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In　the　corridor　outside　the　grey　girl　whispered：　〃I　do　like　the　way　we　all　pride　ourselves　on　being　better　than　someone　else。　　I　think　it's　so　hopeful　and　jolly。　　Shall　we　go　up　and　see　the　abyss　at　the　top？〃




CHAPTER　XXXV

A　YOUNG　GIRL'S　MIND

A　young　girl's　mind　is　like　a　wood　in　Springnow　a　rising　mist　of　bluebells　and　flakes　of　dappled　sunlight；　now　a　world　of　still；　wan；　tender　saplings；　weeping　they　know　not　why。　　Through　the　curling　twigs　of　boughs　just　green；　its　wings　fly　towards　the　stars；　but　the　next　moment　they　have　drooped　to　mope　beneath　the　damp　bushes。　　It　is　ever　yearning　for　and　trembling　at　the　future；　in　its　secret　places　all　the　countless　shapes　of　things　that　are　to　be　are　taking　stealthy　counsel　of　how　to　grow　up　without　letting　their　gown　of　mystery　fall。　They　rustle；　whisper；　shriek　suddenly；　and　as　suddenly　fall　into　a　delicious　silence。　　From　the　first　hazel…bush　to　the　last　may…tree　it　is　an　unending　meeting…place　of　young　solemn　things　eager　to　find　out　what　they　are；　eager　to　rush　forth　to　greet　the　kisses　of　the　wind　and　sun；　and　for　ever　trembling　back　and　hiding　their　faces。　　The　spirit　of　that　wood　seems　to　lie　with　her　ear　close　to　the　ground；　a　pale　petal　of　a　hand　curved　like　a　shell　behind　it；　listening　for　the　whisper　of　her　own　life。　　There　she　lies；　white　and　supple；　with　dewy；　wistful　eyes；　sighing：　'What　is　my　meaning？　　Ah；　I　am　everything！　　Is　there　in　all　the　world　a　thing　so　wonderful　as　I？。。。　Oh；　I　am　nothingmy　wings　are　heavy；　I　faint；　I　die！'

When　Thyme；　attended　by　the　grey　girl；　emerged　from　the　abyss　at　the　top；　her　cheeks　were　flushed　and　her　hands　clenched。　　She　said　nothing。　　The　grey　girl；　too；　was　silent；　with　a　look　such　as　a　spirit　divested　of　its　body　by　long　bathing　in　the　river　of　reality　might　bend　on　one　who　has　just　come　to　dip　her　head。　　Thyme's　quick　eyes　saw　that　look；　and　her　colour　deepened。　　She　saw；　too；　the　glance　of　the　Jewish　youth　when　Martin　joined　them　in　the　doorway。

'Two　girls　now；'　he　seemed　to　say。　　'He　goes　it；　this　young　man！'

Supper　was　laid　in　her　new　friend's　roompressed　beef；　potato　salad；　stewed　prunes；　and　ginger　ale。　　Martin　and　the　grey　girl　talked。　Thyme　ate　in　silence；　but　though　her　eyes　seemed　fastened　on　her　plate；　she　saw　every　glance　that　passed　between　them；　heard　every　word　they　said。　　Those　glances　were　not　remarkable；　nor　were　those　words　particularly　important；　but　they　were　spoken　in　tones　that　seemed　important　to　Thyme。　　'He　never　talks　to　me　like　that；'　she　thought。

When　supper　was　over　they　went　out　into　the　streets　to　walk；　but　at　the　door　the　grey　girl　gave　Thyme's　arm　a　squeeze；　her　cheek　a　swift　kiss；　and　turned　back　up　the　stairs。

〃Aren't　you　coming？〃　　shouted　Martin。

Her　voice　was　heard　answering　from　above：　〃No；　not　tonight。〃

With　the　back　of　her　hand　Thyme　rubbed　off　the　kiss。　　The　two　cousins　walked　out　amongst　the　traffic。

The　evening　was　very　warm　and　close；　no　breeze　fanned　the　reeking　town。　　Speaking　little；　they　wandered　among　endless　darkening　streets；　whence　to　return　to　the　light　and　traffic　of　the　Euston　Road　seemed　like　coming　back　to　Heaven。　　At　last；　close　again　to　her　new　home；　Thyme　said：　〃Why　should　one　bother？　　It's　all　a　horrible　great　machine；　trying　to　blot　us　out；　people　are　like　insects　when　you　put　your　thumb　on　them　and　smear　them　on　a　book。　　I　hateI　loathe　it！〃

〃They　might　as　well　be　healthy　insects　while　they　last；〃　answered　Martin。

Thyme　faced　round　at　him。　　〃I　shan't　sleep　tonight；　Martin；　get　out　my　bicycle　for　me。〃

Martin　scrutinised　her　by　the　light　of　the　street　lamp。　　〃All　right；〃　he　said；　〃I'll　come　too。〃

There　are；　say　moralists；　roads　that　lead　to　Hell；　but　it　was　on　a　road　that　leads　to　Hampstead　that　the　two　young　cyclists　set　forth　towards　eleven　o'clock。　　The　difference　between　the　character　of　the　two　destinations　was　soon　apparent；　for　whereas　man　taken　in　bulk　had　perhaps　made　Hell；　Hampstead　had　obviously　been　made　by　the　upper　classes。　　There　were　trees　and　gardens；　and　instead　of　dark　canals　of　sky　banked　by　the　roofs　of　houses　and　hazed　with　the　yellow　scum　of　London　lights；　the　heavens　spread　out　in　a　wide　trembling　pool。　　From　that　rampart　of　the　town；　the　Spaniard's　Road；　two　plains　lay　exposed　to　left　and　right；　the　scent　of　may…tree　blossom　had　stolen　up　the　hill；　the　rising　moon　clung　to　a　fir…tree　bough。　　Over　the　country　the　far　stars　presided；　and　sleep's　dark　wings　were　spread　above　the　fieldssilent；　scarce　breathing；　lay　the　body　of　the　land。　　But　to　the　south；　where　the　town；　that　restless　head；　was　lying；　the　stars　seemed　to　have　fallen　and　were　sown　in　the　thousand　furrows　of　its　great　grey　marsh；　and　from　the　dark　miasma　of　those　streets　there　travelled　up　a　rustle；　a　whisper；　the　far　allurement　of　some　deathless　dancer；　dragging　men　to　watch　the　swirl　of　her　black；　spangled　drapery；　the　gleam　of　her　writhing　limbs。　　Like　the　song　of　the　sea　in　a　shell　was　the　murmur　of　that　witch　of　motion；　clasping　to　her　the　souls　of　men；　drawing　them　down　into　a　soul　whom　none　had　ever　known　to　rest。

Above　the　two　young　cousins；　scudding　along　that　ridge　between　the　country　and　the　town；　three　thin　white　clouds　trailed　slowly　towards　the　west…like　tired。　　seabirds　drifting　exhausted　far　out　from　land　on　a　sea　blue　to　blackness　with　unfathomable　depth。

For　an　hour　those　two　rode　silently　into　the　country。

〃Have　we　come　far　enough？〃　　Martin　said　at　last。

Thyme　shook　her　head。　　A　long；　steep　hill　beyond　a　little　sleeping　village　had　brought　them　to　a　standstill。　　Across　the　shadowy　fields　a　pale　sheet　of　water　gleamed　out　in　moonlight。　　Thyme　turned　down　towards　it。

〃I'm　hot；〃　she　said；　〃I　want　to　bathe　my　face。　　Stay　here。　　Don't　come　with　me。〃

She　left　her　bicycle；　and；　passing　through　a　gate；　vanished　among　the　trees。

Martin　stayed　leaning　against　the　gate。　　The　village　clock　struck　one。　　The　distant　call　of　a　hunting　owl；　〃Qu…wheek；　qu…wheek！〃　sounded　through　the　grave　stillness　of　this　last　night　of　May。　　The　moon　at　her　curve's　summit　floated　at　peace　on　the　blue　surface　of　the　sky；　a　great　closed　water…lily。　　And　Martin　saw　through　the　trees　scimitar…shaped　reeds　clustering　black　along　the　pool's　shore。　　All　about　him　the　may…flowers　were　alight。　　It　was　such　a　night　as　makes　dreams　real　and　turns　reality　to　dreams。

'All　moonlit　nonsense！'　thought　the　young　man；　for　the　night　had　disturbed　his　heart。

But　Thyme　did　not　come　back。　　He　called　to　her；　and　in　the　death…like　silence　following　his　shouts　he　could　hear　his　own　heart　beat。　　He　passed　in　through　the　gate。　　She　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　　Why　was　she　playing　him　this　trick？

He　turned　up　from　the　water　among　the　trees；　where　the　incense　of　the　may…flowers　hung　heavy　in　the　air。

'Never　look　for　a　thing！'　he　thought；　and　stopped　to　listen。　　It　was　so　breathless　that　the　leaves　of　a　low　bough　against　his　cheek　did　not　stir　while　he　stood　there。　　Presently　he　heard　faint　sounds；　and　stole　towards　them。　　Under　a　beech…tree　he　almost　stumbled　over　Thyme；　lying　with　her　face　pressed　to　the　ground。　　The　young　doctor's　heart　gave　a　sickening　leap；　he　quickly　knelt　down　beside　her。　　The　girl's　body；　pressed　close　to　the　dry　beech…mat；　was　being　shaken　by　long　sobs。　　From　head　to　foot　it　quivered；　her　hat　had　been　torn　off；　and　the　fragrance　of　her　hair　mingled　with　the　fragrance　of　the　night。　　In　Martin's　heart　something　seemed　to　turn　over　and　over；　as　when　a　boy　he　had　watched　a　rabbit　caught　in　a　snare。　　He　touched　her。　　She　sat　up；　and；　dashing　her　hand　across　her　eyes；　cried：　〃Go　away！　Oh；　go　away！〃

He　put　his　arm　round　her　and　waited。　　Five　minutes　passed。　　The　air　was　trembling　with　a　sort　of　pale　vibration；　for　the　moonlight　had　found　a　hole　in　the　dark　foliage　and　flooded　on　to　the　ground　beside　them；　whitening　the　black　beech…husks。　　Some　tiny　bird；　disturbed　by　these　unwonted　visitors；　began　chirruping　and　fluttering；　but　was　soon　still　again。　　To　Martin；　so　strangely　close　to　this　young　creature　in　the　night；　there　came　a　sense　of　utter　disturbance。

'Poor　little　thing！'　he　thought；　'be　careful　of　her；　comfort　her！'　Hardness　seemed　so　broken　out　of　her；　and　the　night　so　wonderful！　And　there　came　into　the　young　man's　heart　a　throb　of　the　knowledge　very　rare　with　him；　for　he　was　not；　like　Hilary；　a　philosophising　personthat　she　was　as　real　as　himselfsuffering；　hoping；　feeling；　not　his　hopes　and　feelings；　but　her　own。　　His　fingers　kept　pressing　her　shoulder　through　her　thin　blouse。　　And　the　touch　of　those　fingers　was　worth　more　than　any　words；　as　this　night；　all　moonlit　dreams；　was　worth　more　than　a　thousand　nights　of　sane　reality。

Thyme　twisted　herself　away　from　him　at　last。　　〃I　can't；〃　she　sobbed。　〃I'm　not　what　you　thought　meI'm　not　made　for　it！〃

A　scornful　little　smile　curled　Martin's　lip。　　So　that　was　it！　　But　the　smile　soon　died　away。　　One　did　not　hit　what　was　already　down

Thyme's　voice　wailed　through　the　silence。　　〃I　thought　I　couldbut　I　want　beautiful　things。　　I　can't　bear　it　all　so　grey　and　horrible。　I'm　not　like　that　girl。　　I'm…an…amateur！〃

'If　I　kissed　her…'　Martin　thought。

She　sank　down　again；　burying　her　face　in　the　dark　beech…mat。　　The　moonlight　had　passed　on。　　Her　voice　came　faint　and　stiffed；　as　out　of　th