Part 11 (2/2)

”My voice?”

”Yes; it is full of notes like a violin, and speaks more than words. I suppose all voices have many notes really, but people do not often use them; they use only a few. You use many; that is why I like to listen to you when you talk to my parents, or any one. It is like a master playing on an instrument; you make simple words mean much, more than I understand sometimes; you can caress and you can laugh with your voice; I have heard you do it when I have not been able to understand what you caress, or at what you laugh, any more than an ignorant person can understand what the violin says, although he may enjoy to hear it. To-night you do not caress or laugh; there is something black in your thoughts.”

”That is human nature, as you say,” Julia said shortly, ignoring the comment on her voice. ”Human nature is a hateful, ugly thing; there is no use in thinking about it.”

”It has certainly fallen,” Joost allowed; ”but I have sometimes thought perhaps, if it were not so, it would be a little--a very little--monotonous.”

”You would not find it dull,” Julia told him. ”I believe you would not have got on very well in the Garden of Eden, except that, since all the herbs grew after their own kind, there would be no opportunity to hybridise them.”

But the mystery of production and generation, even in the vegetable world, was not a subject that modesty permitted Joost to discuss with a girl. His manner showed it, to her impatient annoyance, as he hastily introduced another aspect of man's first estate. ”If we were not fallen,” he added, ”we should have no opportunity to rise. That, indeed, would be a loss; is it not the struggle which makes the grand and fine characters which we admire?”

”I don't admire them,” Julia returned; ”I admire the people who are born good, because they are a miracle.”

He stopped to unfasten the gate; it did not occur to him that she was thinking of himself.

”I cannot agree with you,” he said, as they went up the drive together. ”Rather, I admire those who have fought temptation, who are strong, who know and understand and have conquered; they inspire me to try and follow. What inspiration is there in the other? Consider Miss Denah, for an example; she has perhaps never wanted to do more wrong than to take her mother's prunes, but is there inspiration in her? She is as soft and as kind as a feather pillow, and as inspiring. But you--you told me once you were bad; I did not believe you; I did not understand, but now I know your meaning. You have it in your power to be bad or to be good; you know which is which, for you have seen badness, and know it as men who live see it. You have fought with it and conquered; you have struggled, you do struggle, you have strength in you. That is why you are like a lantern that is sometimes bright and sometimes dim, but always a beacon.”

”I am nothing of the sort,” Julia said sharply. They were in the dense shadow of the trees, so he could not see her face, but her voice sounded strange to him. ”You do not know what you are talking about,”

she said; ”hardly in my life have I asked myself if a thing is right or wrong--do you understand me? Right and wrong are not things I think about.”

”It is quite likely,” he said, serenely; ”different persons have different names for the same things, as you have once said; one calls it 'honourable' and 'dishonourable,' and another 'right' and 'wrong,'

and another 'wise' and 'unwise.' But it is always the same thing; it means to choose the more difficult path that leads to the greater end, and leave the other way to the lesser and smaller souls.”

Julia caught her breath with a little gasping choke. Joost turned and looked at her, puzzled at last; but though they had now reached the house, and the lamplight shone on her, he could make out nothing; she brushed past him and went in quickly.

The next day Joost started for Germany. It rained more or less all day, and Julia did not go out, except for half-an-hour during the morning, when she was obliged to go marketing. She met Denah bound on the same errand, and heard from her, what she knew already, that she would not be able to come and superintend the crochet that day. And being in a black and reckless mood, she had the effrontery to laugh a silent, comprehending little laugh in the face of the Dutch girl's elaborate explanations. Denah was a good deal annoyed, and, though her self-esteem did not allow her to realise the full meaning of the offence, she did not forget it.

Julia went home with her purchases, and spent the rest of the day in the usual small occupations. It was an interminably long day she found. She contrived to hide her feelings, however, and behaved beautifully, giving the suitable attention and suitable answers to all Mevrouw's little remarks about the weather, and Joost's wet journey (though, since he was in the train, Julia could not see that the wet mattered to him), and about Mijnheer's cold, which was very bad indeed.

The day wore on. Julia missed Joost's presence at meals; they were not in the habit of talking much to each other at such times, it is true, but she always knew when she talked to his parents that he was listening, and putting another and fuller interpretation on her words.

That was stimulating and pleasant too; it was a new form of intercourse, and she did not pretend she did not enjoy it for itself, as well as for the opportunity it gave her of probing his mind and trying different ideas on him.

At last dinner was over, and tea; the tea things were washed, and the long-neglected fancy work brought out. A clock in the pa.s.sage struck the hour when, of late, after an exhilirating verbal skirmish with the anxious Denah, she had set out for the village and Rawson-Clew.

She did not pretend to herself that she did not enjoy that too, she did immensely; there was a breath from the outside world in it; there was sometimes the inspiring clash of wits, of steel on steel, always the charm of educated intercourse and quick comprehension. To-night there was nothing; no exercise to stir the blood, no solitude to stimulate the imagination, no effort of talk or understanding to rouse the mind. Nothing but to sit at work, giving one-eighth of attention to talk with Mevrouw--more was not needed, and the rest to the blue daffodils that lay securely locked up in a place only too well known.

Evening darkened, grey and dripping, to-night, supper-getting time came, and the hour for locking up the barns. Mijnheer, snuffling and wheezing a good deal, put on a coat, a mackintosh, a comforter, a pair of boots and a pair of galoshes; took an umbrella, the lantern, a great bunch of keys, and went out. Julia watched him go, and said nothing; she had been the rounds a good many times with Joost now; the family had talked about it more than once, and about her bravery with regard to rats and robbers. Neither of the old people would have been surprised if she had volunteered to go in place of Mijnheer, even if his cold had not offered a reason for such a thing. But she did not do it; he went alone, and the blue daffodil bulbs lay snug in their locked place.

The next day it still rained, but a good deal harder. There was a sudden drop in the temperature, too, such as one often finds in an English summer. The Van Heigens did not have a fire on that account, their stoves always kept a four months' sabbath; the advent of a snow-storm in July would not have been allowed to break it. Mijnheer's cold was decidedly worse; towards evening it grew very bad. He came in early from the office, and sat and s.h.i.+vered in the sitting-room with Julia and his wife, who was continuing the crochet unaided, and so laying up much future work for Denah. At last it was considered dark enough for the lamp to be lighted. Julia got up and lit it, and drew the blind, shutting out the grey sheet of the ca.n.a.l and the slanting rain.

”Dear me,” Mevrouw said once again, ”how bad the rain must be for Joost!”

Julia agreed, but reminded her--also once again--that it was possibly not raining in Germany.

Mijnheer looked up from his paper to remark that the weather was very bad for the crops.

”It is bad for every one,” his wife rejoined; ”but worse of all for you. You should be in bed. Indeed, it is not fit that you should be up; the house is like a cellar this evening.”

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