Children -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Ghost stories; Governesses -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
“Awfully!” He smiled at me heroically, and the touching little bravery
of it was enhanced by his actually flushing with pain. He had picked up
his hat, which he had brought in, and stood twirling it in a way that
gave me, even as I was just nearly reaching port, a perverse horror of
what I was doing. To do it in _any_ way was an act of violence, for
what did it consist of but the obtrusion of the idea of grossness and
guilt on a small helpless creature who had been for me a revelation of
the possibilities of beautiful intercourse? Wasn’t it base to create
for a being so exquisite a mere alien awkwardness? I suppose I now read
into our situation a clearness it couldn’t have had at the time, for I
seem to see our poor eyes already lighted with some spark of a
prevision of the anguish that was to come. So we circled about, with
terrors and scruples, like fighters not daring to close. But it was for
each other we feared! That kept us a little longer suspended and
unbruised. “I’ll tell you everything,” Miles said—“I mean I’ll tell you
anything you like. You’ll stay on with me, and we shall both be all
right, and I _will_ tell you—I _will_. But not now.”
“Why not now?”
My insistence turned him from me and kept him once more at his window
in a silence during which, between us, you might have heard a pin drop.
Then he was before me again with the air of a person for whom, outside,
someone who had frankly to be reckoned with was waiting. “I have to see
Luke.”
I had not yet reduced him to quite so vulgar a lie, and I felt
proportionately ashamed. But, horrible as it was, his lies made up my
truth. I achieved thoughtfully a few loops of my knitting. “Well, then,
go to Luke, and I’ll wait for what you promise. Only, in return for
that, satisfy, before you leave me, one very much smaller request.”
He looked as if he felt he had succeeded enough to be able still a
little to bargain. “Very much smaller—?”
“Yes, a mere fraction of the whole. Tell me”—oh, my work preoccupied
me, and I was offhand!—“if, yesterday afternoon, from the table in the
hall, you took, you know, my letter.”
XXIV
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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