The Captives [255]
shut the door and went back into the house. She called, "Jim! Jim! Where are you?" At last he came, stumping up from some mysterious labour in the lower part of the house.
"What is't?" he said, startled by her white face and troubled eyes.
"The two of them," she said, "have gone out on to the moor in this mist. It isn't safe."
"Whatever for?" he asked.
"How should I know? She went out first and now he's after her. 'Tisn't safe, Jim. You'd best follow them."
He didn't argue with her, being an obedient husband disciplined by many years of matrimony.
"Well, I'll go," he said slowly. "Best take William, though."
He went off in search of his man.
But Bolitho need not trouble. Half an hour later Maggie returned, stood in the sitting-room looking about her, took off her jacket and hat, then, pursuing her own thoughts, slowly put them on. She was then about to leave the room when the door burst open and Martin tumbled in. He stood at the doorway staring at her, his mouth open. "Why!" he stammered. "I thought . . . I thought . . . you were out-- " She looked at him crossly.
"You shouldn't have gone out--an afternoon like this. If I'd been here--"
"Well, you weren't. You shouldn't have gone out either for the matter of that. And I was at the circus--a damned poor one too. Your things are soaking," he added, suddenly looking up at her. "You talk about me. You'd better go and change."
"I'm going out again," she said.
"Out again?"
"Yes . . . There's a train at Clinton at seven. I'm catching that."
"A train?" He stared at her, completely bewildered.
"Yes. That's what I went out to get my head clear about. Martin, you've beaten me. After all these years you have. After all my fine speeches, too."
He began to drum on the window. He tried to speak casually.
"I haven't beaten you, Maggie."
"Yes, you have. I said you wouldn't be able to send me away. Well, you've managed to and in the only way you could--by your silence. You haven't opened your mouth for a fortnight. You're better now, too, and Mrs. Bolitho will look after you. I was determined to hang on to you, but I find I can't. I'm going back to London to get some work."
His hand dropped from the window. Then, with his head turned from her and his voice so low that she could scarcely hear the--
"No, Maggie, don't go."
She smiled across at him. "There's no need to be polite, Martin. We're both of us beyond that by this time. I'll come back if you really want me. You know that I always will, but at last, after all these years, I've found a scrap of self-respect. Here am I always bundling about--first the aunts, then you, then Paul, then you again, and nobody wanting me. I don't suppose," she said laughing, "that there can be anybody less wanted in the world. So I'm just going to look after myself now. It's quite time I did."
"But I want you," he said, his voice still very low. She looked up, her eyes lit as though with some sudden recognition.
"If you really mean that," she said, "say it again. If you don't mean it, don't humbug me. I won't be humbugged any more."
"I haven't humbugged you--ever," he answered. "You're the only person I've always been absolutely straight with. I've always, from the very beginning, told you to have nothing to do with me. It's more true than ever now. I've been trying ever since you came back to me in London to get you to leave me. But it's too late. I can't fight it any more . . . I loved you all the time I was abroad. I oughtn't to have written to you, but I did. I came back to London with the one hope of seeing you, but determined not to."
"I loved you more than ever when you came into my lodging there, but I was sick and hadn't any money, besides all my other failings . . . It's the only decent thing I've ever really tried to do, to keep you away from me, and now I've failed in that. When I came in and found you were gone this afternoon I thought I'd go crazy."
"I'm not going to struggle any more. If you go away I'll follow you wherever you go. I may as well try to give up keeping
"What is't?" he said, startled by her white face and troubled eyes.
"The two of them," she said, "have gone out on to the moor in this mist. It isn't safe."
"Whatever for?" he asked.
"How should I know? She went out first and now he's after her. 'Tisn't safe, Jim. You'd best follow them."
He didn't argue with her, being an obedient husband disciplined by many years of matrimony.
"Well, I'll go," he said slowly. "Best take William, though."
He went off in search of his man.
But Bolitho need not trouble. Half an hour later Maggie returned, stood in the sitting-room looking about her, took off her jacket and hat, then, pursuing her own thoughts, slowly put them on. She was then about to leave the room when the door burst open and Martin tumbled in. He stood at the doorway staring at her, his mouth open. "Why!" he stammered. "I thought . . . I thought . . . you were out-- " She looked at him crossly.
"You shouldn't have gone out--an afternoon like this. If I'd been here--"
"Well, you weren't. You shouldn't have gone out either for the matter of that. And I was at the circus--a damned poor one too. Your things are soaking," he added, suddenly looking up at her. "You talk about me. You'd better go and change."
"I'm going out again," she said.
"Out again?"
"Yes . . . There's a train at Clinton at seven. I'm catching that."
"A train?" He stared at her, completely bewildered.
"Yes. That's what I went out to get my head clear about. Martin, you've beaten me. After all these years you have. After all my fine speeches, too."
He began to drum on the window. He tried to speak casually.
"I haven't beaten you, Maggie."
"Yes, you have. I said you wouldn't be able to send me away. Well, you've managed to and in the only way you could--by your silence. You haven't opened your mouth for a fortnight. You're better now, too, and Mrs. Bolitho will look after you. I was determined to hang on to you, but I find I can't. I'm going back to London to get some work."
His hand dropped from the window. Then, with his head turned from her and his voice so low that she could scarcely hear the--
"No, Maggie, don't go."
She smiled across at him. "There's no need to be polite, Martin. We're both of us beyond that by this time. I'll come back if you really want me. You know that I always will, but at last, after all these years, I've found a scrap of self-respect. Here am I always bundling about--first the aunts, then you, then Paul, then you again, and nobody wanting me. I don't suppose," she said laughing, "that there can be anybody less wanted in the world. So I'm just going to look after myself now. It's quite time I did."
"But I want you," he said, his voice still very low. She looked up, her eyes lit as though with some sudden recognition.
"If you really mean that," she said, "say it again. If you don't mean it, don't humbug me. I won't be humbugged any more."
"I haven't humbugged you--ever," he answered. "You're the only person I've always been absolutely straight with. I've always, from the very beginning, told you to have nothing to do with me. It's more true than ever now. I've been trying ever since you came back to me in London to get you to leave me. But it's too late. I can't fight it any more . . . I loved you all the time I was abroad. I oughtn't to have written to you, but I did. I came back to London with the one hope of seeing you, but determined not to."
"I loved you more than ever when you came into my lodging there, but I was sick and hadn't any money, besides all my other failings . . . It's the only decent thing I've ever really tried to do, to keep you away from me, and now I've failed in that. When I came in and found you were gone this afternoon I thought I'd go crazy."
"I'm not going to struggle any more. If you go away I'll follow you wherever you go. I may as well try to give up keeping