<h2><SPAN name="chap27"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
<p>All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over the blue
of the sky. They seemed to narrow the space 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“It’s coming!” was said simultaneously in many different
languages.</p>
<p>There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn into itself.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.</p>
<p>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 massed right overhead, while the lightning
aimed straight at the garden every time, an uneasy gloom replaced the first
excitement.</p>
<p>Finishing 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Ah!” several voices exclaimed at the same moment.</p>
<p>“Something struck,” said a man’s voice.</p>
<p>The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightning and the
thunder, and the hall became almost dark.</p>
<p>After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of water upon the
glass, there was a perceptible slackening of the sound, and then the atmosphere
became lighter.</p>
<p>“It’s over,” said another voice.</p>
<p>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 passing
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
spacious as usual.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 arm-chairs with their newspapers on their knees.
The conversation in these circumstances 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 shiny of thorax, whizzed
over their heads, and hit the lamps with a thud.</p>
<p>A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, “Poor creature! it
would be kinder to kill it.” But nobody 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.</p>
<p>On the sofa, beside the chess-players, Mrs. Elliot was imparting a new stitch
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.</p>
<p>“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—”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>“Tut, tut, that doesn’t sound good—no, that doesn’t
sound at all natural,” murmured the knitters in their absorbed voices.</p>
<p>“Still, it’s the kind of book people call very clever,” Miss
Allan added.</p>
<p>“<i>Maternity</i>—by Michael Jessop—I presume,” Mr.
Elliot put in, for he could never resist the temptation of talking while he
played chess.</p>
<p>“D’you know,” said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, “I
don’t think people <i>do</i> write good novels now—not as good as
they used to, anyhow.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“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. Flushing, who came through the hall and stopped by the chess-board.
Mrs. Flushing 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.</p>
<p>Mr. Flushing explained that they had been on the roof watching the storm.</p>
<p>“It was a wonderful sight,” he said. “The lightning went
right out over the sea, and lit up the waves and the ships far away. You
can’t think how wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights on
them, and the great masses of shadow. It’s all over now.”</p>
<p>He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle of the
game.</p>
<p>“And you go back to-morrow?” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Mrs.
Flushing.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she replied.</p>
<p>“And indeed one is not sorry to go back,” said Mrs. Elliot,
assuming an air of mournful anxiety, “after all this illness.”</p>
<p>“Are you afraid of dyin’?” Mrs. Flushing demanded scornfully.</p>
<p>“I think we are all afraid of that,” said Mrs. Elliot with dignity.</p>
<p>“I suppose we’re all cowards when it comes to the point,”
said Mrs. Flushing, rubbing her cheek against the back of the chair.
“I’m sure I am.”</p>
<p>“Not a bit of it!” said Mr. Flushing, 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!”</p>
<p>“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?”</p>
<p>“It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discovered
whether there is life in Mars,” Miss Allan added.</p>
<p>“Do you really believe there’s life in Mars?” asked Mrs.
Flushing, turning to her for the first time with keen interest. “Who
tells you that? Some one who knows? D’you know a man
called—?”</p>
<p>Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme solicitude
came into her eyes.</p>
<p>“There is Mr. Hirst,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blown about by the
wind, and his cheeks looked terribly pale, unshorn, and cavernous. After taking
off his coat he was going to pass 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.</p>
<p>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.”</p>
<p>Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped, and Mr.
Pepper finished the move with his Knight.</p>
<p>“There was nothing to be done,” said St. John. He spoke very
slowly. “It seems impossible—”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“And that poor fellow,” said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling
again down her cheeks.</p>
<p>“Impossible,” St. John repeated.</p>
<p>“Did he have the consolation of knowing—?” Mrs. Thornbury
began very tentatively.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>“Lightning again!” Mrs. Flushing 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.</p>
<p>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 mass of
the mountain, and pricked here and there on the slopes by the tiny lights of
villas. The driving air, the drone of the trees, and the flashing light which
now and again spread a broad illumination over the earth filled Mrs. Flushing
with exultation. Her breasts rose and fell.</p>
<p>“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.”</p>
<p>Some half-stirred; some rose; some dropped their balls of wool and began to
stoop to look for them.</p>
<p>“To bed—to bed,” said Miss Allan.</p>
<p>“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.</p>
<p>“What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!” said Arthur
Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to bed.</p>
<p>All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John’s ears as he lay
half-asleep, and yet vividly conscious of everything around him. Across his
eyes passed a procession of objects, black and indistinct, the figures of
people picking up their books, their cards, their balls of wool, their
work-baskets, and passing him one after another on their way to bed.</p>
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