His thought had been
unsuspended; he was becoming ill with thinking; eaten out with
thinking, withered by thinking; scourged out of all his former
pulsating, flexuous domesticity. He walked about saying to himself,
"What's to be done--what's to be done?" and by chance she overheard
him. It caused her to break the reserve about their future which had
hitherto prevailed. "I suppose--you are not going to live with me--long, are you, Angel?"
she asked, the sunk corners of her mouth betraying how purely
mechanical were the means by which she retained that expression of
chastened calm upon her face. "I cannot" he said, "without despising myself, and what is worse,
perhaps, despising you. I mean, of course, cannot live with you
in the ordinary sense. At present, whatever I feel, I do not
despise you. And, let me speak plainly, or you may not see all my
difficulties. How can we live together while that man lives?--he
being your husband in nature, and not I. If he were dead it might
be different... Besides, that's not all the difficulty; it lies in
another consideration--one bearing upon the future of other people
than ourselves. Think of years to come, and children being born to
us, and this past matter getting known--for it must get known. There
is not an uttermost part of the earth but somebody comes from it or
goes to it from elsewhere. Well, think of wretches of our flesh and
blood growing up under a taunt which they will gradually get to feel
the full force of with their expanding years. What an awakening
for them! What a prospect! Can you honestly say 'Remain' after
contemplating this contingency? Don't you think we had better
endure the ills we have than fly to others?"