neighbour had done, and what it said to him, full in the face, was
that she was what he had missed. This was the awful thought, the
answer to all the past, the
vision at the dread
clearness of which
he turned as cold as the stone beneath him. Everything fell
together, confessed, explained, overwhelmed; leaving him most of
all stupefied at the
blindness he had cherished. The fate he had
been marked for he had met with a vengeance--he had emptied the cup
to the lees; he had been the man of his time, THE man, to whom
nothing on earth was to have happened. That was the rare stroke--
that was his
visitation. So he saw it, as we say, in pale
horror,
while the pieces fitted and fitted. So SHE had seen it while he
didn't, and so she served at this hour to drive the truth home. It
was the truth, vivid and
monstrous, that all the while he had
waited the wait was itself his
portion. This the
companion of his
vigil had at a given moment made out, and she had then offered him
the chance to
baffle his doom. One's doom, however, was never
baffled, and on the day she told him his own had come down she had
seen him but stupidly stare at the escape she offered him.
The escape would have been to love her; then, THEN he would have
lived. SHE had lived--who could say now with what passion?--since
she had loved him for himself;
whereas he had never thought of her
(ah how it hugely glared at him!) but in the chill of his egotism
and the light of her use. Her
spoken words came back to him--the
chain stretched and stretched. The Beast had lurked indeed, and
the Beast, at its hour, had
sprung; it had
sprung in that twilight
of the cold April when, pale, ill, wasted, but all beautiful, and
perhaps even then recoverable, she had risen from her chair to
stand before him and let him imaginably guess. It had
sprung as he
didn't guess; it had
sprung as she
hopelessly turned from him, and
the mark, by the time he left her, had fallen where it WAS to fall.
He had justified his fear and achieved his fate; he had failed,
with the last exactitude, of all he was to fail of; and a moan now
rose to his lips as he remembered she had prayed he mightn't know.
This
horror of waking--THIS was knowledge, knowledge under the
breath of which the very tears in his eyes seemed to freeze.
Through them, none the less, he tried to fix it and hold it; he
kept it there before him so that he might feel the pain. That at
least,
belated and bitter, had something of the taste of life. But
the
bitterness suddenly sickened him, and it was as if, horribly,
he saw, in the truth, in the
cruelty of his image, what had been
appointed and done. He saw the Jungle of his life and saw the
lurking Beast; then, while he looked, perceived it, as by a stir of
the air, rise, huge and
hideous, for the leap that was to settle
him. His eyes darkened--it was close; and,
instinctively turning,
in his hallucination, to avoid it, he flung himself, face down,
on the tomb.
End