‘My brother will be in, and, of course, expecting you. But as for “bother,” believe me—well, did I quite deserve it?’ She stooped towards him. ‘You lit a candle—and then?’
They turned and retraced their way slowly up the hill.
‘It came again.’
‘It?’
‘That—that presence, that shadow. I don’t mean, of course, it’s a real shadow. It comes, doesn’t it, from—from within? As if from out of some unheard-of hiding place, where it has been lurking for ages and ages before one’s childhood; at least, so it seems to me now. And yet although it does come from within, there it is, too, in front of you, before your eyes, feeding even on your fear, just watching, waiting for—What nonsense all this must seem to you!’
‘Yes, yes; and then?’
‘Then, and you must remember the poor old boy had been knocking all this time—my old friend—Mr Bethany, I mean—knocking and calling through the letter-box, thinking I was in extremis, or something; then—how shall I describe it?—well you came, your eyes, your face, as clear as when, you know, the night before last, we went up the hill together. And then...’
‘And then?’
‘And then, we—you and I, you know—simply drove him downstairs, and I could hear myself grunting as if it was really a physical effort; we drove him, step by step, downstairs. And—’ He laughed outright, and boyishly continued his adventure. ‘What do you think I did then, without the ghost of a smile, too, at the idiocy of the thing? I locked the poor beggar in the drawing-room. I saw him there, as plainly as I ever saw anything in my life, and the furniture glimmering, though it was pitch dark: I can’t describe it. It all seemed so desperately real, absolutely vital then. It all seems so meaningless and impossible now. And yet, although I am utterly played out and done for, and however absurd it may sound, I wouldn’t have lost it; I wouldn’t go back for any bribe there is. I feel just as if a great bundle had been rolled off my back. Of course, the queerest, the most detestable part of the whole business is that it—the thing on the stairs—was this’—he lifted a grave and haggard face towards her again—‘or rather that,’ he pointed with his stick towards the starry churchyard. ‘Sabathier,’ he said.
Again they had paused together before the white gate, and this time Lawford pushed it open, and followed his companion up the narrow path.