England -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Teachers -- Fiction
He set out, walking briskly, facing the crisp wind till the tears came
into his eyes and rolled down his cold cheeks. Far beyond old Millstead
spire the sun was already sinking into the snow, and all the sky of the
west was shot with streams of pendulous fire. The stalks of the tallest
grasses were clotted with snow which the sun had tried hard to melt and
was now leaving to freeze stiff and crystalline; as the twilight crept
over the earth the wind blew colder and the film of snow lately fallen
made the path over the meadows hard and slippery with ice.
Then it was that he met Clare; in the middle of the meadows between
Millstead and Parminters, at twilight amidst a waste of untrod snow. Her
face was wonderfully lit with the reflection of the fading whiteness,
that his mind reacted to it as to the sudden brink was in her eyes.
He felt himself growing suddenly pale; he stopped, silent, without a
smile, as if frozen stiff by the sight of her.
And she said, half laughing: "Hello, Mr. Speed! You look unusually
grim...." Then she paused, and added in a different voice: "No--on
further observation I think you look ill.... Tell me, what's the
matter?"
He knew then that he loved her.
The revelation came on him so sharply, so acidly, with such overwhelming
and uncompromising directness, that his mind reacted to it as to the
sudden brink of a chasm. He saw the vast danger of his position. He saw
the stupendous fool he had been. He saw, as if some mighty veil had been
pulled aside, the stream of tragedy sweeping him on to destruction. And
he stopped short, all the manhood in him galvanised into instant
determination.
He replied, smiling: "I'm _feeling_ perfectly well, anyway. Beautiful
after the snowstorm, isn't it?"
"Yes."
It was so clear, so ominously clear that she would stop to talk to him
if he would let her.
Therefore he said, curtly: "I'm afraid it's spoilt all the chances of
skating, though.... Pity, isn't it? Well, I won't keep you in the
cold--one needs to walk briskly and keep on walking, doesn't one? Good
night!"
"Good night," she said simply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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