Jon's face softened; then again became tense. Everybody--everybody was
against him and Fleur! It all strengthened the appeal of her words:
"Make sure of me--marry me, Jon!"
Here, where he had passed that wonderful week with her--the tug of her
enchantment, the ache in his heart increased with every minute that she
was not there to make the room, the garden, the very air magical. Would
he ever be able to live down here, not seeing her? And he closed up
utterly, going early to bed. It would not make him healthy, wealthy, and
wise, but it closeted him with memory of Fleur in her fancy frock. He
heard Val's arrival--the Ford discharging cargo, then the stillness
of the summer night stole back--with only the bleating of very distant
sheep, and a night-Jar's harsh purring. He leaned far out. Cold
moon--warm air--the Downs like silver! Small wings, a stream bubbling,
the rambler roses! God--how empty all of it without her! In the Bible it
was written: Thou shalt leave father and mother and cleave to--Fleur!
Let him have pluck, and go and tell them! They couldn't stop him
marrying her--they wouldn't want to stop him when they knew how he felt.
Yes! He would go! Bold and open--Fleur was wrong!
The night-jar ceased, the sheep were silent; the only sound in the
darkness was the bubbling of the stream. And Jon in his bed slept, freed
from the worst of life's evils--indecision.