the captives-第112章

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But　she　stared　in　front　of　her；　like　a　woman　in　a　dream；　repeating

〃No；　no；　Paul。　Either　she　goes　or　I　go。　She's　your　wife。　She　must　stay。　Then　I　must　go。　I　can't　stand　it；　I　can't　indeed。　I'm　not　sleeping；　I'm　not　indeed。　It　isn't　fair　to　ask　it。　What　I　mean　is　that　it　isn't　fair　to　me。〃

Although　he　had　known　Grace　for　years　he　still　believed　her　threats　and　promises。　〃My　sister's　an　obstinate　woman；〃　he　would　say；　although　had　he　looked　truly　into　his　experience　he　must　have　seen　that　she　changed　her　mind　more　frequently　by　far　than　she　changed　her　clothes。　He　thought　that　now　she　meant　what　she　said；　indeed；　on　his　own　side　he　really　did　not　see　how　in　the　future　Maggie　and　Grace　could　continue　to　live　in　the　same　house。　But；　as　Grace　had　said；　he　was　married　to　Maggie　and　therefore　it　was　Grace　that　must　go。　Then　when　he　confronted　the　fact　of　Grace's　departure　he　could　not　endure　it。　No；　he　could　not。　Had　Maggie　been　everything　to　him　that　she　might　have　been；　bad　she　been　his　true　wife；　had　she　loved　him；　had　sheoh！　a　thousand　things　she　might　have　been！then　perhaps　life　would　be　possible　without　Grace。　But　now！　。　。　。　at　the　thought　of　being　alone　for　ever　with　Maggie　a　strange　passion；　mingled　of　fascination　and　fear；　affection　and　sensuality；　cowardice　and　excitement；　pervaded　him。　What　would　their　life　together　be？　Then　he　turned　to　Grace　as　the　very　rock　of　his　safety。

〃Oh；　Grace；　you　mustn't　goyou　mustn't　think　of　going。　Whatever　should　I　do　without　you？〃

A　dull　flush　of　gratification　coloured　her　cheeks。

〃Either　she　goes　or　I；〃　she　repeated。　〃It　can't　go　on。　You　must　see　that　it　can't。　Fancy　what　people　must　be　thinking！〃

As　always；　he　postponed　the　issue。　〃We'll　settle　something。　Don't　you　worry；　dear。　You　go　and　lie　down。　That's　what　you　wanta　thorough　good　rest。〃

She　plodded　off。　For　himself　he　decided　that　fresh　air　was　what　he　needed。　He　went　for　a　stroll。　As　soon　as　he　was　in　the　Charleston　Road　that　led　to　the　High　Street　he　was　pleased　with　the　day。　Early　spring；　mild；　faint　haze；　trees　dimly　purple；　a　bird　clucking；　the　whisper　of　the　sea　stirring　the　warm　puddles　and　rivulets　across　the　damp　dim　road。　Warm；　yes；　warm　and　promising。　Lent　。　。　。　tiresome。　Long　services；　gloomy　sermons。　Rebuking　people；　scolding　themmade　them　angry；　did　them　no　good。　Then　Easter。　That　was　better。　Jolly　hymns。　〃Christ　is　risen！　Christ　is　risen！〃　Jolly　flowersprimroses；　crocuses（no；　they　were　earlier）。　They'll　have　forgotten　about　Maggie's　uncle　by　then。　Live　it　downthat's　the　thing。　Give　them　a　good　genial　sermon　this　Sunday。　Show　them　he　wasn't　caring　。　。　。　If　only　the　women　would　get　on　together。　Womenwomen。　How　difficult　they　were！　Yes；　Sunday　would　be　difficultfacing　them　all。　He　knew　what　they'd　be　thinking。　He　wanted　to　be　jolly　again。　Jolly。　That　was　the　thing。　Joking　with　Grace；　jolly　even　with　Maggie。　Jolly　with　his　congregation。　Jolly　with　God。　Why　wasn't　he　left　alone？　Had　been　until　Maggie　came。　Maggie　like　a　stone　flung　into　a　frosty　pool！　Broke　everything　up；　simply　because　she　was　unlike　other　people。　He'd　married　her　because　he　thought　he　could　make　her　into　what　he　pleased。　Well；　it　had　been　the　other　way。　Oh；　she　was　queer；　queer；　queer。

He　stopped；　his　large　boots　in　a　warm　puddle。　He　felt　the　warm　sun　hot　through　the　damp　mist。　He　wanted　to　take　her　into　his　arms；　to　hug　her；　above　all　to　feel　her　response。　To　feel　her　response；　that　was　what；　for　years　now；　he　had　been　wanting；　and　never　once　had　she　responded。　Never　once。　She　let　him　do　as　he　pleased；　but　she　was　passive。　She　didn't　love　him。　Grace　loved　him；　but　how　dull　Grace　was！　Dullit　was　all　dull！　Grace　was　dull；　Skeaton　was　dull；　the　church　was　dullGod　was　dull！　God？　Where　was　God？　He　looked　around。　There　was　no　God。　To　what　had　he　been　praying　all　these　years？　He　had　not　been　praying。　His　congregation　had　not　been　praying。　They　were　all　dead　and　God　was　dead　too。

He　looked　up　and　saw　that　his　boots　were　in　a　puddle。　He　walked　on。　For　a　moment；　the　mists　of　sloth　and　self…indulgence　that　had　for　years　obscured　his　vision　had　shifted　and　cleared；　but　even　as　he　moved　they　settled　down　and　resolved　themselves　once　more。　The　muscles　of　Paul's　soul　were　stiff　with　disuse。　Training　is　a　lengthy　affair　and　a　tiresome　business　to　the　stout　and　middle…aged。

The　hedges　gave　way　to　houses；　he　was　in　the　High　Street。　He　saw　then；　plastered　at　intervals　on　the　hoardings；　strange　phenomena。　It　was　the　colour　that　first　attracted　hima　bright　indecent　pink　with　huge　black　lettering。　Because　it　was　the　offseason　in　Skeaton　other　announcements　were　few。　All　the　more　prominent　then　the　following：

　THE　KINGSCOTE　BEETHEEN　WILL　HOLD　A　RELIGIOUS　FESTIVAL　IN　THE　TOWN　OF　SKEATON…ON…SEA　FROM　APRIL　10　TO　16。…SERVICES　10　A。M。；　3　P。M。　SPECIAL　SONG　SERVICE；　7。30　P。M。　DAILY　All　are　Cordially　Invited。　ADDRESSES　BY　REV。　JOHN　THURSTON。　REV。　WILLIAM　CRASHAW。　SISTER　AVIES。

Paul　stared　at　this　placard　with　horror　and　disgust　in　his　soul。　For　the　moment　Maggie　and　Grace　and　all　the　scandal　connected　with　them　was　forgotten。　This　was　terrible。　By　temperament；　tradition；　training；　he　loathed　and　feared　every　phase　of　religion　known　to　him　as　〃Methodistic。〃　Under　this　term　he　included　everything　that　was　noisy；　demonstrative；　ill…bred　and　melodramatic。　Once　when　an　undergraduate　at　Cambridge　he　had　gone　to　some　meeting　of　the　kind。　There　had　been　impromptu　prayers；　ghastly　pictures　of　hell…fire；　appeals　to　the　undergraduates　to　save　themselves　at　once　lest　it　be　too　late；　confessions　and　appeals　for　mercy。　The　memory　of　that　evening　still　filled　him　with　physical　nausea。　It　was　to　him　as　though　he　had　seen　some　gross　indecent　act　in　public　or　witnessed　some　horrible　cruelty。

Maggie　had　told　him　very　little　about　the　Chapel　and　its　doings；　and　he　had　shrunk　from　asking　her　any　questions；　but　everything　that　was　odd　and　unusual　in　her　behaviour　he　attributed　to　her　months　under　that　influence。　As　he　stared　at　the　flaunting　pink　sheet　he　felt　as　though　it　were　a　direct　personal　assault　on　himself　and　his　church。

And　yet　he　knew　that　he　could　do　nothing。　Once　before　there　had　been　something　of　the　kind　in　Skeaton　and　he　had　tried　with　others　to　stop　it。　He　had　failed　utterly；　the　civic　authorities　in　Skeaton　seemed　almost　to　approve　of　these　horrors。　He　looked　at　the　thing　once　more　and　then　turned　hack　towards　home。　Something　must　be　done　。　。　。　Something　must　he　done　。　。　。　　but；　as　on　so　many　earlier　occasions　in　his　life；　he　could　face　no　clear　course　of　action。

That　Saturday　evening　he　tried　to　change　his　sermon。　He　had　determined　to　deliver　a　very　fine　address　on　〃Brotherly　Love〃　and　then；　most　fortunately；　he　had　discovered　a　five…years'　old　sermon　that　would；　with　a　little　adaptation；　exactly　fit　the　situation。

To…night　he　was　sick　of　his　adaptation。　The　sermon　had　not　been　a　good　one　at　the　first；　and　now　it　was　a　tattered　thing　of　shreds　and　patches。　He　tried　to　add　to　it　some　sentences　about　the　approaching　〃Revival。〃　No　sentences　would　come。　What　a　horrible　fortnight　it　had　been！　He　looked　back　upon　his　district　visiting；　his　meetings；　his　choir…practices　with　disgust。　Something　had　come　in　between　himself　and　his　people。　Perhaps　the　relationship　had　never　been　very　real？　Founded　on　jollity。　An　eagerness　to　accept　anybody's　mood　for　one's　own　if　only　that　meant　jollity。　What　had　he　thought；　standing　in　the　puddle　that　afternoon？　That　they　were　all　dead；　he　and　his　congregation　and　God；　all　dead　together？　He　sank　into　his　chair；　picked　up　the　Church　Times；　and　fell　asleep。

Next　morning　as　he　walked　into　the　choir　this　extraordinary　impression　that　his　congregation　was　dead　persisted。　As　he　recited　the　〃Confession〃　he　looked　about　him。　There　was　Mr。　Maxse；　and　there　Miss　Purves。　Every　one　was　in　his　and　her　appointed　place；　old　Colonel　Rideout　with　the　purple　gills　not　kneeling　because　of　his　gout；　young　Edward　Walter；　heir　to　the　sugar　factory；　not　kneeling　because　he　was　lazy；　sporting　Mr。　Harper；　whose　golf　handicap　was　＋3；　not　kneeling　because　to　do　so　would　spoil　the　crease　of　his　trousers；　old　Mrs。　Dean　with　her　bonnet　and　bugles；　the　worst　gossip　in　Skeaton。　her　eyes　raised　to　heaven；　the　Quiller　girls　with　their　hard　red　colour　and