Frank cursed himself that he could not find the proper word. He knew
there was something which might be said and ought to be said, but he
could not say it. Madge held out her hand to him, he raised it to
his lips and kissed it, and then, astonished at his boldness, he
instantly retreated. He went to the 'Crown and Sceptre' and was soon
in bed, but not to sleep. Strange, that the moment we lie down in
the dark, images, which were half obscured, should become so
intensely luminous! Madge hovered before Frank with almost tangible
distinctness, and he felt his fingers moving in her heavy, voluptuous
tresses. Her picture at last became almost painful to him and shamed
him, so that he turned over from side to side to avoid it. He had
never been thrown into the society of women of his own age, for he
had no sister, and a fire was kindled within him which burnt with a
heat all the greater because his life had been so pure. At last he
fell asleep and did not wake till late in the morning. He had just
time to eat his breakfast, pay one more business visit in the town,
and catch the coach due at eleven o'clock from Lincoln to London. As
the horses were being changed, he walked as near as he dared venture
to the windows of the cottage next door, but he could see nobody.
When the coach, however, began to move, he turned round and looked
behind him, and a hand was waved to him. He took off his hat, and in
five minutes he was clear of the town. It was in sight a long way,
but when, at last, it disappeared, a cloud of wretchedness swept over
him as the vapour sweeps up from the sea. What was she doing?
talking to other people, existing for others, laughing with others!
There were miles between himself and Fenmarket. Life! what was life?
A few moments of living and long, dreary gaps between. All this,
however, is a vain attempt to delineate what was shapeless. It was
an intolerable, unvanquishable oppression. This was Love; this was
the blessing which the god with the ruddy wings had bestowed on him.