第43章 THY HEART'S DESIRE BY NETTA SYRETT(7)

Her voice was very tired."Yes; I can't help it," she answered; "it has gone--utterly."The gray sea slowly lapped the rocks.Overhead the sharp scream of a gull cut through the stillness.It was broken again, a moment afterward, by a short hard laugh from the man.

"Don't!" she whispered, and laid a hand swiftly on his arm."Do you think it isn't worse for me? I wish to God I /did/ love you!" she cried, passionately."Perhaps it would make me forget that, to all intents and purposes, I am a murderess.

Broomhurst met her wide, despairing eyes with an amazement which yielded to sudden pitying comprehension.

"So that is it, my darling? You are worrying about /that/? You who were as loyal as--"She stopped him with a frantic gesture.

"Don't! /don't!/" she wailed."If you only knew! Let me try to tell you-- will you?" she urged, pitifully."It may be better if I tell some one--if I don't keep it all to myself, and think, and /think/."She clasped her hands tight, with the old gesture he remembered when she was struggling for self-control, and waited a moment.

Presently she began to speak in a low, hurried tone: "It began before you came.I know now what the feeling was that I was afraid to acknowledge to myself.I used to try and smother it; I used to repeat thingsto myself all day--poems, stupid rhymes--/anything/ to keep my thoughts quite underneath--but I--/hated/ John before you came! We had been married nearly a year then.I never loved him.Of course you are going to say, 'Why did you marry him?' " She looked drearily over the placid sea."Why /did/ I marry him? I don't know; for the reason that hundreds of ignorant, inexperienced girls marry, I suppose.My home wasn't a happy one.I was miserable, and oh--/restless/.I wonder if men know what it feels like to be restless? Sometimes I think they can't even guess.John wanted me very badly; nobody wanted me at home particularly.There didn't seem to be any point in my life.Do you understand?...Of course, being alone with him in that little camp in that silent plain"--she shuddered--"made things worse.My nerves went all to pieces.Everything he said, his voice, his accent, his walk, the way he ate, irritated me so that I longed to rush out sometimes and shriek--and go /mad/.Does it sound ridiculous to you to be driven mad by such trifles? I only know I used to get up from the table sometimes and walk up and down outside, with both hands over my mouth to keep myself quiet.And all the time I /hated/ myself--how I hated myself! I never had a word from him that wasn't gentle and tender.I believe he loved the ground I walked on.Oh, it is/awful/ to be loved like that when you--" She drew in her breath with a sob."I--I--it made me sick for him to come near me--to touch me." She stopped a moment.

Broomhurst gently laid his hand on her quivering one."Poor little girl!" he murmured.

"Then /you/ came," she said, "and before long I had another feeling to fight against.At first I thought it couldn't be true that I loved you --it would die down.I think I was /frightened/ at the feeling; I didn't know it hurt so to love any one."Broomhurst stirred a little."Go on," he said, tersely.