“I wish they’d do some more coloured flares of light up the trees like they did at first. It was beautiful—more real than these things. Feu d’artifice artificial fire—all these noisy things. Why do people always like a noise? Men. All the things men have invented, trains and cannons and things make a frightful noise.”
“The toboggan’s not noisy. Come and try the toboggan.”
“Oh no.”
“Well—there’s the lake down there. We might have a boat.”
“Do you know how to manage a boat?”
“I’ve been on once or twice; if you like to try I’ll manage.”
“No; it’s too dark.” What a plucky man. But the water looked cold. And perhaps he would be really stupid.
A solitary uniformed man was yawning and whistling at the top of the deserted toboggan run. The faint light of a lamp fell upon the square platform and the little sled standing in place at the top of a shiny slope which shot steeply down into blackness.
“We’d better get on,” said Miriam trembling.
“Well, you’re very graceful at giving in,” remarked Mr. Parrow, handing her into the sled and settling with the man.
He got that sentence out of a book, thought Miriam wildly as she heard the man behind them say “Ready? Off you go!” … Out of a book a book a book—Oh—ooooh—how absolutely glorious, she yelled as they shot down through the darkness. Oh, she squealed into the face laughing and talking beside her. She turned away, shouting, for the final rush, they were flying—involuntarily her hand flung out, they were tearing headlong into absolute darkness, and was met and firmly clasped. They shot slackening up a short incline and stood up still hand in hand, laughing incoherently.
“Let’s walk back and try again,” said Mr. Parrow.
“Oh no; I enjoyed it most frightfully; but we mustn’t go again. Besides, it must be fearfully late.”
She pulled at her hand. The man was too near and too big. His hand was not a bit uncertain like his speech, and for a moment she was glad that she pulled in vain. “Very well,” said Mr. Parrow, “but we must find our way off the grass and strike the pathway.” Drawing her gently along, he peered about for the track. “Let me go,” said her hand dragging gently at his. “No” said the firm enclosure, tightening “not yet.” What does it matter? flashed her mind. Why should I be such a prude? The hand gave her confidence. It was firm and strong and perfectly serious. It was a hand like her own hand and comfortingly strange and different. Gently and slowly he guided her over the dewy grass. The air that had rushed so wildly by them a few minutes ago was still and calm and friendly; the distant crowd harmless and insignificant. The fireworks were over. The pathway they had missed appeared under their feet and down it they walked soberly, well apart, but still hand in hand until they reached the borders of the dispersing crowd.
X
When Miriam sat talking everything over with the Pernes at supper, on the first night of the term, detached forever from the things that engrossed them, the schoolwork, Julia Doyle’s future, the peculiarities of the visiting teachers, the problem of the “unnatural infatuation” of two of the boarders with each other, the pros and cons of a revolutionary plan for taking the girls in parties to the principal London museums, she made the most of her triumphant assertion that she had absolutely nothing in view. She found herself decorously waiting, armed at all points, through the silent interval while the Pernes took in the facts of her adventurous renunciation. She knew at once that she would have to be desperately determined. … But after all they could not do anything with her.
Sitting there, in the Perne boat, still taking an oar and determined to fling herself into the sea … she ought not to have told them she was leaving them just desperately, without anything else in prospect; because they were so good, not like employers. They would all feel for her. It was just like speaking roughly at home. Well, it was done. She glanced about. Miss Haddie, across the table behind her habitual bowl of bread and milk had a face—the face of a child surprised by injustice. “I was right—I was right,” Miriam gasped to herself as the light flowed in. “I’m escaping—just in time. … Emotional tyranny. … What a good expression … that’s the secret of Miss Haddie. It was awful. She’s lost me. I’m free. Emotional tyranny.” … “My hat, Mirry, you’re beyond me. How much do you charge for that one. Say it again,” she seemed to hear Gerald’s friendly voice. Go away Gerald. True. True. All the truth and meaning of her friendship with Miss Haddie in one single flash. How fearfully interesting life was. Miss Haddie wrestling with her, fighting for her soul; praying for her, almost driving her to the early service and always ready to quiver over her afterwards and to ask her if she had been happy. … And now angry because she was escaping.
She appealed to Miss Deborah and met a flash of her beautiful soft piercing eyes. Her delicate features quivered and wrinkled almost to a smile. But Miss Deborah was afraid of Miss Jenny who was already thinking and embarking on little sounds. Miriam got away for a moment in a tumult, with Miss Deborah. “Oh,” she shouted to her in the depths of her heart, “you are heavenly young. You know. Life’s like Robinson Crusoe. Your god’s a great big Robinson Crusoe. You know that anything may happen any minute. And it’s all right.” She laughed and shook staring at the saltcellar and then across at Miss Haddie whose eyes were full of dark fear. Miss Haddie was alone and outraged. “She thinks
