Free Edith Wharton - SSC 10 by The World Over (v2.1) Page A

“Kenneth,
is it that? She won’t let us go away together?”
                 Still
he did not speak or turn his eyes to her; and a sense of defeat swept over her.
After all, she thought, the struggle was a losing one. “You needn’t answer. I
see I’m right,” she said.
                 Suddenly,
as she rose, he turned and drew her down again. His hands caught hers and
pressed them so tightly that she felt her rings cutting into her flesh. There
was something frightened, convulsive in his hold; it was the clutch of a man
who felt himself slipping over a precipice. He was
staring up at her now as if salvation lay in the face she bent above him. “Of
course we’ll go away together. We’ll go wherever you want,” he said in a low
confused voice; and putting his arm about her, he drew her close and pressed
his lips on hers.
                   
     
  IV.
 
 
                 Charlotte had said to herself: “I shall sleep
tonight,” but instead she sat before her fire into the small hours, listening
for any sound that came from her husband’s room. But he, at any rate, seemed to
be resting after the tumult of the evening. Once or twice she stole to the door
and in the faint light that came in from the street through his open window she
saw him stretched out in heavy sleep—the sleep of weakness and exhaustion.
“He’s ill,” she thought—”he’s undoubtedly ill. And it’s not overwork; it’s this
mysterious persecution.”
                 She
drew a breath of relief. She had fought through the weary fight and the victory
was hers—at least for the moment. If only they could have started at
once—started for anywhere! She knew it would be useless to ask him to leave
before the holidays; and meanwhile the secret influence—as to which she was
still so completely in the dark—would continue to work against her, and she
would have to renew the struggle day after day till they started on their
journey. But after that everything would be different. If once she could get
her husband away under other skies, and all to herself, she never doubted her
power to release him from the evil spell he was under. Lulled to quiet by the
thought, she too slept at last.
                 When
she woke, it was long past her usual hour, and she sat up in bed surprised and
vexed at having overslept herself. She always liked to be down to share her
husband’s breakfast by the library fire; but a glance at the clock made it
clear that he must have started long since for his office. To make sure, she
jumped out of bed and went into his room; but it was empty. No doubt he had
looked in on her before leaving, seen that she still slept, and gone downstairs
without disturbing her; and their relations were sufficiently loverlike for her
to regret having missed their morning hour.
                 She
rang and asked if Mr. Ashby had already gone. Yes, nearly an hour ago, the maid
said. He had given orders that Mrs. Ashby should not be waked and that the
children should not come to her till she sent for them… Yes, he had gone up to
the nursery himself to give the order. All this sounded usual enough; and Charlotte hardly knew why she asked: “And did Mr.
Ashby leave no other message?”
                 Yes,
the maid said, he did; she was so sorry she’d forgotten. He’d told her, just as
he was leaving, to say to Mrs. Ashby that he was going to see about their
passages, and would she please be ready to sail tomorrow?
                 Charlotte echoed the woman’s “Tomorrow,” and sat
staring at her incredulously. “Tomorrow—you’re sure he said to sail tomorrow?”
                 “Oh, ever so sure, ma’am. I don’t know how I could have
forgotten to mention it.”
                 “Well,
it doesn’t matter. Draw my bath, please.” Charlotte sprang up, dashed through her dressing, and
caught herself singing at her image