Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (236 page)

And
then
one
day,
when
he
had
been
on
the
island
for
more
than three
months
and
was
in
a
mood
of
black
depression,
he
encountered her
in
the
woods.

He
had
wandered
there
in
search
of
shade,
aimless,
solitary,
and discontented.
She
was
gathering
moss,
on
her
knees,
her
bright
skirts kilted.
Stars
of
sunlight,
dripping
through
the
green
and
matted
tent of
foliage,
cast
flickering,
dappled
shadows
upon
the
amber
of
her neck
and
arms.
When
she
heard
his
footsteps,
she
turned
to
look
at him,
smiling
very
wisely,
her
head
turned
to
one
side.

"May
I
speak
to
you,"
he
asked
her,
"without
being
snarled
at
by the
Captain?"

"But
of
course,"
she
said.
"Micah
and
Heywood
went
out
an
hour ago
to
fish
on
the
other
side
of
the
island."

He
sat
down
beside
her
on
the
green
froth
of
the
moss.

"Inés,"
he
began,
and
he
had
never
called
her
by
her
name
before, "I
wonder
if
you
will
be
patient
and
listen
to
me
for
a
moment?"

She
nodded,
saying
nothing;
she
was
never
very
glib
of
words.

"It's
this,"
he
said,
encouraged;
"perhaps,
being
so
much
wiser,.you can
help
me.
.
.
.
It's
a
bad
day
with
me;
I've
got
the
horrors.
To-day I
believe
all
your
crazy
stories,
and,
try
as
I
will,
I
can't
escape
from them
.
.
.
to-day
I
feel
the
island
shutting
me
in,
and
I
want
to
run away
from
the
island.
What
am
I
to
do?"

"You
must
begin,"
she
told
him,
"by
making
yourself
more
stupid than
you
are.
Oh,
it
was
easy
for
Heywood,
more
easy
even
for
Judd. For
you
it
is
very
difficult.
Can
you
not
think
only
of
to-day?
Must you
let
your
mind
race
on
ahead?"

Her
voice
was
murmurous
and
very
soft.
He
said,
after
a
pause:

"It
would
be
easier,
I
think,
if
I
might
talk
to
you
more
often. Time,
the
time
of
the
island,
has
touched
you
scarcely
at
all.
With you
one
almost
ceases
to
feel
the
horror."

"If
it
were
not
for
Micah
I
would
talk
to
you,
yes,
whenever
you want.
But
you
know
how
I
am
situated."

"Oh,
don't
think
I'm
trying
to
make
love
to
you,"
he
told
her
impatiently,
"it's
not
that.
It's
only
that
you
bring
me
peace—you're
so beautiful,
so
restful."

Doña
Inés
looked
away
from
him
towards
the
green
twilight.

"Perhaps
that
wasn't
very
polite
of
me.
In
fact,
it
was
clumsily expressed.
Let
me
try
once
more—listen,
Inés,
you're
sanity,
loveliness,
a
bright
angel
in
a
mad
world.
I
respect
you
as
I
would
respect a
saint.
But
I
want
to
be
with
you,
I
want
to
talk
to
you.
I'm
lonely when
you're
not
there—I
need
your
protection."

Doña
Inés
looked
away
from
him
towards
the
green
twilight
of
the trees.
His
eyes
devoured
her
dark
clear-cut
profile.
She
said
at
length, speaking
very
slowly
in
her
grave,
beautiful
voice:

"Mi
querido,
I
can't
grant
your
request.
I
am
too
afraid
of
Micah, and
perhaps
I
am
afraid
of
something
else.
.
.
.
Listen,
if
I
saw
much of
you
I
might
forget
that
I
should
be
a
dead
woman.
I
might
forget that
my
heart
is
cold
and
my
mind
empty.
I
might
wake
up
again, and
I
don't
want
to
wake
up.
I
am
afraid
of
life,
after
so
many
years. And
already
you
are
making
my
sleep
a
little
restless."

She
turned
her
face
towards
him
and
he
saw
that
the
red
flower of
her
mouth
was
trembling.
A
bright
drop,
that
might
have
been
a tear,
save
that
she
never
wept,
hung
like
a
jewel
upon
the
shadow of
her
lashes.
Yet
her
face
was
radiant,
transfigured,
more
sparkling than
the
sunshine.

Straightway,
Patterson
forgot
about
respect
and
saints
and
Captain Thunder,
and
kissed
her
on
the
lips.

For
one
enchanted
moment
she
was
acquiescent,
then
pushed
him away,
hiding
her
face
in
her
hands.
And
he,
realizing
the
horror
that lay
ahead
for
both,
felt
more
like
weeping
than
rejoicing.

"Go
away,"
she
whispered,
"go
away
before
you
make
me
hate
you for
what
you
are
doing.
A
moment
ago
you
talked
of
peace:
do
you realize
that
you
are
stealing
mine?"

He
stammered,
scarcely
knowing
what
he
said:

"There
are
better
dreams."

"Not
here,"
she
told
him;
"here
there
are
no
dreams
but
bad
ones, and
so
it
is
safer
not
to
dream
at
all.
Please,
please,
go
away."
"Inés,"
he
said
eagerly,
"I
will
go
away—we'll
both
go
away.
If
I build
a
boat,
or
a
raft,
and
provision
her,
will
you
trust
yourself
to
me?
We'll
escape—we
may
drown,
but
I
promise
you
             
"