Country life -- Fiction; Pastoral fiction; Piedmont (U.S. : Region) -- Fiction; Virginia -- Fiction
She followed the path rapidly. By the pear orchard, by the big pine on
the hill, by the tobacco field, through the pasture, and into the dark
belt of woods. Here the smell of wet earth stifled her, and she lived
over again the moment when she had waited there, listening, in the
suspense which was more terrible than any certainty. "I didn't know what
it was when I went through with it," she thought. "I didn't know what it
was until afterwards." Memory, she felt, was gathering like an ulcer in
her mind. If she could not let out the pain, the sore would burst from
its own swelling. "If I don't do something, I shall die," she said
aloud, standing there, on the edge of the woods, among the wet leaves
and rotting mould. Then, swift as an inspiration, there came to her the
knowledge of what she must do. She must find Jason. Yes, she must find
Jason. This knowledge, which was as infallible as instinct, went no
further than the imperative necessity of seeing him. Beyond this, the
impulse gave way, like a bridge that breaks in the middle of a stream.
It left her there, without prop, without direction, hanging over the
black current of emptiness.
As she hurried on, a bough struck her so sharply that it bruised her
cheek, but she did not feel it. With the act of decision her body had
become so airy and transparent that she was no longer conscious of it as
a drag on her spirit. Though she ought to have been tired, she felt
instead amazingly strong and fresh, amazingly full of vitality. Only now
and then, as she walked rapidly through the willows and over the log
bridge, lights flickered and vanished and flickered again before her
eyes. At first she thought that a million sparks glittered out there in
the moist purple twilight; then she realized that they were not there at
all but within her brain. And these lights, which flitted round her as
she went on, illumined the blind impulse that directed her movements. It
was as if she were harnessed to this impulse and driven by it toward
some end of which she was ignorant, but which she would presently
discern in the fog.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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