A little specious voice whispered, "But Channah says she's only ill. She doesn't say—not that! Perhaps it won't ... really, Philip, you can't tell ... perhaps...!"
"Dangerously ill!" Philip countered, "Dangerously ill!"
"Quite, I see! But not—not the other thing.... Other people have been dangerously ill and yet, you know...."
It was only the somnolent fat man opposite to him, whose belly curved below a heavy gilt chain and whose huge red cheeks cushioned curved long eyelashes, who prevented Philip from leaping to his feet and shrieking wildly. "Enough of your lies! I've allowed myself to be taken in long enough! Oh, for God's sake be quiet now, be quiet, or I'll go mad!"
The puerility, the futility of it all! And had he assured himself that though all other women soever in the tremendous history of the world had died, she alone would be exonerate, for his sake, forsooth—she who now perhaps was lying dead...? No, that at least could not be! She would wait for him. By God, God would pay for it if she was not allowed to wait for him!
Oh, speed on, speed on, reluctant and sombre train! Devour the separating miles, throw the hills behind you, plunge forward to the cities, speed on or she shall be dead! Oh, carry me swiftly to her waiting eyes! Her eyelids are heavy! Keep them not waiting so long that they shall droop, droop! Oh, swifter, swifter!
What mercy could he expect from the train? Had he not known all along and kept the knowledge safely hidden in his furthest recesses? Of course she had insisted on his going away from her! She had known that this was coming! She had determined to keep him immune from the shadow whose fringes she knew to be even then hanging over the house in Angel Street! But it had been for him to stand fast, to say—"No, mother, I'm not going! Whatever you say, I must, I will be with you!" She would have understood with that wisdom of hers which lay far from her mere lips, was glimpsed but fitfully in the cloudy hollows of her eyes.
Of course he had known! What else had he meant by that insistence on her signature! It must have been patent to them all how he had dared to go in the teeth of so imperious a premonition that he demanded her handwriting from day to day. That girl....! The memory of her pecked at the flesh between his ribs like some insatiable bird! Kissing, fooling round with her hair, her lips, while she lay weakening, dying. A sound crawled through his teeth. In his own ears it was cavernous, heavy, loud. Suddenly self-conscious, he looked nervously up to the fat man, but the heavy chin still hung placidly relaxed and the shoulders were lifting a little to the incipient snores.
The window beside him was shut. His shirt and collar seemed to have fastened tight round his throat, choking him. He dropped the window with a crash and the cool air came surging in. It was not enough, and he set his face out against the jaws of the wind and felt its chilly comfort washing the roots of his hair.
Swifter, swifter, train, absorb the miles! That white house below the chimney stack on the horizon there, shall we never outstrip it? Grinning there in its unapproachable immobility! Ah, now, the horizon swivels round on a pivot, and swift for your callous face, oh, white, grinning house! Wind, wind, what message do you bring from her? Is she waiting? No, no, I shall not come too late!