And I discovered he longed for their boy to grow up so that he could have a man to talk with in that language that to our ears sounded so disturbing, so passionate, and so bizarre. Why his wife should dislike the idea he couldn't tell. But that would pass, he said. And tilting his head know-ingly, he tapped his breastbone to indicate that she had a good heart: not hard, not fierce, open to com-passion, charitable to the poor!
"I walked away thoughtfully; I wondered whether his difference, his strangeness, were not penetrating with repulsion that dull nature they had begun by irresistibly attracting. I won-dered. . . ."
The Doctor came to the window and looked out at the frigid splendour of the sea, immense in the haze, as if enclosing all the earth with all the hearts lost among the passions of love and fear.
"Physiologically, now," he said, turning away abruptly, "it was possible. It was possible."He remained silent. Then went on--
"At all events, the next time I saw him he was ill--lung trouble. He was tough, but I daresay he was not acclimatised as well as I had supposed. It was a bad winter; and, of course, these mountain-eers do get fits of home sickness; and a state of de-pression would make him vulnerable. He was lying half dressed on a couch downstairs.
"A table covered with a dark oilcloth took up all the middle of the little room. There was a wicker cradle on the floor, a kettle spouting steam on the hob, and some child's linen lay drying on the fender. The room was warm, but the door opens right into the garden, as you noticed perhaps.
"He was very feverish, and kept on muttering to himself. She sat on a chair and looked at him fixedly across the table with her brown, blurred eyes. 'Why don't you have him upstairs?' Iasked. With a start and a confused stammer she said, 'Oh! ah! I couldn't sit with him upstairs, Sir.'
"I gave her certain directions; and going out-side, I said again that he ought to be in bed up-stairs. She wrung her hands. 'I couldn't. Icouldn't. He keeps on saying something--I don't know what.' With the memory of all the talk against the man that had been dinned into her ears, I looked at her narrowly. I looked into her short-sighted eyes, at her dumb eyes that once in her life had seen an enticing shape, but seemed, staring at me, to see nothing at all now. But I saw she was uneasy.
"'What's the matter with him?' she asked in a sort of vacant trepidation. 'He doesn't look very ill. I never did see anybody look like this be-fore. . . .'
"'Do you think,' I asked indignantly, 'he is shamming?'
"'I can't help it, sir,' she said stolidly. And suddenly she clapped her hands and looked right and left. 'And there's the baby. I am so fright-ened. He wanted me just now to give him the baby. I can't understand what he says to it.'
"'Can't you ask a neighbour to come in to-night?' I asked.
"'Please, sir, nobody seems to care to come,' she muttered, dully resigned all at once.
"I impressed upon her the necessity of the greatest care, and then had to go. There was a good deal of sickness that winter. 'Oh, I hope he won't talk!' she exclaimed softly just as I was go-ing away.
"I don't know how it is I did not see--but Ididn't. And yet, turning in my trap, I saw her lingering before the door, very still, and as if med-itating a flight up the miry road.
"Towards the night his fever increased.
"He tossed, moaned, and now and then muttered a complaint. And she sat with the table between her and the couch, watching every movement and every sound, with the terror, the unreasonable ter-ror, of that man she could not understand creeping over her. She had drawn the wicker cradle close to her feet. There was nothing in her now but the maternal instinct and that unaccountable fear.
