“ROBERT PASSED NOISELESSLY OUT OF THE
HOUSE.”
“And such an unattractive place to settle in,” she continued wildly, “when there are entrancing parts of the country near at hand: I saw them myself on the journey. If you had to come, why not have chosen a spot worth living in, where some kind of social existence was possible, instead of burying yourself in a wilderness like this? But nothing could ever make up to one for all one had lost, and if I were a man, I would rather starve at home in my old career than cut myself off from the throb and pulsation of a fuller life. Yes, indeed I would, and to-morrow I would turn my face homewards and thank God that I had freed myself at last, in spite of every one and everything, freed myself at last—oh God! when I think of it all....”
Robert’s face was ashen. Twice he tried to speak, and his voice failed him.
Then he said, quite quietly:
“Never fear, Hilda, you shall have your freedom.”
He opened the door, and passed noiselessly out of the house.
CHAPTER X
A STRICKEN MAN
HE chose the road which led to Ben’s ranch, and he went along at an almost feverish pace, not stopping to rest for a single moment, during all those seven miles. When Ben saw him, he knew at once from the terrible expression on his face that some trouble had befallen him. He led him silently into the house, pushed him gently into the arm-chair, and, with a tenderness all his own, forced him to take some food and stimulant; and then drawing his chair alongside, and lighting his pipe afresh, he waited, as close[177] friends know how to wait, for the moment when the heart desires to ease itself. At last Robert spoke, but so quietly that his very manner would have awed any listener, and it filled Ben with apprehension.
“Ben,” he said, “Hilda has told me to-night how she hates the whole life. She bitterly regrets having come, she bitterly reproaches me for having settled in the country, and I recognise the truth of everything she says. She yearns to be free again, and she shall have her freedom. It is the very least I can do for her. But I’m a stricken man. I’ve been fool enough to think she cared for me—I’ve loved her so much myself, that it did not seem possible she could not care a little for me—and I’ve been fool enough to try and make myself believe that in time she might get reconciled to this Californian life. I might have known it was never at any moment possible. I’ve made a wretched failure of my life and career over in England and over here, and I’ve earned for myself not her love, nor her tenderness, nor even her sympathy, but her scorn. Ben, I felt it in every word she said. I can never forget my humiliation, I can never forget her contempt. I could have fought through other things, but not that. If that is all one gets for all one’s years of longing and labour, then the game is not worth the candle. Do you remember me telling you that the worst thing which could happen to me would be, not her changing her mind and throwing me over, but her disappointment and her scorn? Do you remember that? You laughed at me, and tried to chase away my misgivings, but it seems to me now that our misgivings are about the only things in our lives which cannot be called failures.”