She took the note out to the stable to George and bade him carry it to
the Rectory; as she went back to the empty house, she had a glimpse of
Mr. and Mrs. Smith's jewel-like eyes gleaming redly upon her from the
gloom of the rabbit-hutch, and a desolate longing for David made her
hurry indoors. But there the silence, unbroken by the child's voice,
was unendurable; it seemed to turn the confusion of her thoughts into
actual noise. So she went out again to pace up and down the little
brick paths between the box borders of the garden. The morning was
still and warm; the frost of a sharp night had melted into threads of
mist that beaded the edges of blackened leaves and glittered on the
brown stems of withered annuals. Once she stopped to pull up some weed
that showed itself still green and arrogant, spilling its seeds from
yellowing pods among the frosted flowers; and once she picked, and put
into the bosom of her dress, a little belated monthly rose, warm and
pink at the heart, but with blighted outer petals. She found it
impossible to pursue any one line of thought to its logical outcome;
her mind flew like a shuttlecock between a dozen plans for William
King's defeat. "Oh, I must decide on something!" she thought,
desperately. But the futile morning passed without decision. After
dinner she went resolutely into the parlor, and sitting down on her
little low chair, pressed her fingers over her eyes to shut out any
possible distractions. "Now," she said, "I will make up my mind."
A bluebottle fly buzzing up and down the window dropped on the sill,
then began to buzz again. Through the Venetian blinds the sunshine
fell in bars across the carpet; she opened her eyes and watched its
silent movement,--so intangible, so irresistible; the nearest line
touched her foot; her skirt; climbed to her listless hands; out in the
hall the clock slowly struck three; her thoughts blurred and ran
together; her very fears seemed to sink into space and time and
silence. The sunshine passed over her lap, resting warm upon her
bosom; up and up, until, suddenly, like a hot finger, it touched her
face. That roused her; she got up, sighing, and rubbing her eyes as if
she had been asleep. No decision! ...
Suppose she should go down into the orchard? Away from the house, she
might be better able to put her mind on it. She knew a spot where,
hidden from curious eyes, she could lie at full length in the grass,
warm on a western slope. David might have found her, but no one else
would think of looking for her there.... When she sank down on the
ground and clasped her hands under her head, her eyes were level with
the late-blossoming grass that stirred a little in an unfelt breath of
air; two frosted stalks of goldenrod, nodded and swung back and nodded
again, between her and the sky. With absent intentness, she watched an
ant creeping carefully to the top of a head of timothy, then jolting
off at some jar she could not feel. The sun poured full upon her face;
there was not a cloud anywhere in the unfathomable blue stillness.
Thought seemed to drown in seas of light, and personality dwindled
until her pain and fright did not seem to belong to her. She had to
close her eyes to shut herself into her own dark consciousness: How should she keep her child?