Page 494 - women-in-love

like birds, could feed upon the fields of him mystical plastic
form—till then enough.
And even he was glad to be checked, rebuked, held back.
For to desire is better than to possess, the finality of the end
was dreaded as deeply as it was desired.
They walked on towards the town, towards where the
lamps threaded singly, at long intervals down the dark
high-road of the valley. They came at length to the gate of
the drive.
‘Don’t come any further,’ she said.
‘You’d rather I didn’t?’ he asked, relieved. He did not
want to go up the public streets with her, his soul all naked
and alight as it was.
‘Much rather—good-night.’ She held out her hand. He
grasped it, then touched the perilous, potent fingers with
his lips.
‘Good-night,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow.’
And they parted. He went home full of the strength and
the power of living desire.
But the next day, she did not come, she sent a note that
she was kept indoors by a cold. Here was a torment! But he
possessed his soul in some sort of patience, writing a brief
answer, telling her how sorry he was not to see her.
The day after this, he stayed at home—it seemed so futile
to go down to the office. His father could not live the week
out. And he wanted to be at home, suspended.
Gerald sat on a chair by the window in his father’s room.
The landscape outside was black and winter-sodden. His fa-
ther lay grey and ashen on the bed, a nurse moved silently

494 Women in Love