"I don't understand--I--you don't mean that you"--
"I mean," I said, "that it's extremely difficult to see the best
course. Howard has just died, raving mad, for giving way to his
impulses; I may die, raving mad, for controlling mine."
He looked at me apprehensively. "I am sorry, Victor, if--You don't
think you have overworked, do you?"
I laughed as I met his eyes scanning my face anxiously for traces of
the possible insanity.
"No; none of the slates are loose at present," I said. "That's all
right, but I am seedy altogether; out of sorts all round--that's
all."
CHAPTER VII.
One unbroken flood of golden sunlight lay like a fallen silken veil
over the points and peaks of the downs, over the swelling sides and
the soft rolling dip of the valley, and the still September blue
stretched cloudless overhead. It was the late afternoon of the
thirteenth, a day that had been hot, oppressive, stifling in town,
but here was simply warm, still, and tranquil.
All through the early hours of the day a parallel--if one may use
the idea--oppression to the heat in the stirless air had weighed
upon me. We had been married that morning, and before the ceremony
my one sensation had been that of strain, during it tense anxiety,
and afterwards reproach, and none of these are pleasant emotions.
When I looked back to the morning, now, it seemed to be in the far
distance; I don't know why, but ages seemed to have elapsed in the
hours of this day.
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