Sparrows Part 66

"Perhaps."

"Well, I will say this, you will bear looking at in the morning."

"Why, who won't?"

"Lots of 'em."

"How do you know?"

"Eh! But we can't talk here. It will be all over the town that we were--were--"

"Going to elope!" she interrupted.

"I wish we were. But, seriously, you got my letter?"

"It's really why I came."

"What?" he asked, astonished.

"It's really why I came."

"What have you to say to me?"

"I don't know."

"Don't you want me to go to Wales?"

"I don't know."

"I must decide soon. Here's the train."

They mechanically turned towards the platform.

"Must you go?" she impulsively asked.

"I could either chuck it or I could put it off till tomorrow."

"Why not do that?"

"But would you see me again?"

"Yes."

"And will you decide then?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I'll see you tonight," he said, as he raised his hat, as if wishing her to leave him.

Mavis bit her lip as she turned to leave Perigal.

"Goodbye till tonight, little Mavis!"

"Goodbye," she called back curtly.

"One moment," he cried.

She paused.

He went on:

"It was charming of you to come. It's like everything to do with you--beautiful."

"There's still time for you to get your train," she said, feeling somewhat mollified by his last words.

"And miss seeing you tonight!" he replied.

Mavis walked to the factory wondering how many people had seen her talking to Perigal. During her morning's work, her mind was in a turmoil of doubt as to the advisability of meeting Perigal in the evening. She could not help believing that, should she see him, as was more or less arranged, it would prove an event of much moment in her life, holding infinite possibilities of happiness or disaster. She knew herself well enough to know that if she were wholly possessed by love for him she would be to him as clay in the hands of the potter. She could come to no conclusion; even if she had, she could not be certain if she could keep to any resolve she might arrive at. During her midday meal she remembered how Perigal had said that the "Song of Solomon"

might have been written to her. She opened her Bible, found the "Song"

and greedily devoured it. In her present mood its sensuous beauty entranced her, but she was not a little perplexed by the headings of the chapters. As with so many others, she found it hard to reconcile the ecclesiastical claims here set forth at the beginning of each chapter with the pa.s.sionate outpourings of the flesh which followed.

She took the Bible with her to the office, to read the "Song" twice during the interval usually allotted to afternoon tea.

When she got back to Mrs Farthing's, she was long undecided whether she should go out to meet Perigal. The leanings of her heart inclined her to keep the appointment, whilst, on the other hand, her strong common sense urged her to decide nothing until Windebank came back. Windebank she was sure of, whereas she was not so confident of Perigal; but she was forced to admit that the elusive and more subtle personality of the latter appealed more to her imagination than the other's stability.

Presently, she left her lodgings and walked slowly towards the ca.n.a.l, which was in a contrary direction to that in which lay the Avon. The calm of the still water inclined her to sadness. She idled along the towpath, plucking carelessly at the purple vetch which bordered the ca.n.a.l in luxuriant profusion. More than once, she was possessed by the idea that someone was following her. Then she became aware that Perigal was also idling along the towpath some way behind her. The sight of him made her heart beat; she all but decided to turn back to meet him.

Common sense again fought for the possession of her mind. It told her that by dawdling till she reached the next bend, she could be out of sight of Perigal, without exciting his suspicions, when it would be the easiest thing in the world to hurry till she came to a track which led from the ca.n.a.l to the town. She was putting this design into practice, and had already reached the bend, when odd verses of the "Song of Solomon" occurred to her:

"Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.

"As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.

"Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

"Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.

"Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue.

"A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

"How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!

"And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.

"I am my beloved's, and his desire is towards me.

"I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine."

The influence of air, sky, evening sun, and the peace that lay over the land reinforced the unmoral suggestions of the verses that had leapt in her memory. Her blood quickened; she sighed, and then sat by the rushes that, just here, invaded the towpath.

As Perigal strolled towards her, his personality caused that old, odd feeling of helplessness to steal over her. She, almost, felt as if she were a fly gradually being bound by a greedy spider's web.