He had no desire to talk, no desire to utter a word. May was sitting there beside him, and he was taking her home to her aunt's house, and yet he felt no inclination to talk. What he should like most of all would be to go to bed and get covered up well, and fall fast asleep. By Jove, he was falling fast asleep as it was! What an extraordinary thing he should feel drowsy now he had recovered May, and all was so satisfactorily settled!
Asleep! Yes, he was falling asleep! What a wonderful thing! No doubt it was owing to the two sleepless nights he had spent. But his leg and arm did feel very dreary.
What! could he not keep his eyes open? This was incredible! Swimming?--he thought he had done with swimming. And yet here he was once more swimming out to that wreck with the line! What was the good of his going out again to that wreck when all the men but the one he had saved were drowned? What earthly good could come of carrying a line out to a ship on which there was not a living soul? Absurd as it was, he should not so much mind it only for his arm and leg. They had got entangled in the rope, and he could hardly support himself in the water. They were dragging him down.
May was also silent, although she never felt less sleepy in all her life. She was scared, and could not gather her thoughts. The past two days were like a dream to her, and she felt she should not be fully awake until she had got back to Tenby Terrace, and seen the old place and kissed her kind old aunt. She had run away and hidden herself, and Charlie had come in search of her and had found her, and she was going back with him. That was quite right and natural, and she was glad that horrible time was over--a time of dreaming or waking. Yes, she was going back once more to her old home with Charlie. She had no longer any doubt that it was wrong of her to have left home. She ought to have remained there and resisted Charlie. It was weak and cowardly of her to run away; and instead of that helping to make Charlie forget her, it would of course make him only more determined not to give her up. If she had stayed at home and seen him every day, and treated him merely as a friend when he called, he would have been much more swiftly cured of his love for her than by her flying and hiding herself from him.
What a wonder Charlie did not speak! He had not uttered a word since they had got into the cab, and now they were crossing the river.
Yes, this was Charlie's arm round her, and it would never be round her again. Never. Even now it was not round her in the old way. It was that of a supporter, a protector, not a lover. How could he continue to love her after her last act? If he had run away from her, would she care for him again?.... Ah, that would be a different thing. Of course she would forgive him. Who could, help forgiving Charlie anything? But then it was quite a different thing. He had everything in his favour, she nothing; and she had thrown him up, run away from him, and told him she would never marry him or meet him again as a lover. No. It was impossible to make any comparison between the two cases, and no doubt Charlie had thought over the whole thing, and came to the same conclusion as she.
That was lucky. It was lucky for her that Charlie had finally abandoned all thought of looking at her in the old way. She had tried to break away from her old home, and she had met cruel difficulties and rebuffs. She would never have left her aunt but that she thought doing so would be of advantage to him. And it had been of advantage to him. Had it not changed him from the warm but unwise lover into merely the protector and friend? Nothing could have been more efficacious than the plan she had adopted. If he had not found her that night, the chances are his love of her would have gone on as of old, and if she had been a whole fortnight from home his love of her might have increased, to fade away as the time of her absence grew longer. But here was she now, who had run away only two days ago, who only two days ago had told him she would never know him as a suitor again, brought back from her hiding and placed face to face with him. All his love must have left him. What could be plainer? What could be more simple? They were now driving through Piccadilly, and he had not said a word.
His face was pale and drooped forward, so that she could only see his forehead. His clothes were, like hers, torn and ragged, and--yes, there was something the matter with his clothes she had not noticed before--something that was not the matter with hers--they were wet! Wet! Wet with what?
Here by this shoulder, close to which she rested her head, his coat was wet and clammy. Clammy!
"Charlie! Charlie! I am very sorry for all I have done--all the trouble I have caused you and poor dear aunt. Will you not speak to me? Scold me if you like, but speak!" she said pleadingly. She stretched out both her hands and touched his left hand. She lifted that hand; there was no resistance. She let that hand go; it fell inertly back. Then she shook herself free from the arm that held her; it dropped down nervelessly behind her back.