She had arrogated to herself
judgment of women--and men--who might, yes, who might have stood upon
their strip of sand, as she stood, with the waves creeping in, each one
higher, stronger, and more engulfing than the last. There might have
been those among them who also had knowledge of that sudden deadly
joy at the sight of one face, at the drop of one voice. When that wave
submerged one's pulsing being, what had the world to do with one--how
could one hear and think of what its speech might be? Its voice
clamoured too far off.
As she walked across the marsh she was thinking this first phase over.
She had reached a new one, and at first she looked back with a faint,
even rather hard, smile. She walked straight ahead, her mastiff, Roland,
padding along heavily close at her side. How still and wide and golden
it was; how the cry of plover and lifting trill of skylark assured one
that one was wholly encircled by solitude and space which were more
enclosing than any walls! She was going to the mounds to which Mr.
Penzance had trundled G. Selden in the pony chaise, when he had given
him the marvellous hour which had brought Roman camp and Roman legions
to life again. Up on the largest hillock one could sit enthroned,
resting chin in hand and looking out under level lids at the unstirring,
softly-living loveliness of the marsh-land world.
Pages:
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744