The Awakening and Selected Short Stories - Page 122/161

"Some way I don't feel moved to speak of things that trouble me. Don't

think I am ungrateful or that I don't appreciate your sympathy. There

are periods of despondency and suffering which take possession of me.

But I don't want anything but my own way. That is wanting a good deal,

of course, when you have to trample upon the lives, the hearts, the

prejudices of others--but no matter--still, I shouldn't want to trample

upon the little lives. Oh! I don't know what I'm saying, Doctor. Good

night. Don't blame me for anything."

"Yes, I will blame you if you don't come and see me soon. We will talk

of things you never have dreamt of talking about before. It will do

us both good. I don't want you to blame yourself, whatever comes. Good

night, my child."

She let herself in at the gate, but instead of entering she sat upon

the step of the porch. The night was quiet and soothing. All the tearing

emotion of the last few hours seemed to fall away from her like a

somber, uncomfortable garment, which she had but to loosen to be rid of.

She went back to that hour before Adele had sent for her; and her senses

kindled afresh in thinking of Robert's words, the pressure of his arms,

and the feeling of his lips upon her own. She could picture at that

moment no greater bliss on earth than possession of the beloved one.

His expression of love had already given him to her in part. When she

thought that he was there at hand, waiting for her, she grew numb with

the intoxication of expectancy. It was so late; he would be asleep

perhaps. She would awaken him with a kiss. She hoped he would be asleep

that she might arouse him with her caresses.

Still, she remembered Adele's voice whispering, "Think of the children;

think of them." She meant to think of them; that determination had

driven into her soul like a death wound--but not to-night. To-morrow

would be time to think of everything.

Robert was not waiting for her in the little parlor. He was nowhere at

hand. The house was empty. But he had scrawled on a piece of paper that

lay in the lamplight:

"I love you. Good-by--because I love you."

Edna grew faint when she read the words. She went and sat on the sofa.

Then she stretched herself out there, never uttering a sound. She did

not sleep. She did not go to bed. The lamp sputtered and went out. She

was still awake in the morning, when Celestine unlocked the kitchen door

and came in to light the fire.