Part 68 (1/2)
”If it were in a book, he would save me at the last minute and fall in love with me and it would all end happily. Or he would see me now, and perhaps speak to me, and he would understand all I told him, and persuade me not to. Anyhow, it would all come right.”
She smiled in the darkness.
”But that won't happen to _me_. There never was any one--and n.o.body would love me now, especially when they knew all about me.” She remembered the haggard, distorted countenance that the looking-gla.s.s had shown her--the great, starting eyes with discoloured circles beneath them, and the blackened, prominent teeth, more salient than ever from the thinness of her face.
She could almost have laughed, without any conscious bitterness, at the idea of any romance in connection with her present self.
And yet the girl, Alex Clare, could have loved--had looked forward to love and to happiness as her rights, just as Pamela Clare did now.
But Pamela was different. Every one was--No!
It was Alex that was different--that had always been different.
She began to feel less warm, and s.h.i.+vered a little as she waited.
It occurred to her, not with any sense of fear, but with vexation, that her purpose would be far more difficult of achievement if she waited until she was physically chilled.
She looked up at the bridge again, and the figure was still there, at the furthest end. Alex measured the length of the bridge with her eyes.
It was doubtful if he would see her from the furthest end of it, but she reflected matter-of-factly:
”If I jump there will be the noise of a splash--and he might do something--he would try to save me, I suppose--or run for help. It wouldn't be safe. If he would _only_ go.”
She became irritated. With a sense of despair she determined to circ.u.mvent the motionless, watchful figure.
Moving very quietly and almost soundlessly over the soft muddy ground, Alex made her way from the path to the bank, and further and further down it till only a short declivity of shelving mud lay between her and the water.
She could feel the brambles catching in her thick coat as though pulling her back, but she went on, cautiously and steadily. Once or twice she pushed at the low, tangled bushes that impeded her progress, and paused aghast at the rustling that ensued. But from the bridge above her there came no sound.
Within a few steps of the dark water, her feet already sinking ankle-deep into the wet, spongy ground, she stopped.
She realized with wondering joy that, after all, she was not very much afraid. It was as though the self-confidence which had for so long deserted her had come back now to carry her through the last need.
She felt proud, because she knew that for this once she was not going to fail.
She talked to herself in a whisper:
”This one time--just a few minutes when it may be very bad--but remember that it can't last long, and then it'll all be over. And perhaps there'll never be anything more afterwards--like being always asleep, and no one need be vexed or disappointed any more. But perhaps--”
She paused on the thought, and her heart began to beat faster with a hopeful excitement such as she had not known for a very long while.
”Perhaps it will be much better than one imagines possible. Perhaps there'll be real forgiveness and understanding--and then my having done this won't matter. Anyway, I shall know very soon, if only I'm brave just for a few minutes.”
She drew a long breath, then, instinctively stretching her arms straight out before her so as to balance herself, she began to move forward.
The first unmistakable touch of the water round her feet made her gasp and stifle a scream, but she waded on, encouraging herself in a low murmur, as though speaking to a child:
”It's only like going into the sea when one's bathing--pretend it's that, then you won't be frightened. Just straight on--it will be over quite soon--”