A cursed shame. The material of the present,
moulded, perhaps, into seemingly new forms, was always that of the
past. This Polder was Essie Scofield and Jasper ... Byron. He, Howat
Penny, was Penny and Jannan and Penny--Daniel, James, Casimir, and Howat
once more, the older Howat who had married the widow of Felix Winscombe.
Black again. He wondered what the blackness, not spent like his own, had
brought the other. A headstrong, dark youth with the characteristic
sloping eyebrows and slender, vigorous, carriage. The traditional
rebellious spirit had involved Jasper in disgrace; it had thinned his
own blood.
Footfalls approached through the trees, and the others joined him. James
Polder extended himself on the rock, and Mariana sat with her hands
clasped about her slim knees. A silence intensified by the whispering
stream enveloped them. The hawk circled above, and Howat had an
extraordinary sense of the familiarity of the bird hanging in limitless
space, of the warm stone and water choking in a smooth eddy. He had, as
a boy, fished there. But his brain momentarily swam with a poignant,
unrecognizable emotion, different from the sensation of childhood. He
rose, confused and giddy. With old age, he muttered.
Mariana followed.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397