Gerald guessed where he was. At least, when he came to Whatmore, he
would know. He was glad to be on a high road. He walked forward as in a
sleep of decision.
That was Whatmore Village--? Yes, the King's Head--and there the hall
gates. He descended the steep hill almost running. Winding through the
hollow, he passed the Grammar School, and came to Willey Green Church.
The churchyard! He halted.
Then in another moment he had clambered up the wall and was going among
the graves. Even in this darkness he could see the heaped pallor of old
white flowers at his feet. This then was the grave. He stooped down.
The flowers were cold and clammy. There was a raw scent of
chrysanthemums and tube-roses, deadened. He felt the clay beneath, and
shrank, it was so horribly cold and sticky. He stood away in revulsion.
Here was one centre then, here in the complete darkness beside the
unseen, raw grave. But there was nothing for him here. No, he had
nothing to stay here for. He felt as if some of the clay were sticking
cold and unclean, on his heart. No, enough of this.
Where then?--home? Never! It was no use going there. That was less than
no use. It could not be done. There was somewhere else to go. Where?
A dangerous resolve formed in his heart, like a fixed idea. There was
Gudrun--she would be safe in her home. But he could get at her--he
would get at her. He would not go back tonight till he had come to her,
if it cost him his life. He staked his all on this throw.
He set off walking straight across the fields towards Beldover. It was
so dark, nobody could ever see him. His feet were wet and cold, heavy
with clay. But he went on persistently, like a wind, straight forward,
as if to his fate. There were great gaps in his consciousness. He was
conscious that he was at Winthorpe hamlet, but quite unconscious how he
had got there. And then, as in a dream, he was in the long street of
Beldover, with its street-lamps.
There was a noise of voices, and of a door shutting loudly, and being
barred, and of men talking in the night. The 'Lord Nelson' had just
closed, and the drinkers were going home. He had better ask one of
these where she lived--for he did not know the side streets at all.
'Can you tell me where Somerset Drive is?' he asked of one of the
uneven men.
'Where what?' replied the tipsy miner's voice.