whether I should plunge in or not. Warm from walking, I decide yes, and, as if about to do something positively unlawful, stare about me far as the eye can travel. Short of a spyglass on the mountain top Iâm safe! For you can bet I was careful to keep my eyes about me coming over the moor, with a frequent glance in the direction of the gorge for the man with the green tie. Iâm not going near that place to-day; I donât need to. Oddly enough the expression of his face that lingered was that of the moment when it stilled and seemed to grow smaller at my words about the ecstasy of the old man while being killed by the axe. I see his face now as a sort of mummy face, and canât get it full of cunning life. Let it mummify, smaller and smaller, until it disappears altogether! Iâm going to have a bathe! And in a pool which no human feet can reach until long after I have finished. I am out of my clothes in a minute. I put a toe in. Lace-curtain bubbles go round in a jingaring behind the boulder. I take the full gasp. Lovely! And kick and splash. Green slime fronds, softer than any silk, and clean, wave upon my legs as I lie like a trout. Then out, to dance, to sit doubled on the flat rock like an ancestor of prehistory; to dance again, for the chill makes you feel as light as a Nereid (how I love those Greek legends!). And with a readiness for the panic of the legend too, so that you dance round, with eyes for the intrusions of space, and laugh at the exquisite delight of nothing until your skin is quite dry; thenâreluctantlyâto dress. I select my cushion of heather and, flat on my back, spread out to the warmth of the sun. Two minutes and, like an animal, I stiffen, my eyes turn up. The man with the green tie is standing a few yards behind my head.
It was an overwhelming moment. To say that I was angry as I sat up with my back to him hardly means anything. In the instant of his appearance against the sky I knew that he had been watching from a short distance the whole of my performance in the pool and on the rock. He could not have appeared from nowhere. He had been there the whole time. It was utterly unspeakable.
But he was speaking all right; had come round nearly in front of me; was remarking that I never exactly seemed pleased to see him, with the smile in his manner and voice, the knowledge of what he had seen and the secret advantage it gave him over me. I turned my eyes farther away, but I hadnât the strength to get up.
Didnât you see me? he asked, and, when I made no answer, Are you long here? Then, as I continued to ignore him, he added: I fell asleep and was wondering how long I had slept when I saw you just now.
I looked at him. His face was completely open, quite still in its frankness. He held my look and, as it were, wondered why I looked so. I began to shiver and got up. He bent down, felt the place where I had been lying, and nodded. Donât you realise, he asked, that it is very dangerous to fall asleep in the sun even on dry ground?
Itâs quite dry, I remark coldly, preparing to go.
Dry? Good Heavens! Feel that moss under the lanky heather! And he sank his fingers out of sight. After walking in the sun, he explains, your pores are open and draw the damp up into them. He is full of expressive explanation and astonishment at my dangerous ignorance. You have got to be very careful with the old earth, he adds.
I thought you were asleep yourself, I say with expressionless coldness, looking right into him. I cannot lower myself to accuse him directly of spying, yet I cannot leave now until I have pierced him with my contempt.
Ah, but thatâs different! he answers. I know the old earth. You always ought to choose a spot where the soil itself is dry underneath. And even then the sun is dangerous. But to sleep over damp mossâany doctor will tell you youâre asking for rheumatic fever or worse. I knew a convalescent woman who died from it. His manner is
It was an overwhelming moment. To say that I was angry as I sat up with my back to him hardly means anything. In the instant of his appearance against the sky I knew that he had been watching from a short distance the whole of my performance in the pool and on the rock. He could not have appeared from nowhere. He had been there the whole time. It was utterly unspeakable.
But he was speaking all right; had come round nearly in front of me; was remarking that I never exactly seemed pleased to see him, with the smile in his manner and voice, the knowledge of what he had seen and the secret advantage it gave him over me. I turned my eyes farther away, but I hadnât the strength to get up.
Didnât you see me? he asked, and, when I made no answer, Are you long here? Then, as I continued to ignore him, he added: I fell asleep and was wondering how long I had slept when I saw you just now.
I looked at him. His face was completely open, quite still in its frankness. He held my look and, as it were, wondered why I looked so. I began to shiver and got up. He bent down, felt the place where I had been lying, and nodded. Donât you realise, he asked, that it is very dangerous to fall asleep in the sun even on dry ground?
Itâs quite dry, I remark coldly, preparing to go.
Dry? Good Heavens! Feel that moss under the lanky heather! And he sank his fingers out of sight. After walking in the sun, he explains, your pores are open and draw the damp up into them. He is full of expressive explanation and astonishment at my dangerous ignorance. You have got to be very careful with the old earth, he adds.
I thought you were asleep yourself, I say with expressionless coldness, looking right into him. I cannot lower myself to accuse him directly of spying, yet I cannot leave now until I have pierced him with my contempt.
Ah, but thatâs different! he answers. I know the old earth. You always ought to choose a spot where the soil itself is dry underneath. And even then the sun is dangerous. But to sleep over damp mossâany doctor will tell you youâre asking for rheumatic fever or worse. I knew a convalescent woman who died from it. His manner is
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