xviii

All that night Sally dwelt with her terrible temptation. The more she shrank from it the more stealthily it returned to her, like the slow fingers of an incoming tide. So many circumstances gave colour to her belief that the poison could be given without discovery that Sally found every detail too easy to conceive. Gaga would be sick again and again, would weaken, would.... Always her imagination refused to complete the story. She covered her face with her hands and sought frantically to hide from this loathsome whisper that pressed temptation upon her. Ill and frightened, she lay turning into every posture of defiance and weakness and irresolution, until the daylight was fully come; and then Gaga's voice called feebly from the next room, and she must rise to tend him with something of the guilt of a murderess oppressing her and causing her during the whole talk to keep her face turned away.

But she found in the interview strength enough for the moment to baffle temptation. To know that Gaga lay helpless there before her—hardly moulded into recognisable form by the clinging bedclothes—was a reinforcement to Sally's good will. His position appealed to the pity she felt—the pity and the contempt. He was so thin and weak, so exceedingly fragile, that Sally could not deliberately have hurt him. Instead, she was bent upon his salvation.

"Bertram," she said. "We must get away to-day. This morning. D'you see? We must."

"O-o-oh!" groaned Gaga, in unformulated opposition.

"We must. We'll go to Penterby this morning."

"But my dear!" it was a long wailing cry, like that of an old woman.

"We've got to go. Got to go. I'll get everything ready. You shan't have to worry about anything at all."

"Sal-ly!" Again Gaga wailed. He tried to pull her down to him, gently and coaxingly. In a sort of hysteria, Sally jerked herself free, looking steadily away. Her mouth was open, and brooding resolve was in her eyes. She was not tragic; she was in confusion, set only upon a single purpose, and otherwise passively in distress. Obstinately she repulsed him.

"It's no good talking. We must go. I'm ill, as well as you. The doctor says we must both go away. At once." She was so resolute that Gaga could not resist her. He lay quite still, and for that reason she was forced to look down at him. To Sally's surprise there was upon Gaga's face an expression of such sweetness that she was almost touched. He loved her. "There!" she murmured, as if to a baby; and bent and kissed him. Gaga kissed her several times in return and continued to watch her, still with that strange expression of kindness that was almost worship. He stirred at last.

"I'll get up," he said. "I'll get up now. It's a ... it's a fine idea. We'll catch the morning train, if we hurry. We'll be ... be there in time for lunch."

Sally was in such a whirl of thankfulness that she flew to her dressing and packing. She and Gaga were both downstairs and at breakfast within half-an-hour, seated at the big dining-table, and looking very small in that great room. As they sat, Gaga was so happy that he repented of his promise to go away, and wanted to remain at ease in such pleasant circumstances. He began to think of reasons why they should not go away at all. He spoke with regret of the new flat, of their preparations ... even of the business. But already Sally was upon her feet. A few minutes later she was telephoning to Miss Summers explaining the sudden change of situation; and then immediately began to pack. It was not a difficult task. She herself had few things to take away. Presently Gaga joined idly in the work; and the two of them neatly folded his clothes and slipped into his dressing-case the articles he was bound to need while they were away.

"My medicine!" exclaimed Gaga, clutching at an excuse.

"Got enough for to-day; and I've got the prescription." Sally was grim. She was more—she was driven by instinct. It was essential that they should go immediately. For one thing Toby might return, and any thought of Toby was so horrible to her at this moment, when her first hatred was giving way to uncontrollable longing for him, that it was like a scourge. And for another thing Sally was in terror of the nightmare temptation. She was fighting against that with all the strength that remained. Even now, if she looked at Gaga, she shuddered deeply.

"What's the time?" called Gaga.

"Miriam ... telephone for a cab!" Sally was simultaneously giving instructions to a servant. She went to a desk in which she kept money, and found that she had very little remaining. "Bert, got any money? Well, your cheque book?"

"In the study."

It was a fatal word, so carelessly spoken, but like a blow in its sharp revival of something that was being suppressed. Sally hurried to the door of her bedroom. As suddenly, she stopped dead. The study! In a wave all her memory of the previous night's wicked temptation came back to her. It was only with a great effort that she went further. More than a moment passed in a silent struggle. Almost blindly, she entered the study, and its chill atmosphere was tomb-like in its effect upon her. Again Sally shuddered. Groping, she found Gaga's cheque book, and turned again to the door. The walls of the tiny room seemed to rise forbiddingly around her, to come closer, to begin to topple over as if in ruin. Sally gasped for breath. She cowered. Everything became dark.... A long time passed before she was again conscious. Clasping the cheque book, Sally felt her way unsteadily, with her eyes closed, until she stood upon the threshold. She was breathing slowly and deeply, and she could see nothing. And at last, fighting still, but incapable of conquering the stronger influence which was being exercised upon her will, she went back into the room, and stood there with her face towards the cupboard. Quietly, as if on tiptoe, she passed in a dream to the cupboard and unfastened it, and without ever once looking about among the other contents of the shelf put her hand upon the fatal tin which she had found while looking for Gaga's cocoa. With this tin in her hand she hastened back to her room, closing the door as silently as she had opened it. The tin was quickly laid among her clothes, right in the corner of her dressing-case, hidden from any prying eye. Then Sally straightened herself, listened and bent down again to fasten the bag. Within ten minutes she and Gaga were out of the house, sitting in a taxi on their way to Victoria Station. Sally pressed herself back in the corner of the cab, not touching Gaga, so that nobody should see her; and at the station she was on fire until they were settled in the railway carriage and the train was slipping gently out from the platform. Then at last she sighed deeply, as if with relief, and the corners of her mouth drooped until she looked like a little girl who was going to cry. The houses became blurred.