Eveline
[...]
She had consented
to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She tried to weigh each
side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she
had those whom she had known all her life about her. Of course she had
to work hard, both in the house and at business. What would they say of
her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow?
Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by advertisement.
Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially
whenever there were people listening.
-Miss Hill, dont
you see these ladies are waiting?
-Look lively, Miss
Hill, please.
She would not cry
many tears at leaving the Stores.
But in her new home,
in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would
be married - she, Eveline. People would treat her with respect then. She
would not be treated as her mother had been. Even now, though she was
over nineteen, she sometimes felt herself in danger of her fathers violence.
She knew it was that that had given her the Palpitations. When they were
growing up he had never gone for her, like he used to go for Harry and
Ernest, because she was a girl; but latterly he had begun to threaten
her and say what he would do to her only for her dead mothers sake. And
now she had nobody to protect her, Ernest was dead and Harry, who was
in the church decorating business, was nearly always down somewhere in
the country.
[...]
She
was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was very kind, manly,
open-hearted. She was to go away with him by the night-boat to be his
wife and to live with him in Buenos Aires, where he had a home waiting
for her. How well she remembered the first time she had seen him; he was
lodging in a house on the main road where she used to visit. It seemed
a few weeks ago. He was standing at the gate, his peaked cap pushed back
on his head and his hair tumbled forward over a face of bronze. Then they
had come to know each other. He used to meet her outside the Stores every
evening and see her home. He took her to see The Bohemian Girl and
she felt elated as she sat in an unaccustomed part of the theatre with
him He was awfully fond of music and sang a little. People knew that they
were courting, and, when he sang about the lass that loves a sailor, she
always felt pleasantly confused. He used to call her Poppens out of fun.
First of all it had been an excitement for her to have a fellow and then
she had begun to like him. He had tales of distant countries. He had started
as a deck boy at a pound a month on a ship of the Allan Line going out
to Canada. He told her the names of the ships he had been on and the names
of the different services. He had sailed through the Straits of Magellan
and he told her stories of the terrible Patagonians. He had fallen on
his feet in Buenos Aires, he said, and had come over to the old country
just for a holiday. Of course, her father had found out the affair and
had forbidden her to have anything to say to him.
-I know these sailor
chaps, he said.
[...]
She stood among the
swaying crowd in the station at the North Wall. He held her hand and she
knew that he was speaking to her, saying something about the passage over
and over again. The station was full of soldiers with brown baggages.
Through the wide doors of the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black
mass of the boat, lying in beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes.
She answered nothing. She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze
of distress, she prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her
duty. The boat blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went,
tomorrow she would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Aires.
Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he
had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she kept
moving her lips in silent fervent prayer.
A bell clanged upon
her heart. She felt him seize her hand: Come!
All the seas of the
world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would
drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing.
-Come!
No! No! No! It was
impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent
a cry of anguish.
-Eveline! Evvy!
He rushed beyond
the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on, but
he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a
helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition.
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