accustomed thus to use his will. “I’m going,” he said again irresolutely, in the vain hope that Elizabeth might waver, but she remained silent. He wondered a little at himself. He was surely bewitched, for never before had his feet found it hard to leave danger behind him. To help them he tried to call up before his eyes a vision of what might happen to him if he fell into the hands of Hake or Joe, when even into Carlyon’s meant death. But instead he saw again a glow of yellow candle light and Elizabeth’s face contorted in a scream. It was no good. He could not leave her. The door which he had opened he again slammed to, shot the bolt and came back into the centre of the room with hanging head.

“You’ve won again,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

He looked up at her with angry resentment. Her eyes were glowing, but he noticed even at that moment that the glow was on the surface only and altered the nature of the drowsing depths no more than moonlight on a pond can transmute more than the face of the dark metallic water into silver.

“Listen,” he said, “since we’ve chosen to be fools we must make the best of it. Have you tools and wood? I want to mend the top bolt of the door.” She led him into the shed, where he had slept first, and found him wood, nails, a saw, a hammer. Clumsily, for he was not used to working with his hands, he made a bolt and fastened it in place. “That helps to shut us in,” he said. She was standing close beside him and he was on the point of taking her in his arms. Then a thought stopped him. I have the living against me, he thought, I do not want the dead also. To prevent a return of the temptation he tried to busy himself with means to their defence. “The cartridges?” he asked. “Where are they?” She brought them and he loaded the gun, leaving the others spread out on the table ready to the hand. Then he walked to the window, examined the outlook, entered the shed and reassured himself that the window was too high from the ground for a flank attack to be successful. “We are ready for them,” he said dully. He was oppressed by a question. If Carlyon should be the first to come, could he shoot? He glanced out of the corners of his eyes at Elizabeth. It was she or Carlyon. He would have to shoot, and yet he prayed that it might be Hake or Joe who would offer himself to his bullet.

“How far is your nearest neighbour?” he asked.

“Not more than a mile,” she said. “He keeps a farm⁠—and a cellar.”

“You mean he’s a friend of these men?” Andrews asked. “Surely if he heard shots he would send to Shoreham?”

“You have lived very much on the sea, haven’t you?” Elizabeth said. “You do not know this borderland, not close enough to the coast to be patrolled, not far enough away to have no dealings with smugglers. Here we are in the pocket of the Gentlemen.” She unexpectedly clapped her hands. “What fun, after all, it is,” she said.

“Fun,” he exclaimed. “Don’t you realise that it means death for someone?”

“You are so afraid of death,” she said.

“I’m afraid of extinction,” Andrews said, resting his hand on the barrel of the gun, in which he found comfort. “I am all that I have. I’m afraid of losing that.”

“There is no danger,” she said. “We go on.”

“Oh, you believe in God,” Andrews murmured, “and all that.” He kicked his heels in an embarrassed fashion, not looking at her, blushing a little. “I envy you,” he said. “You seem so certain, so sane, at peace. I’ve never been like that⁠—at least only for a very little, while listening to music. I’m listening to music now. Go on talking to me. While I hear you all this chaos,” he put his hand to his head, “is smoothed out.” He looked up at her suspiciously, expecting her laughter.

Elizabeth asked with a small puzzled frown, “What do you mean by chaos?”

“It is as though,” Andrews said slowly, “there were about six different people inside me. They all urge different things. I don’t know which is myself.”

“The one who left the knife and the one who stays here now,” she said.

“But then, what of the others?”

“The devil,” she answered.

He laughed. “How old fashioned you are.”

She put herself in front of him. “Look at me,” she said. Hesitatingly he looked up and seeing her face glowing (the only word for that radiance, which gave her face the appearance of a pale crystal holding a sun or a star) the desire to take her in his arms was almost irresistible. But I must not, he told himself. I will not spoil these hours with her. I have spoiled everything I have touched. I will not touch her. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and baulked desire gave his face a sullen, hostile look. “Tell me how you could return to warn me,” Elizabeth asked, “when you do not believe in immortality. You risked death.”

“Sentimentality,” he said with a grin.

A faint puzzled frown dimmed for a moment the radiance. “Why do you always make little of the good you do,” she asked, “and make much of the bad?”

He bit his lip angrily. “If you want to know why I came,” he said, “I’ll tell you. Remember it’s your fault if all this peace is spoiled.”

“No one can spoil my peace,” she said. “Tell me.”

He came closer and grinned at her angrily, as though he was going to do her a great wrong and hated her for that reason. “I came,” he said, “because I loved you.” He looked for a smile or even for a laugh, but she watched him gravely, and the increase in her colour was so faint that

Вы читаете The Man Within
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату