headland. She mastered it only to discover that her misery had returned. Despair broke over her so irresistibly that she wondered how she could still observe the pure peace and beauty of the scene. But her senses continued to tell her that the sky, sea, cliffs and sands were lovely, that there was music in the murmurof the waves, and that the evening airs smelt of gorse blossom. To that message her mind replied: No good any more. It might have helped me once.
For she loved natural beauty, and in the earlier stages of her struggle had often found consolation in a country walk. But this was a late stage, the final stage. Now she merely felt a clearer conviction that life was over for her, the last anodyne gone. If this fair prospect could not tempt her to stay, then nothing could and she might go when she pleased.
She went to the end of the headland and sat on a rock looking out to sea. The water was flat and pale, paler than the sky, except at the horizon where a dark blue pencil had sketched a great curve. On her left, behind the dusky mass of the next point, an after sunset light still burned. On her right, over Pendizack Cove, fell the shadow of advancing night. She thought that she would rest for a little while and then go back to the sand. She would wade out into that warm, flat sea, wade as far as she could and then swim. It was years since she had swum but she supposed she still could, for how far she did not know, but far enough. She would swim straight out towards that thin blue line of the horizon, on and on, until the end. A time would come when she could swim no more. And then there might be some moments of panic. The wish to live might reassert itself before she went under the choking water. But it would soon be over. And no one would be hurt by it, for she had given up all hope of helping Paul. Her life was useless and a burden.
So much suffering, she thought. So much suffering everywhere. And as long as I live I merely add to it. I am not strong. I can do nothing. I’m simply another hopeless, helpless person.
A faint wind sighed in the dread thrift beside the rock, and a longer wave than usual fell upon the beach below her. Decision had relaxed her nerves. She leant her back against the rock and closed her eyes, her mind vacantand open to any vision that might drift through it. Suddenly and vividly she saw a deep pit from which many faces peered up at her. It came and went so quickly that she could recognize none of them although she was sure that some were familiar; a girl’s face and three pale children distinct among millions and seen by a lightning flash. At the same time a voice said in her ear: Their shoulders hold the sky suspended. They stand and earth’s founda tions stay.
Mr. Siddal had said that. Mr. Siddal had said some very strange things, sitting in the lounge and staring at the ceiling. She was not sure that she understood them. He had said that the innocent save the world and that their suffering is necessary. He said that the victims, the helpless, hopeless people everywhere, are the redeemers who sustain and protect mankind. She could not remember his words exactly. But she had felt very strange for a moment, while he was talking, as though she might be on the verge of some enormous discovery. Crucified, he had said. The Lord was crucified. He was innocent and He redeemed mankind. But Mr. Siddal said redeems, as if it was all still going on. And did he mean, she asked herself, that we are all … all the oppressed … and the poor people in China … and the homeless … the poor little Jewish babies born in ships … no home, no country, turned away everywhere …. Oh, I do think that is the worst of all, for a poor baby to be born with no country even … but did he mean that we are all one person, innocent and crucified and redeeming the world … always? Is that what he meant?
Another wave fell on the beach, and before its reverberation had died away she knew that, whatever Mr.
For she loved natural beauty, and in the earlier stages of her struggle had often found consolation in a country walk. But this was a late stage, the final stage. Now she merely felt a clearer conviction that life was over for her, the last anodyne gone. If this fair prospect could not tempt her to stay, then nothing could and she might go when she pleased.
She went to the end of the headland and sat on a rock looking out to sea. The water was flat and pale, paler than the sky, except at the horizon where a dark blue pencil had sketched a great curve. On her left, behind the dusky mass of the next point, an after sunset light still burned. On her right, over Pendizack Cove, fell the shadow of advancing night. She thought that she would rest for a little while and then go back to the sand. She would wade out into that warm, flat sea, wade as far as she could and then swim. It was years since she had swum but she supposed she still could, for how far she did not know, but far enough. She would swim straight out towards that thin blue line of the horizon, on and on, until the end. A time would come when she could swim no more. And then there might be some moments of panic. The wish to live might reassert itself before she went under the choking water. But it would soon be over. And no one would be hurt by it, for she had given up all hope of helping Paul. Her life was useless and a burden.
So much suffering, she thought. So much suffering everywhere. And as long as I live I merely add to it. I am not strong. I can do nothing. I’m simply another hopeless, helpless person.
A faint wind sighed in the dread thrift beside the rock, and a longer wave than usual fell upon the beach below her. Decision had relaxed her nerves. She leant her back against the rock and closed her eyes, her mind vacantand open to any vision that might drift through it. Suddenly and vividly she saw a deep pit from which many faces peered up at her. It came and went so quickly that she could recognize none of them although she was sure that some were familiar; a girl’s face and three pale children distinct among millions and seen by a lightning flash. At the same time a voice said in her ear: Their shoulders hold the sky suspended. They stand and earth’s founda tions stay.
Mr. Siddal had said that. Mr. Siddal had said some very strange things, sitting in the lounge and staring at the ceiling. She was not sure that she understood them. He had said that the innocent save the world and that their suffering is necessary. He said that the victims, the helpless, hopeless people everywhere, are the redeemers who sustain and protect mankind. She could not remember his words exactly. But she had felt very strange for a moment, while he was talking, as though she might be on the verge of some enormous discovery. Crucified, he had said. The Lord was crucified. He was innocent and He redeemed mankind. But Mr. Siddal said redeems, as if it was all still going on. And did he mean, she asked herself, that we are all … all the oppressed … and the poor people in China … and the homeless … the poor little Jewish babies born in ships … no home, no country, turned away everywhere …. Oh, I do think that is the worst of all, for a poor baby to be born with no country even … but did he mean that we are all one person, innocent and crucified and redeeming the world … always? Is that what he meant?
Another wave fell on the beach, and before its reverberation had died away she knew that, whatever Mr.
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