"We will stay at home and mind things," she continued, "and be quite all right, until----"
"Until?"
"Until you come back...."
"And then?"
She knew she ought not to let him draw her on, that it would be better to wait until he returned, but she was an honest creature by nature, and though circumstances were plunging her deep in duplicity, she had not yet learned to conceal and wait. Besides, she wanted to get the pain over, the thing settled and done with, past recanting. If he were cold and angry so much the better for her. It would be easier to bear than if he tried to detain her with kind words.
"Then," she stammered, "Garrett, I think, we--the children and I--ought to go away for awhile ... to England, or France perhaps--some place where living is more reasonable than here, and I can get strong again, and be of some use to you...."
No word from him. He did not even raise his eyes. So she stumbled on hopelessly, embittered by his silence and misunderstanding, longing to have him see how much she cared, how it broke her heart to make such a suggestion, yet fearing that he would combat it.
"You know, Garrett, that I am no good in this place ... never have been. Later perhaps when I am strong again I may be of some use ... when Bran is older.... You must see for yourself ... I cannot manage the house at present--(I have always mismanaged it)--with Bran wanting so much attention. It would be best to get one of your good nurses to take charge ... anybody could do it better than I...."
So she had it all planned out! She had arranged for "the rest of life" without consulting him! All the time he lay sick she had been plotting to escape. Small wonder he felt the return of her old elusiveness, had become aware of distance between them.
Separation! That was to be the end of the voyage in the dream ship--of his life with the dream woman. Had it all been a dream perhaps? ... a dream full of dark places, with thorns for the flesh and pits for the feet ... but always--that was good to remember in this dark hour--always stars overhead. The stars had never before failed though they were dying out now. So she was a quitter after all! A deserter! Unfaithful to the post she had chosen. Somehow he could never have believed it except from her lips. It was hard to believe, looking at that face softly hollowed by weariness and worry, the faithful deep eyes, the tender lips, the hands grown diaphanous in his service. Nothing had been too hard or base in his household for those hands to strive with, he knew that. And how she had nursed him! That he owed his life to her was certain. And now, so soon, so soon, she nullified all, her tenderness and devotion, the precious unhappiness, the sacred sacrifices--the wonderful bonds that trouble shared can make, everything was broken and rendered void by this act of desertion!