The Voyage Out Part 26

'I'm late as usual!' she exclaimed, as she caught sight of him. 'Well, you must forgive me; I had to pack up ... My word! It looks stormy! And that's a new steamer in the bay, isn't it?'

She looked at the bay, in which a steamer was just dropping anchor, the smoke still hanging about it, while a swift black shudder ran through the waves. 'One's quite forgotten what rain looks like,' she added.

But Mr. Perrott paid no attention to the steamer or to the weather.

'Miss Murgatroyd,' he began with his usual formality, 'I asked you to come here from a very selfish motive, I fear. I do not think you need to be a.s.sured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, I felt that I could not let you go without asking you to tell me - have I any reason to hope that you will ever come to care for me?'

He was very pale, and seemed unable to say any more.

The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she ran downstairs had left her, and she felt herself impotent. There was nothing for her to say; she felt nothing. Now that he was actually asking her, in his elderly gentle words, to marry him, she felt less for him than she had ever felt before.

'Let's sit down and talk it over,' she said rather unsteadily.

Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. They looked at the fountain in front of them, which had long ceased to play. Evelyn kept looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she was saying; the fountain without any water seemed to be the type of her own being.

'Of course I care for you,' she began, rus.h.i.+ng her words out in a hurry; 'I should be a brute if I didn't. I think you're quite one of the nicest people I've ever known, and one of the finest too. But I wish ... I wish you didn't care for me in that way. Are you sure you do?' For the moment she honestly desired that he should say no.

'Quite sure,' said Mr. Perrott.

'You see, I'm not as simple as most women,' Evelyn continued. 'I think I want more. I don't know exactly what I feel.'

He sat by her, watching her and refraining from speech.

'I sometimes think I haven't got it in me to care very much for one person only. Some one else would make you a better wife. I can imagine you very happy with some one else.'

'If you think that there is any chance that you will come to care for me, I am quite content to wait,' said Mr. Perrott.

'Well - there's no hurry, is there?' said Evelyn. 'Suppose I thought it over and wrote and told you when I get back? I'm going to Moscow; I'll write from Moscow.'

But Mr. Perrott persisted.

'You cannot give me any kind of idea. I do not ask for a date ... that would be most unreasonable.' He paused, looking down at the gravel path.

As she did not immediately answer, he went on.

'I know very well that I am not - that I have not much to offer you either in myself or in my circ.u.mstances. And I forget; it cannot seem the miracle to you that it does to me. Until I met you I had gone on in my own quiet way - we are both very quiet people, my sister and I - quite content with my lot. My friends.h.i.+p with Arthur was the most important thing in my life. Now that I know you, all that has changed. You seem to put such a spirit into everything. Life seems to hold so many possibilities that I had never dreamt of.'

'That's splendid!' Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand. 'Now you'll go back and start all kinds of things and make a great name in the world; and we'll go on being friends, whatever happens ... we'll be great friends, won't we?'

'Evelyn!' he moaned suddenly, and took her in his arms, and kissed her. She did not resent it, although it made little impression on her.

As she sat upright again, she said, 'I never see why one shouldn't go on being friends - though some people do. And friends.h.i.+ps do make a difference, don't they? They are the kind of things that matter in one's life?'

He looked at her with a bewildered expression as if he did not really understand what she was saying. With a considerable effort he collected himself, stood up, and said, 'Now I think I have told you what I feel, and I will only add that I can wait as long as ever you wish.'

Left alone, Evelyn walked up and down the path. What did matter then? What was the meaning of it all?

CHAPTER XXVII.

ALL THAT EVENING THE clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over the blue of the sky. They seemed to narrow the s.p.a.ce between earth and heaven, so that there was no room for the air to move in freely; and the waves, too, lay flat, and yet rigid, as if they were restrained. The leaves on the bushes and trees in the garden hung closely together, and the feeling of pressure and restraint was increased by the short chirping sounds which came from birds and insects.

So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum of voices which usually filled the dining-room at meal times had distinct gaps in it, and during these silences the clatter of the knives upon plates became audible. The first roll of thunder and the first heavy drop striking the pane caused a little stir.

'It's coming!' was said simultaneously in many different languages.

There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn into itself. People had just begun to eat again, when a gust of cold air came through the open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts, a light flashed, and was instantly followed by a clap of thunder right over the hotel. The rain swished with it, and immediately there were all those sounds of windows being shut and doors slamming violently which accompany a storm.

The room grew suddenly several degrees darker, for the wind seemed to be driving waves of darkness across the earth. No one attempted to eat for a time, but sat looking out at the garden, with their forks in the air. The flashes now came frequently, lighting up faces as if they were going to be photographed, surprising them in tense and unnatural expressions. The clap followed close and violently upon them. Several women half rose from their chairs and then sat down again, but dinner was continued uneasily with eyes upon the garden. The bushes outside were ruffled and whitened, and the wind pressed upon them so that they seemed to stoop to the ground. The waiters had to press dishes upon the diners' notice; and the diners had to draw the attention of waiters, for they were all absorbed in looking at the storm. As the thunder showed no signs of withdrawing, but seemed ma.s.sed right overhead, while the lightning aimed straight at the garden every time, an uneasy gloom replaced the first excitement.

Finis.h.i.+ng the meal very quickly, people congregated in the hall, where they felt more secure than in any other place because they could retreat far from the windows, and although they heard the thunder, they could not see anything. A little boy was carried away sobbing in the arms of his mother.

While the storm continued, no one seemed inclined to sit down, but they collected in little groups under the central skylight, where they stood in a yellow atmosphere, looking upwards. Now and again their faces became white, as the lightning flashed, and finally a terrific crash came, making the panes of the skylight lift at the joints.

'Ah!' several voices exclaimed at the same moment.

'Something struck,' said a man's voice.

The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightning and the thunder, and the hall became almost dark.

After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of water upon the gla.s.s, there was a perceptible slackening of the sound, and then the atmosphere became lighter.

'It's over,' said another voice.

At a touch, all the electric lights were turned on, and revealed a crowd of people all standing, all looking with rather strained faces up at the skylight, but when they saw each other in the artificial light they turned at once and began to move away. For some minutes the rain continued to rattle upon the skylight, and the thunder gave another shake or two; but it was evident from the clearing of the darkness and the light drumming of the rain upon the roof, that the great confused ocean of air was travelling away from them, and pa.s.sing high over head with its clouds and its rods of fire, out to sea. The building, which had seemed so small in the tumult of the storm, now became as square and s.p.a.cious as usual.

As the storm drew away, the people in the hall of the hotel sat down; and with a comfortable sense of relief, began to tell each other stories about great storms, and produced in many cases their occupations for the evening. The chess-board was brought out, and Mr. Elliot, who wore a stock instead of a collar as a sign of convalescence, but was otherwise much as usual, challenged Mr. Pepper to a final contest. Round them gathered a group of ladies with pieces of needlework, or in default of needlework, with novels, to superintend the game, much as if they were in charge of two small boys playing marbles. Every now and then they looked at the board and made some encouraging remark to the gentlemen.

Mrs. Paley just round the corner had her cards arranged in long ladders before her, with Susan sitting near to sympathise but not to correct, and the merchants and the miscellaneous people who had never been discovered to possess names were stretched in their armchairs with their newspapers on their knees. The conversation in these circ.u.mstances was very gentle, fragmentary, and intermittent, but the room was full of the indescribable stir of life. Every now and then the moth, which was now grey of wing and s.h.i.+ny of thorax, whizzed over their heads, and hit the lamps with a thud.

A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, 'Poor creature! it would be kinder to kill it.' But n.o.body seemed disposed to rouse himself in order to kill the moth. They watched it dash from lamp to lamp, because they were comfortable, and had nothing to do.

On the sofa, beside the chess-players, Mrs. Elliot was imparting a new st.i.tch in knitting to Mrs. Thornbury, so that their heads came very near together, and were only to be distinguished by the old lace cap which Mrs. Thornbury wore in the evening. Mrs. Elliot was an expert at knitting, and disclaimed a compliment to that effect with evident pride.

'I suppose we're all proud of something,' she said, 'and I'm proud of my knitting. I think things like that run in families. We all knit well. I had an uncle who knitted his own socks to the day of his death - and he did it better than any of his daughters, dear old gentleman. Now I wonder that you, Miss Allan, who use your eyes so much, don't take up knitting in the evenings. You'd find it such a relief, I should say - such a rest to the eyes - and the bazaars are so glad of things.' Her voice dropped into the smooth half-conscious tone of the expert knitter; the words came gently one after another. 'As much as I do I can always dispose of, which is a comfort, for then I feel that I am not wasting my time - '

Miss Allan, being thus addressed, shut her novel and observed the others placidly for a time. At last she said, 'It is surely not natural to leave your wife because she happens to be in love with you. But that - as far as I can make out - is what the gentleman in my story does.'

'Tut, tut, that doesn't sound good - no, that doesn't sound at all natural,' murmured the knitters in their absorbed voices.

'Still, it's the kind of book people call very clever,' Miss Allan added.

'Maternity - by Michael Jessop - I presume,' Mr. Elliot put in, for he could never resist the temptation of talking while he played chess. by Michael Jessop - I presume,' Mr. Elliot put in, for he could never resist the temptation of talking while he played chess.

'D'you know,' said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, 'I don't think people do write good novels now - not as good as they used to, anyhow.'

No one took the trouble to agree with her or to disagree with her. Arthur Venning, who was strolling about, sometimes looking at the game, sometimes reading a page of a magazine, looked at Miss Allan, who was half asleep, and said, humorously, A penny for your thoughts, Miss Allan.'

The others looked up. They were glad that he had not spoken to them. But Miss Allan replied without any hesitation, 'I was thinking of my imaginary uncle. Hasn't every one got an imaginary uncle?' she continued. 'I have one - a most delightful old gentleman. He's always giving me things. Sometimes it's a gold watch; sometimes it's a carriage and pair; sometimes it's a beautiful little cottage in the New Forest; sometimes it's a ticket to the place I most want to see.'

She set them all thinking vaguely of the things they wanted. Mrs. Elliot knew exactly what she wanted; she wanted a child; and the usual little pucker deepened on her brow.

'We're such lucky people,' she said, looking at her husband. 'We really have no wants.' She was apt to say this, partly in order to convince herself, and partly in order to convince other people. But she was prevented from wondering how far she carried conviction by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng, who came through the hall and stopped by the chess-board. Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng looked wilder than ever. A great strand of black hair looped down across her brow, her cheeks were whipped a dark blood red, and drops of rain made wet marks upon them.

Mr. Flus.h.i.+ng explained that they had been on the roof watching the storm.

'It was a wonderful sight,' he said. 'The lightning went right out over the sea, and lit up the waves and the s.h.i.+ps far away. You can't think how wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights on them, and the great ma.s.ses of shadow. It's all over now.'

He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle of the game.

'And you go back to-morrow?' said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng.

'Yes,' she replied.

And indeed one is not sorry to go back,' said Mrs. Elliot, a.s.suming an air of mournful anxiety, 'after all this illness.'

'Are you afraid of dyin'?' Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng demanded scornfully.

'I think we are all afraid of that,' said Mrs. Elliot with dignity.

'I suppose we're all cowards when it comes to the point,' said Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng, rubbing her cheek against the back of the chair. 'I'm sure I am.'

'Not a bit of it!' said Mr. Flus.h.i.+ng, turning round, for Mr. Pepper took a very long time to consider his move. 'It's not cowardly to wish to live, Alice. It's the very reverse of cowardly. Personally, I'd like to go on for a hundred years - granted, of course, that I had the full use of my faculties. Think of all the things that are bound to happen!'

'That is what I feel,' Mrs. Thornbury rejoined. 'The changes, the improvements, the inventions - and beauty. D'you know, I feel sometimes that I couldn't bear to die and cease to see beautiful things about me?'

'It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discovered whether there is life in Mars,' Miss Allan added.

'Do you really believe there's life in Mars?' asked Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng, turning to her for the first time with keen interest. 'Who tells you that? Some one who knows? D'you know a man called - ?'

Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme solicitude came into her eyes.

'There is Mr. Hirst,' she said quietly.

St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blown about by the wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale, un-shorn, and cavernous. After taking off his coat he was going to pa.s.s straight through the hall and up to his room, but he could not ignore the presence of so many people he knew, especially as Mrs. Thornbury rose and went up to him, holding out her hand. But the shock of the warm lamp-lit room, together with the sight of so many cheerful human beings sitting together at their ease, after the dark walk in the rain, and the long days of strain and horror, overcame him completely. He looked at Mrs. Thornbury and could not speak.

Every one was silent. Mr. Pepper's hand stayed upon his Knight. Mrs. Thornbury somehow moved him to a chair, sat herself beside him, and with tears in her own eyes said gently, 'You have done everything for your friend.'

Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped, and Mr. Pepper finished the move with his Knight.

'There was nothing to be done,' said St. John. He spoke very slowly. 'It seems impossible - '

He drew his hand across his eyes as if some dream came between him and the others and prevented him from seeing where he was.

'And that poor fellow,' said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling again down her cheeks.

'Impossible,' St. John repeated.

'Did he have the consolation of knowing - ?' Mrs. Thornbury began very tentatively.

But St. John made no reply. He lay back in his chair, half-seeing the others, half-hearing what they said. He was terribly tired, and the light and warmth, the movements of the hands, and the soft communicative voices soothed him; they gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief. As he sat there, motionless, this feeling of relief became a feeling of profound happiness. Without any sense of disloyalty to Terence and Rachel he ceased to think about either of them. The movements and the voices seemed to draw together from different parts of the room, and to combine themselves into a pattern before his eyes; he was content to sit silently watching the pattern build itself up, looking at what he hardly saw.

The game was really a good one, and Mr. Pepper and Mr. Elliot were becoming more and more set upon the struggle. Mrs. Thornbury, seeing that St. John did not wish to talk, resumed her knitting.

'Lightning again!' Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng suddenly exclaimed. A yellow light flashed across the blue window, and for a second they saw the green trees outside. She strode to the door, pushed it open, and stood half out in the open air.

But the light was only the reflection of the storm which was over. The rain had ceased, the heavy clouds were blown away, and the air was thin and clear, although vapourish mists were being driven swiftly across the moon. The sky was once more a deep and solemn blue, and the shape of the earth was visible at the bottom of the air, enormous, dark, and solid, rising into the tapering ma.s.s of the mountain, and p.r.i.c.ked here and there on the slopes by the tiny lights of villas. The driving air, the drone of the trees, and the flas.h.i.+ng light which now and again spread a broad illumination over the earth filled Mrs. Flus.h.i.+ng with exultation. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell.

'Splendid! Splendid!' she muttered to herself. Then she turned back into the hall and exclaimed in a peremptory voice, 'Come outside and see, Wilfrid; it's wonderful.'

Some half-stirred; some rose; some dropped their b.a.l.l.s of wool and began to stoop to look for them.

'To bed - to bed,' said Miss Allan.

'It was the move with your Queen that gave it away, Pepper,' exclaimed Mr. Elliot triumphantly, sweeping the pieces together and standing up. He had won the game.

'What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!' said Arthur Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to bed.

All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John's ear as he lay half-asleep, and yet vividly conscious of everything around him. Across his eyes pa.s.sed a procession of objects, black and indistinct, the figures of people picking up their books, their cards, their b.a.l.l.s of wool, their work-baskets, and pa.s.sing him one after another on their way to bed.

THE END.

ENDNOTES.

1 (p. 6) (p. 6) Lars Porsena of Clusium /... Should suffer wrong no more: Lars Porsena of Clusium /... Should suffer wrong no more: These are the opening lines of "Horatius," by English writer Thomas Babington Macaulay; it is one of the most famous poems in his work These are the opening lines of "Horatius," by English writer Thomas Babington Macaulay; it is one of the most famous poems in his work Lays of Ancient Rome Lays of Ancient Rome (1842). Macaulay was a favorite of both Virginia Woolf and her father, Sir Leslie Stephen. (1842). Macaulay was a favorite of both Virginia Woolf and her father, Sir Leslie Stephen.

2 (p. 8) (p. 8) London County Council for Night Schools: London County Council for Night Schools: Woolf taught literature and history at one such school, Morley College, an inst.i.tute for workingmen and -women, from 1905 to 1907. Woolf taught literature and history at one such school, Morley College, an inst.i.tute for workingmen and -women, from 1905 to 1907.

3 (p. 9) (p. 9) she gazed at the s.h.i.+p they were approaching; ... they could dimly read her name she gazed at the s.h.i.+p they were approaching; ... they could dimly read her name - Euphrosyne: The name of the s.h.i.+p plays off several references. In Greek mythology, Euphrosyne is one of the three Graces, daughters of Zeus who were personifications of beauty, charm, and grace. Euphrosyne is also the name of a fifth-century saint whose life story is told in the - Euphrosyne: The name of the s.h.i.+p plays off several references. In Greek mythology, Euphrosyne is one of the three Graces, daughters of Zeus who were personifications of beauty, charm, and grace. Euphrosyne is also the name of a fifth-century saint whose life story is told in the Vitae Patrum; Vitae Patrum; because Euphrosyne had promised to dedicate her life to G.o.d, when her rich father promised her hand in marriage to a wealthy youth she disguised herself as a man and entered a monastery to preserve her celibacy. Finally, because Euphrosyne had promised to dedicate her life to G.o.d, when her rich father promised her hand in marriage to a wealthy youth she disguised herself as a man and entered a monastery to preserve her celibacy. Finally, Euphrosyne Euphrosyne is the t.i.tle of a collection of poems published privately in 1905 by Woolf's Bloomsbury friends, among them Clive Bell, Lytton Strachey, and Leonard Woolf; Virginia wrote a severe criticism of the collection in an unpublished essay. is the t.i.tle of a collection of poems published privately in 1905 by Woolf's Bloomsbury friends, among them Clive Bell, Lytton Strachey, and Leonard Woolf; Virginia wrote a severe criticism of the collection in an unpublished essay.

4 (p. 18) (p. 18) "Poor little goats!": "Poor little goats!": In earlier drafts of the novel - one has been reconstructed by Louise DeSalvo and published under the t.i.tle In earlier drafts of the novel - one has been reconstructed by Louise DeSalvo and published under the t.i.tle Melymbrosia Melymbrosia - it is stated that Willoughby's s.h.i.+ps transport goats. In the final draft Woolf excised that information but left in this remark. This may also be an allusion to Woolf's family nickname, "Goat." - it is stated that Willoughby's s.h.i.+ps transport goats. In the final draft Woolf excised that information but left in this remark. This may also be an allusion to Woolf's family nickname, "Goat."

5 (p. 38) (p. 38) "the whole agitation": "the whole agitation": The reference is to the women's suffrage movement, which is referred to throughout the novel, with several male characters repeatedly questioning its purpose. Woolf herself volunteered in the movement in 1910 at the urging of her Greek tutor, Janet Case, by helping to address envelopes. After an intense campaign, in 1918 the vote was granted in Britain to women of property over the age of thirty; in 1928 women were granted voting rights equal to those of men. The reference is to the women's suffrage movement, which is referred to throughout the novel, with several male characters repeatedly questioning its purpose. Woolf herself volunteered in the movement in 1910 at the urging of her Greek tutor, Janet Case, by helping to address envelopes. After an intense campaign, in 1918 the vote was granted in Britain to women of property over the age of thirty; in 1928 women were granted voting rights equal to those of men.

6 (p. 39) (p. 39) "But whenever I hear of Sh.e.l.ley I repeat to myself the words of Matthew Arnold, 'What a set! What a set!'": "But whenever I hear of Sh.e.l.ley I repeat to myself the words of Matthew Arnold, 'What a set! What a set!'": Richard is quoting from an essay on Sh.e.l.ley by English poet and critic Matthew Arnold (1822-1888): "What a set! What a world! Is the exclamation that breaks from us as we come to an end of this history of 'the occurrence of Sh.e.l.ley's private life'" Richard is quoting from an essay on Sh.e.l.ley by English poet and critic Matthew Arnold (1822-1888): "What a set! What a world! Is the exclamation that breaks from us as we come to an end of this history of 'the occurrence of Sh.e.l.ley's private life'" (Essays in Criticism, (Essays in Criticism, Second Series, 1888, reprinted 1911, p. 237). Second Series, 1888, reprinted 1911, p. 237).

7 (p. 40) (p. 40) "I shall never forget the "I shall never forget the Antigone": Woolf greatly admired this tragedy by Greek dramatist Sophocles (c.496-406 B.C.) for its portrayal of women's difficulties in society, and she referred to it frequently. The play focuses on Antigone's struggle to give her brother a proper burial after King Creon has ordered that his body remain unburied. The King punishes Antigone for her efforts by decreeing that she be buried alive, but before he can enforce the decree she commits suicide. Woolf was tutored in both Latin and Greek and read most of the cla.s.sics in their original languages. Antigone": Woolf greatly admired this tragedy by Greek dramatist Sophocles (c.496-406 B.C.) for its portrayal of women's difficulties in society, and she referred to it frequently. The play focuses on Antigone's struggle to give her brother a proper burial after King Creon has ordered that his body remain unburied. The King punishes Antigone for her efforts by decreeing that she be buried alive, but before he can enforce the decree she commits suicide. Woolf was tutored in both Latin and Greek and read most of the cla.s.sics in their original languages.

8 (p. 40) (p. 40) "It seemed to me I'd known twenty Clytemnestras": "It seemed to me I'd known twenty Clytemnestras": In an earlier draft of In an earlier draft of The Voyage Out, The Voyage Out, Mrs. Dalloway had seen not Mrs. Dalloway had seen not Antigone Antigone but but Agamemnon, Agamemnon, a tragedy by another Greek dramatist, Aeschylus (525-456 B.C.). This reference to Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife, survives the revision. a tragedy by another Greek dramatist, Aeschylus (525-456 B.C.). This reference to Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's wife, survives the revision.

9 (p. 40) o ... o [Greek pa.s.sage]: The quotation is from Sophocles' (p. 40) o ... o [Greek pa.s.sage]: The quotation is from Sophocles' Antigone Antigone (scene 1, the first ode by the Chorus). A translation by Robert Fitzgerald and Dudley Fitts (scene 1, the first ode by the Chorus). A translation by Robert Fitzgerald and Dudley Fitts (The Oedipus Cycle, (The Oedipus Cycle, New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1949) reads: New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1949) reads: Numberless are the world's wonders, but none More wonderful than man; the stormgray sea Yields to his prows, the huge crests bear him high; Earth, holy and inexhaustible, is graven With s.h.i.+ning furrows where his plows have gone Year after year, the timeless labor of stallions.