W. Somerset Maugham: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Travel Sketches (33 Titles In One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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      “You pretended it was for my health’s sake that I must go upstairs. Isn’t that a lie?”

      “It was for your health’s sake.”

      “You lie again. You wanted to get me out of the way, so that you might go to the Miss Hancocks without telling me.”

      “You ought to know me better than that by now.”

      “Why did you say nothing about them till you found it impossible to avoid.”

      Edward shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly. “Because I know how touchy you are.”

      “And yet you made them the offer.”

      “It came out almost unawares. They were grumbling about the weather, and without thinking, I said, ‘I’ll drive you over if you like.’ And they jumped at it.”

      “You’re so good-natured if any one but your wife is concerned.”

      “Well, dear, I can’t stay arguing. I shall be late already.”

      “You’re not really going?” It had been impossible for Bertha to realise that Edward would carry out his intention.

      “I must, my dear; it’s my duty.”

      “You have more duty to me than to any one else.... Oh, Eddie, don’t go. You can’t realise all it means to me.”

      “I must. I’m not going because I want to. I shall be back in an hour.”

      He bent down to kiss her, and she flung her arms round his neck, bursting into tears.

      “Oh, please don’t go—if you love me at all, if you’ve ever loved me.... Don’t you see that you’re destroying my love for you?”

      “Now, don’t be silly, there’s a good girl.”

      He loosened her arms and walked away; but rising from the sofa she followed him and took his arm, beseeching him to stay.

      “You see how unhappy I am; and you are all I have in the world now. For God’s sake, stay, Eddie. It means more to me than you know.”

      She sank to the floor; she was kneeling before him.

      “Come, get on to the sofa. All this is very bad for you.”

      He carried her to the couch, and then, to finish the scene, hurriedly left the room.

      Bertha sprang up to follow him, but sank back as the door slammed, and burying her face in her hands, surrendered herself to a passion of tears. But humiliation and rage almost drove away her grief. She had knelt before her husband for a favour, and he had not granted it. Suddenly she abhorred him. The love, which had been a tower of brass, fell like a house of cards. She would not try now to conceal from herself the faults that stared her in the face. He cared only for himself: with him it was only self, self, self. Bertha found a bitter fascination in stripping her idol of the finery with which her madness had bedizened him; she saw him more accurately now, and he was utterly selfish. But most unbearable of all was her own extreme humiliation.

      The rain poured down, unceasing, and the despair of nature ate into her soul. At last she was exhausted; and losing thought of time, lay half-unconscious, feeling at least no pain, her brain vacant and weary. When a servant came to ask if Miss Glover might see her, she hardly understood.

      “Miss Glover doesn’t usually stand on such ceremony,” she said ill-temperedly, forgetting the incident of the previous week. “Ask her to come in.”

      The parson’s sister came to the door and hesitated, growing red; the expression in her eyes was pained, and even frightened.

      “May I come in, Bertha?”

      “Yes.”

      She walked straight to the sofa, and fell on her knees.

      “Oh, Bertha, please forgive me. I was wrong, and I’ve behaved wickedly to you.”

      “My dear Fanny,” murmured Bertha, a smile breaking through her misery.

      “I withdraw every word I said to you, Bertha; I can’t understand how I said it. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

      “There is nothing to forgive.”

      “Oh, yes, there is. Good heavens, I know! My conscience has been reproaching me ever since I was here, but I hardened my heart, and would not listen.”

      Poor Miss Glover could not really have hardened her heart, however much she tried.

      “I knew I ought to come to you and beg your forgiveness, but I wouldn’t. I’ve not slept a wink at night. I was afraid of dying, and if I’d been cut off in the midst of my wickedness, I should have been lost.”

      She spoke very quickly, finding it evidently a relief to express her trouble.

      “I thought Charles would upbraid me, but he’s never said a word. Oh, I wish he had, it would have been easier to bear than his sorrowful look. I know he’s been worrying dreadfully, and I’m so sorry for him. I kept on saying I’d only done my duty, but in my heart I knew I had done wrong. Oh Bertha, and this morning I dared not take communion, I thought God would strike me for blasphemy. And I was afraid Charles would refuse me in front of the whole congregation.... It’s the first Sunday since I was confirmed, that I’ve missed taking Holy Communion.”

      She buried her face in her hands, crying. Bertha heard her, almost listlessly; for her own trouble was overwhelming and she could not think of any other. Miss Glover raised her face, tear-stained and red; it was positively hideous, but notwithstanding, very pathetic.

      “Then I couldn’t bear it any longer,” she said. “I thought if I begged your pardon I might be able to forgive myself. Oh, Bertha, please forget what I said, and forgive me. And I fancied that Edward would be here to-day, and the thought of exposing myself before him too was almost more than I could bear. But I knew the humiliation would be good for me. Oh, I was so thankful when Jane said he was out.... What can I do to earn your forgiveness?”

      In her heart of hearts, Miss Glover desired some horrible penance which would thoroughly mortify her flesh.

      “I have already forgotten all about it,” said Bertha, smiling wearily. “If my forgiveness is worth anything, I forgive you entirely.”

      Miss Glover was a little pained at Bertha’s manifest indifference, yet took it as a just punishment.

      “And Bertha, let me say that I love you and admire you more than any one after Charles. If you really think what you said the other day, I still love you and hope God will turn your heart. Charles and I will pray for you night and day, and soon I hope the Almighty will send you another child to take the place of the one you lost. Believe me, God is very good and merciful, and He will grant you what you wish.”

      Bertha gave a low cry of pain. “I can never have another child.... Dr. Ramsay told me it was impossible.”

      “Oh, Bertha, I didn’t know.”

      Miss Glover took Bertha protectingly in СКАЧАТЬ