To Kate it seemed that what had happened to the farm had happened also to herself. Her life, which recently had been diffused and scattered in vague and distracting hopes and fears, her thoughts and emotions which had been directed outwards towards the absent David until her very self had lost its centre and poise, had now been gathered safely back. Her heart and her treasure had been brought home under the same roof, and all her being was illuminated with a glow of rich contentment. Here, it seemed to her who had known so little happiness, she had found happiness at last, the fullest happiness that any-earthly creature had any right to ask. If at moments she allowed herself to imagine and hope for more, it was in that spirit in which the devout hope for Heaven, as a far-off ecstasy which might be the final reward of years of faith and patience. When so much was hers already, it was almost easy for Kate, so long accustomed to self-repression, to check any too full demonstration of her love and to silence her heart’s impatient longing for fulfilment. More than ever, now, she was content to wait. How fully justified, she felt now, was her determination to persist in her love. Mrs. Jobson, when she had warned her against it, had not understood its nature. To have rejected it, to have forced herself to cast it from her mind, would have been deliberately to have rejected all that was good and beautiful in life. If it had been bad, would she not have felt wicked and ashamed when she had sat and meditated upon it that day in Elchester Abbey? But, instead, she had felt strengthened and confirmed in her love, as if God Himself had assured her of its innocence. Yes, she had chosen aright. If she had attempted to stamp out her love, the attempt would have embittered her whole life and all her feelings towards her friends at the farm. Now, the very opposite had happened. She even felt reconciled to Ben. She had forgotten his offence, or if not quite forgotten it at least she had hidden away the memory of it in some dark corner of her mind. It was so much easier to be fr6e and pleasant with him during meals and through the long evenings when David was there to ease the sense of too close an intimacy. Besides, her love made her independent of Ben. The humiliation which his deceit had caused her was vanquished now by the proud security of her love for David. That love had come, by an ironical chance, as an exact but innocent retaliation against Ben — innocent because it deprived him of nothing which he had not already sacrificed by his deception, but a retaliation none the less because, like a fort built to oppose an enemy fort, it opposed a secret of her own against his sordid secret. But Kate was not conscious of these subtle strategies. All she felt was that she was safe now from Ben; he could injure her no more; and feeling that, she felt that it was easy to be generous to him.
So all went well at the farm. Mrs. Jobson, who had looked forward with apprehension to David’s return, began to believe that her fears were unfounded, for whatever Kate might now feel for David, her feelings were evidently serene. She went about her work cheerfully and with even more than her usual energy; she was always ready to talk, and the glance of her grey-green eyes was clear and calm without a trace of that strange cast which flickered ghost-like behind it when she was agitated.
Ben and David now took it in turns to drive into Elchester on market-days and Kate, who went in regularly every week to do the household shopping, looked forward delightedly to those days when it was David’s turn to go and Ben’s to stay at home. On such days, as she sat at David’s side in the gig throughout the long drive to town and back, it seemed to her that the momentary dream of her wedding day had come true and that Ben had been miraculously transformed into the young man of her desires; for David was now much more a part of her life than Ben had ever been. She talked to him more than to Ben and saw more of him, for she was constantly running across him about the farm or in and out of the house, or when he rode back in the evening on his new horse after an absence of an hour or two; whereas it seemed to her that Ben had always been little seen during the day, except at meals.
David set up some jumps in one of the meadows, a single hurdle to represent a gate and two hurdles with straw between them to represent a hedge, and Kate on her way to and from the dairy would often stop to watch him cantering his horse round the meadow and putting him at the jumps. Sometimes he failed to clear the hurdle, striking the top with his hind hoofs and knocking it down. Then David would swing out of the saddle and, holding his horse by the reins, would set the hurdle up and remount. Sometimes the beast refused and swerved aside and David, wheeling him round, would bring him up to the jump again, and man and horse, like a single lithe, supple creature, would fly the hurdle and canter on, with hoofs and delicate legs plucking loosely and easily at the ground. Sometimes David shouted something to her, and Kate, made happy by the mere sound of his voice, would wave to him and go on her way satisfied.
One day, when Kate and Ben were beginning tea in the parlour, David came in looking both pleased and sheepish.
‘I’ve just had the chestnut out in the gig,’ he said.
Ben raised his head sharply. ‘What?’ he said. ‘In the gig? And didn’t you tell me he’d never been in harness? You young devil, you might have had the thing smashed to splinters, and then how do you fancy we’d get to Elchester?’
David smiled. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I was careful. I’ve had the harness on and off him during the last three days. He’s coming along well.’ Then he laughed. ‘All the same,’ he added, ‘George and I had a time of it, I can tell you, getting him into the shafts.’
Kate felt suddenly afraid. What might not happen if David started doing such dangerous things. If anything were to happen to him … The bare thought of it sent a chill to her heart and when tea was over and David had gone out she asked Ben:
‘Wasn’t it a very dangerous thing to do, to put the chestnut into the gig?’
‘Well,’ said Ben judiciously, ‘I don’t know about dangerous; but he might have got the gig smashed up. Still,’ he sighed philosophically, ‘young chaps must have something to keep them amused, I suppose.’
‘But mightn’t he get hurt?’ Kate asked anxiously.
‘David?’ said Ben. ‘Oh, trust him to look after himself. It’s the gig I’m thinking about.’
But Kate’s anxiety tormented her, and next day, when David came in to dinner before Ben, she asked him:
‘Are you going to take the chestnut out in the gig again to-day?’
David grinned. ‘You bet,’ he replied. ‘Dad took it pretty well when I told him yesterday, didn’t he?’
‘Let me come with you,’ said Kate.
David looked at her and his face lit up. ‘What? Would you like to?’ he said. Obviously he was pleased that Kate wanted to go. Then his face grew serious. ‘But perhaps you’d better wait a bit, till he gets more used to the gig.’
‘No; I want to come to-day,’ said Kate. ‘Do let me.’
David considered. ‘Well, look here,’ he said at last, ‘you mustn’t mention it to Dad. He might not like it.’
At that moment Ben’s footsteps came down the passage and David held up a warning finger.
‘When are you starting?’ Kate whispered.
‘After dinner,’ David whispered back, ‘as soon as he’s out of the way,’ and he and Kate exchanged a glance of complicity.
It was not until half-past three that the coast was clear and David called to Kate, telling her that his father had just gone out on the mare. ‘Be quick!’ he called as Kate ran to put on her hat and coat. He was as excited as a child over a new toy, and he innocently imagined that Kate was going with him for the pure pleasure of the thing.
Kate, too, was excited as she hurried along the passage and into the yard, but her excitement was no mere expectation of a light-hearted prank. For her this drive was a desperate and dangerous adventure, and though outwardly she appeared calm, she was trembling inwardly, half with terror, half with exultation. Though she was convinced that what they were going to do was extremely dangerous, it had never occurred to her to try to dissuade David from it. To do so, she had felt instinctively, would have been to show her
self unworthy of him. What he could dare, she could dare, and she was content that whatever disaster befell David should also befall her.
In the yard there was much stamping and clattering of horse-shoes on the rough cobble-stones. George had pulled out the gig from the cart-shed and David was holding the chestnut’s head, talking to him and patting him while he tried to back him into position in front of the gig so that George could lower the shafts over him. Kate stood watching, cold and apprehensive, feeling a little pang of alarm each time the horse pivoted round just when David had got him into the right position. She wished that this waiting were over and that they were started on their adventure. And happily she had not long to wait, for after one or two more attempts the chestnut was between the shafts and George was busy with straps and buckles. Then he took David’s place at the horse’s head and David turned to Kate.
‘I’ll get up first,’ he said, ‘and then you jump up directly after me.’
The horse fidgeted nervously as David and Kate got in and next moment they had begun to move slowly out of the yard with George leading the horse. They turned the corner on to the soft cart-track.
‘Right!’ David called to George. ‘Let him go.’
They moved on slowly and in silence. The chestnut advanced at a strange, slow, stately trot which jogged them uncomfortably backwards and forwards like two absurd mechanical figures. The horse, accustomed to have a rider on his back, missed the familiar control. He was uneasy and apprehensive and moved like a horse without a driver, uncertain what to do next. From time to time David talked to him - a flow of soothing, encouraging language which at another time might have amused Kate. Soon, with a discreet click of the tongue, David had urged him to a faster pace. The jogging became less violent: the horse was reassured, it seemed, and Kate, too, had a feeling that things had become safer.
‘He’s coming along well, isn’t he?’ said David, glancing with a satisfied smile at Kate.
A hundred yards farther on a bird fluttered in the hedge, and the horse, with the sudden violent thud on the road of all four hoofs at once, swerved dangerously, and it seemed to Kate that he had suddenly sprawled out to half his height. Next moment David had pulled him round and they pounded along at a canter, shaken furiously up and down so that Kate had to cling on with both hands. Her heart was in her mouth. She thought that they were on the brink of a disaster. But soon the horse dropped back into a trot, and it seemed that David attached no importance to the occurrence.
‘Bound to be a bit nervous at first,’ he remarked quietly, and he pulled up to a walk as they rounded the corner on to the public road. Then with another click of the tongue and a touch of the rein he again urged the chestnut into a quiet trot, and they continued down the Elchester road for a quarter of a mile and then, to Kate’s relief, turned into a by-road.
‘Just as well to keep out of the way of motor-cars and things for a day or two,’ David explained. ‘Not that I think he’d mind them much; he passes them like a lamb when he’s ridden. But you don’t want to give him too much to think about all at once, till he gets a bit accustomed to harness.’
The by-road wound between hedges which were already more than half bare of leaves The sun came out, lighting up the red leaves on the brambles and the rust-brown of the bracken that edged the road. Here and there the hedge was bright with scarlet hips on the wild-rose tangles and the dark red of the haws, and in the wet, leaf-strewn grass a few scabious flowers still held up their dark blue heads. In the quiet of the by-road the horse was put through his lessons. David pulled him up, and he stood glancing in front of him and from side to side with pricked ears and quick, alert movements of the head. His ears moved forward and back, sometimes together, sometimes independently, as though he were taking in his surroundings by means of sounds inaudible to his drivers. Then he fidgeted and began to move, and David pulled him up, talking to him and ordering him to stand. Then with a word he started him off again.
‘He’ll be perfect in a week,’ he said with satisfaction.
They turned another corner. Up on the right stood a farm, from which a road curled downwards and joined the by-road a hundred yards ahead of them; and coming down the road from the farm Kate, to her horror, saw a car.
‘Do you see the car coming, David?’ she said, trying to make the remark sound casual and matter-of-fact.
David glanced to the right. ‘So there is!’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be quite all right.’
In spite of herself Kate’s heart began to palpitate. As they approached the spot where the farm-road came out, the driver of the car saw them and stopped to let them pass before turning out into the road. The chestnut pricked his ears at the sound of the engine, and as they drew near to it his nostrils filled and he edged away to the left, ogling the car and prancing so that David and Kate were jolted up and down as they had been when they started from The Grange. But David held him in with soothing talk and a firm hand, and all was going well when, just as they had passed the car, the driver accelerated and the engine gave a sudden blustering roar.
The horse plunged, swerved, and then set off at a canter. At first it seemed that it was little more than a repetition of his shy at the bird in the hedge, but suddenly Kate became aware that the horse had become a wild animal. The canter became a gallop. His neck, back and hindquarters swelled with bright, swiftly-working muscles. The gig swung and swayed as if it were the tail of some mammoth beast. David leaned back, hauling at the reins, but still they were whirled on. There was a sharp corner ahead and they cut it so sharply that the gig lurched over on to one wheel, and next moment they had struck a large stone in the grass and were flung violently against each other. ‘Hold on!’ shouted David, and Kate clung with one hand to the rail at her left side and with the other to the back of the seat. And all the while, despite her fears, Kate was thinking quietly to herself: ‘Here it is! This is why I came with him. We’re in the middle of it now: it can’t last much longer.’ Then with a gasp of horror she saw that straight ahead of them the road dipped steeply downwards to a narrow bridge. David, slackening his hold of the reins for a moment, took a turn of each one round each of his wrists. With his legs straight and his feet pressed against the footboard, he stood up, and leaning back he hauled with the full weight of his body at the reins.
Within a few yards he had brought the gig to a standstill. Then he turned the horse into the roadside till he stood facing the high fence. The beast’s sides were pulsing as though his whole body were a huge pair of bellows; his nostrils filled and emptied with a rapid, tremulous flickering; his neck was black with sweat and his sides, along the shafts, were white with lather. David took a deep breath and glanced at Kate. His face was scarlet and beads of sweat covered his forehead, but otherwise he seemed entirely undisturbed. Kate, too, felt miraculously serene. ‘It’s over,’ she thought to herself, and it seemed as if all her fears had been extinguished in a flash.
‘Are you all right?’ David asked, turning a somewhat ashamed face to her.
‘Well,’ she replied, smiling at him, ‘I’m shaken up a little.’
David laughed. ‘I should just think you were,’ he said. ‘I thought we were over when we hit that stone. And then there was that, in front.’ He pointed to the steep dip in the road. ‘I wasn’t extra keen on us taking that. Hold the reins, will you?’ And suddenly he handed the reins to Kate and got out of the gig.
The horse stood quiet with a hanging head. David talked to him and petted him, looking him over with a critical eye and running a hand down his legs. ‘We gave the old gig a rattling up,’ he said, turning a broad grin on Kate.
The sun was already low, and after they had given the horse a short rest David got back into the gig and they began to drive home. Kate was happy and at peace. She had no apprehensions for the drive back, and, in fact, the horse went quietly enough. The light was failing rapidly. A great flaring sunset broke out in the west, as if it had sucked into one concentrated blaze all the diffused light of the da
y. It seemed that the gig was the sole moving thing in the world. Darkness lowered behind it and fire flamed before, and in that silent and immovable storm of fire and darkness Kate felt that she and David were sitting perched between the two on a little trembling hill, alone, utterly alone, in an unpeopled world, blissfully at one in the communion of their secret adventure.
‘Mind, not a word of this to Dad!’ said David, as they turned through the gate into the farm-yard.
XXI
It was two days later that Kate awoke at last from her long dream. Breakfast was over and they had just risen from the table. Kate was collecting the plates and cups and was putting them on the tray ready for Annie to carry out and wash, while Ben and David finished a talk which they had begun during breakfast about work to be done on the farm.
‘Well,’ said Ben, as David went towards the door, ‘I’d better ride over to Green Lane to-day or tomorrow and see Bob Reed about those sheep.’
David paused with his hand on the door-handle. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I’ll be riding that way myself this afternoon. I can have a word with him, if you like.’
Ben grinned and looked sharply at his son. ‘You are, are you, lad?’ he said. ‘Then you settle it, by all means. It’ll save me the trouble.’
David went out, and as the parlour door closed behind him Ben winked at Kate. ‘Combining business with pleasure, I reckon,’ he said with a hard, little parrot-like laugh.
‘What? Riding his new horse, you mean?’ said Kate.
Ben grinned. ‘There’s something more in it than the horse, I fancy,’ he said slyly. ‘The young rascal’s got a girl down there. What else is he riding down to Green Lane for two or three times a week?’
Kate, standing there with her hands on the edges of a pile of plates which she had just set on the tray, was struck to the marrow by a sudden deadly chill. It was as if the warm, vital flame which had burned in her for all these weeks had been suddenly quenched with icy water; as if a half of her had been struck dead at a single blow.
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