On Christian's face was the quiet smile of one who knows that she has only to turn her eyes to see what she wishes to see; of one whose possessions are safe under her hand.She looked at Harz with that possessive smile.But as into the brain of one turning in his bed grim fancies will suddenly leap up out of warm nothingness, so there leaped into her mind the memory of that long ago dawn, when he had found her kneeling by Mr.Treffry's body.She seemed to see again the dead face, so gravely quiet, and furrowless.She seemed to see her lover and herself setting forth silently along the river wall where they had first met; sitting down, still silent, beneath the poplar-tree where the little bodies of the chafers had lain strewn in the Spring.To see the trees changing from black to grey, from grey to green, and in the dark sky long white lines of cloud, lighting to the south like birds; and, very far away, rosy peaks watching the awakening of the earth.And now once again, after all that time, she felt her spirit shrink away from his; as it had shrunk in that hour, when she had seemed hateful to herself.She remembered the words she had spoken: "I have no heart left.You've torn it in two between you.Love is all self--I wanted him to die." She remembered too the raindrops on the vines like a million tiny lamps, and the throstle that began singing.Then, as dreams die out into warm nothingness, recollection vanished, and the smile came back to her lips.
She took out a letter.
"....O Chris! We are really coming; I seem to be always telling it to myself, and I have told Scruff many times, but he does not care, because he is getting old.Miss Naylor says we shall arrive for breakfast, and that we shall be hungry, but perhaps she will not be very hungry, if it is rough.Papa said to me: 'Je serai inconsolable, mais inconsolable!' But I think he will not be, because he is going to Vienna.When we are come, there will be nobody at Villa Rubein; Aunt Constance has gone a fortnight ago to Florence.There is a young man at her hotel; she says he will be one of the greatest playwriters in England, and she sent me a play of his to read; it was only a little about love, I did not like it very much....O Chris! I think I shall cry when I see you.As I am quite grown up, Miss Naylor is not to come back with me; sometimes she is sad, but she will be glad to see you, Chris.She seems always sadder when it is Spring.Today I walked along the wall; the little green balls of wool are growing on the poplars already, and I saw one chafer; it will not be long before the cherry blossom comes; and Ifelt so funny, sad and happy together, and once I thought that I had wings and could fly away up the valley to Meran--but I had none, so Isat on the bench where we sat the day we took the pictures, and Ithought and thought; there was nothing came to me in my thoughts, but all was sweet and a little noisy, and rather sad; it was like the buzzing of the chafer, in my head; and now I feel so tired and all my blood is running up and down me.I do not mind, because I know it is the Spring.
"Dominique came to see us the other day; he is very well, and is half the proprietor of the Adler Hotel, at Meran; he is not at all different, and he asked about you and about Alois--do you know, Chris, to myself I call him Herr Harz, but when I have seen him this time I shall call him Alois in my heart also.
"I have a letter from Dr.Edmund; he is in London, so perhaps you have seen him, only he has a great many patients and some that he has 'hopes of killing soon'! especially one old lady, because she is always wanting him to do things for her, and he is never saying 'No,'
so he does not like her.He says that he is getting old.When Ihave finished this letter I am going to write and tell him that perhaps he shall see me soon, and then I think he will be very sad.
Now that the Spring is come there are more flowers to take to Uncle Nic's grave, and every day, when I am gone, Barbi is to take them so that he shall not miss you, Chris, because all the flowers I put there are for you.
"I am buying some toys without paint on for my niece.""O Chris! this will be the first baby that I have known.""I am only to stay three weeks with you, but I think when I am once there I shall be staying longer.I send a kiss for my niece, and to Herr Harz, my love--that is the last time I shall call him Herr Harz;and to you, Chris, all the joy that is in my heart.--Your loving"GRETA."Christian rose, and, turning very softly, stood, leaning her elbows on the back of a high seat, looking at her husband.
In her eyes there was a slow, clear, faintly smiling, yet yearning look, as though this strenuous figure bent on its task were seen for a moment as something apart, and not all the world to her.
"Tired?" asked Harz, putting his lips to her hand.
"No, it's only--what Greta says about the Spring; it makes one want more than one has got.
Slipping her hand away, she went back to the window.Harz stood, looking after her; then, taking up his palette, again began painting.
In the world, outside, the high soft clouds flew by; the trees seemed thickening and budding.
And Christian thought:
'Can we never have quite enough?'
December l890.
