Part 59 (1/2)

”You've come back, then?” she said, and laughed suddenly at the futility of her words. ”It's a very long way for you to come.”

”I went away for a whole month to think about it,” he said in a low voice. ”And all I can think is that I must take you away. You'll have to leave him.”

She shook her head hopelessly.

”I've thought that too, very often, when I felt I couldn't bear it. But always I _have_ borne it. And he would die without me.”

”The best thing is for him to die,” he cried harshly. ”In a decent community he would be put in a lethal chamber. But I'm not thinking of him. I'm thinking of you. And I'm thinking of myself.”

He threw his hat on the ground, and turned away from her.

”You've got into my imagination,” he began almost indignantly.

”You've been in mine years and years,” she said.

He came back then, and she was frightened of him.

”Let's get out of this,” he said impatiently. ”I can't talk to you here in his house. Let us get off into the Bush somewhere. Where's the boy?”

”He's playing with Betty.”

”You'd better fetch him along,” he said unevenly.

She shook her head.

”Louis would be worried if he came in and found me out at tea-time,” she said. ”It made him very unhappy to see you, you know. He can't bear to think that you are free while he is a slave.”

She walked before him to look at the distant smoke of the fires. The clearing was almost finished.

”d.a.m.n Louis!” he cried. ”He is a slave because he lets himself be! And you're a slave because he's one. I shall not let you stay here, chained.

Armour suits you better.”

”Whatever do you mean?” she gasped.

He strode along without her, knowing that she would follow; it was so good to follow instead of leading always.

”You know quite well what I mean,” he said at last when they were out of sight of the house and only faint pungency of burning wood reached them, with the crackle of wind in the scrub. ”I've made a woman like you, in my dreams. I never thought to see her in the flesh--yet--. One who could march along by me s.h.i.+ning--not wanting to be carried over rough places--getting in a man's way, stooping his back--”

She tried to speak, but his eyes silenced her. She stared at him, fascinated.

”Oh I'm so sick of pretty, pathetic, seductive little women. Always I have to make love to them. It's the only meeting-ground between a man and most women. You--I couldn't make love to you! You're not seductive, in the least. You're hard and quick and taut. There's a courage about you--”

”Please, Professor Kraill,” she began, but he silenced her by an impatient gesture.

”Listen to me, Marcella. You listened to me before, like a little meek girl on a school-bench. I'm sick, sick, sick of women! Soft corners and seduction!--Narcotics--when what a man needs is a tonic. Miserable, soft, uncourageous things. I want the courage of you.”

”Can't you see that you're all wrong about me?” she said at last. ”I'm not hard, really--only a bit crusted, I think. See what I've done to Louis!”

”Louis!” he cried contemptuously. ”You're not going to be wasted on that half thing any longer. I'm not saying it isn't fine to save a man's life. It is. It's very fine and splendid. But you've to be honest with yourself, Marcella, and think if it's worth while. He's not worth it. If you save him from drinking there's very little to him, you know.”

”Don't tell me that, because what you say I believe,” she cried in a stricken voice. ”It's all my life you're turning to ashes.”