But she did not try to do that. She lay awake for the joy of being near him.
[CHAPTER XXX]
Theresa had slept at last, but she had waked often out of dreadful dreams and lain in a sweat of terror in spite of Alexander's nearness, and so her mind had passed to picturing the manner of her father's death. She saw it as a confusion of noise, and smoke, and fallen bodies; she heard his last three piteous words, and felt strength fading from her as it must have dropped from him, and the stern beauty of death was lost in the welter she made of it.
She rose more wearied than she had gone to bed and had a white and hollow face for Janet and Alexander when she descended to the kitchen. She had gone down with no thought about herself, but when she looked at Alexander a trembling shyness took her.
Through the kitchen door the sun came strongly, and the smell of the larches was blown in. She hardly knew what she did as she stepped across the threshold and held her palms upwards to the clean air; whether she went for cleansing from the night or for refuge from Alexander, she did not know nor did she question; she knew only that for the first time, and in the house where her father and his were lying dead, Alexander's presence shook her like a wind. But she had always loved the wind and she had courage, and her shadowed eyes were steady when she sat opposite to him at table, with a sunbeam shining on his head and hers, joining them as by a bar.
They hardly spoke, and when the meal was over and Theresa had done what household tasks she could, she went out to the horse-block and sat there. Behind her there were violets growing in the little garden, and they sent their sweetness up to her for comfort, and around were the hills, assuring her of life's loveliness and truth.
The world was coloured with brilliant greens and blues, veiled by the passing winds; the earth smelt of dampness and of growth; every tree and bush was budding, and the streams were roaring with the energy of spring; the impulse of all living things was leaping towards the sun; the voices of wind, and water, and singing trees, and of the sheep bleating on the hills, were praising life and the life-giver, while upstairs her father's hands had stiffened in the fold of death. She tried to teach herself that he was dead, but to that lesson she was dull and deaf. She felt him near her in every brushing of the wind and every scratching sound of the rose branches on the porch, so that she could only shake her head and say he lived.
She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw Alexander in the lane.
"Will you come with me a little way," he said, "while it's still early? Soon there will be people I'll have to see, and things to do. We'll both be wanted, but now, while the world's so fresh and empty, can we be together?"