He lifted the lantern to look at the table above the shelf, but Sarah shook her head.
“Yon’s an old table, think on. It’s no use looking there. Tide’s six o’clock, it you want to know.”
He said, “Oh, ay. I’d clean forgot,” and still stood on the hearth, as if reluctant to go. Presently he spoke humbly, twisting the lantern in his hand.
“It’s real hard on you, Sarah, to come down like this. I don’t know as I like it myself, but it’s worse for you. But we’ve been right kind wi’ each other all these years. You’ll not think shame on me when I’m a hired man?”
She turned back to him, then, trying to see his face, and it seemed to him that she really saw him for the first time in many months. But, in point of fact, it was the eyes of the mind that were looking at the eyes of the mind. … And then, unexpectedly, he saw her smile.
“Nay, my lad,” she said strongly, “you mun be wrong in t’garrets to think that! If there’s owt to think shame on it’ll be stuff like yon. You’re the same lad to me as when we was wed, just as Eliza’s the same cruel, jibing lass. I reckon that’s where the trouble lies, if it come to that. Love and hate don’t change, neither on ’em, all our lives. D’you think I’d ha’ kept my hate so warm if I hadn’t ha’ kept love?”
He nodded doubtfully in reply, and began slowly to edge away. But before he had reached the threshold he paused again.
“Anyway, we’ve had the best on’t!” he cried triumphantly, as if inspired. “Eliza’s had what looks most, but we’ve had the real things, you and me!” And then, as she did not speak, the spirit died in him, and his head drooped. “Ay, well, we mun do what we can,” he finished lamely. “We mun do what we can. ’Tisn’t as if it’ll be so long for either on us, after all.”
“Shall I see to t’milk for you?” he added diffidently, but was refused.
“Nay,” Sarah said. “I can manage right well. I know they milk-pans better than my face. I’d like to stick to my job as long as I can.”
Simon said—“Ay, well, then, I’ll be off!” and looked at the door; and stared at the door, and said—“Ay, well, I’ll be off!” again. He had an uneasy feeling that he ought to stay, but there was that job in the far shippon he wanted to do. He wandered uncertainly towards the outer door, and then, almost as if the door had pushed him, stumbled into the yard.
II
Sarah stood thinking after Simon had gone, following with ease the troubled workings of his mind. The smile came back to her lips as she recalled his obvious sense of guilt. Behind all his anger and chafing humiliation it was easy to see his growing pleasure and relief. It was more than likely, indeed, that he would be priding himself on his new position before so long. Perhaps age, which has a merciful as well as a cruel blindness of its own, might prevent him from ever realising where he stood. She could picture him lording it over the gentler-natured Will, and even coming in time to dominate the farm. It was only for her that there would be no lording it—and open sight. It was only on her account that he was still ashamed.
It was cruel to grudge him the little solace he had left, but the thing which eased the position for him would form a double cross for her. Hitherto, they had stood together in their hatred of Blindbeck and its female head, and in the very depth of their darkness still had each other to soothe their shame. But now Simon’s attitude was bound to alter at least towards the farm. There would come a day when he would turn upon her for some chance remark, and from that hour he would be openly on Blindbeck’s side. The new tie would make him forget those bitter upheavals of jealous rage. Slowly the place would come between them until she was left to hate alone.
For her, the change would simply deliver her, blind and bound, into Eliza’s hand. She could have laughed as she saw how the thing she had fought against all her life had captured her at last. Even with Eliza dead or gone, Blindbeck would still have stifled her as with unbreathable air. Her spirit and Eliza’s would have lived their battles again, and even over a grave she would have suffered and struggled afresh. But Eliza was neither dead nor mercifully removed, but was already snuffing the battle-smoke from afar. The whole account of their lives would come up in full, and be settled against the underdog for good. It was as whipping-boy to Eliza that she would go to the house by Blindbeck gates.
At the present moment, however, she neither suffered nor rebelled. Physically, she had reached the point at which the mind detaches itself resolutely from further emotional strain. The flame of hate burnt steadily but without effort, and with almost as pure a light as the flame of love itself. Like all great passions, it lifted her out of herself, lending her for the time being a still, majestic strength. There is little to choose at the farthest point of all between the exaltation of holiness and the pure ecstasy of hate. To the outside eye they show the same shining serenity, almost the same air of smiling peace. It is the strangest quality in the strange character of this peculiarly self-destroying sin. Because of it she was able to go about her evening tasks with ease, to speak gently to Simon in the little scene which had just passed, and even to dwell on his methods with a humorous smile upon her lips.
In the clarified state of her mind pictures rose sharply before
