Helen sat as if she had been flung into the corner of the seat. She stared through the streaming window at the turgid river. She remembered every tree and slope of its banks, although years had passed since she had been on this road. Sometimes, when all is ready, when we have survived and are about to live, the power of hope fails and the vision fades. Helen passed into this coma of defeat. How was she to face these looks, this knowledge, this judgment in the eyes of the people of Shannon for years and years? Could anything ease this pain? What could she love enough to make her indifferent to this perpetual publicity? After all, would it not be wiser to give up everything and go away?
The old foundry loomed desolately in the distance, drenched in rain, the bare boughs of the trees whipping against it. The great doorway seemed to yawn darkness. Nothing green now, no brightness! How long ago since in the shadow of this door she had said her prayers to love and listened to George’s vows. She remembered everything—the yellow primroses at their feet, the blue wings of a bird suddenly spread in flight over their heads, the fresh, sweet smell of thyme and George’s face bent above her in passionate tenderness.
The world had passed away since then! How could she bear this? It was loneliness. She had been dying of loneliness for months. She had never been out of pain, not for a moment; she knew this now. She wanted her husband—nothing else! Tears filled her eyes; she caught back a sob. For an instant her mind held one image, that of the man whom she had loved and married; one thought, the whole thought of him, a reeling picture of the years filled with only her devotion to him.
Then the wind and tide in her breast died away. The color faded from her cheeks. All that had failed. She shivered, sat up, astounded that she could suffer like this for a man who had abandoned her.
We are not the only ones who fail, my masters. Sometimes the very will of God fails too. A world slips, waggles in its orbit, and goes rocketing, catching the light of a thousand suns as it falls and falls forever through space.
When they were directly below the foundry, Buck halted.
“Why do you stop here? Go on,” she commanded sharply.
“Miss Helen, we can’t,” he protested. “They ain’t no bottom to this road out yonder. Folks don’t go no farther’n where we is now.”
There was a moment’s suspense while the motor purred and he waited, by no means enthusiastic about driving in this storm.
“Very well; we will turn back,” she said in a queer voice. She was thinking about this road with no bottom in it beyond the place where so many lovers came to plight their troth.