Classic Audiobook Collection - The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence ~ Full Audiobook [tragedy]

Episode Date: January 4, 2023

The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence audiobook. Genre: tragedy Brief Encounter meets Tristan und Isolde - on the Isle of Wight, under a vast sky florid with stars. The consequence is tragic indeed for one of the parties, Siegmund, when he sacrifices family life for a few days’ transcendent rapture. His lover, the self-contained Helena, is strong enough to bear a return to the scruffy suburbs. Redemption of a kind is granted to the deserted wife, Beatrice. But between these robust Lawrentian women Siegmund is cancelled out. His love-death is no cosmic swoon but a sordid exit in an unkempt box-room. In this very British romance, there is no earthly escape from outworn attachments and life’s deadening routine... For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:21:41) Chapter 02 (00:47:43) Chapter 03 (01:13:47) Chapter 04 (01:23:46) Chapter 05 (01:43:39) Chapter 06 (02:13:12) Chapter 07 (02:30:40) Chapter 08 (02:50:40) Chapter 09 (02:58:31) Chapter 10 (03:07:20) Chapter 11 (03:33:09) Chapter 12 (03:51:40) Chapter 13 (04:08:41) Chapter 14 (04:34:38) Chapter 15 (05:00:27) Chapter 16 (05:17:45) Chapter 17 (05:40:26) Chapter 18 (05:45:49) Chapter 19 (06:18:41) Chapter 20 (06:31:30) Chapter 21 (07:11:13) Chapter 22 (07:30:02) Chapter 23 (07:58:22) Chapter 24 (08:10:17) Chapter 25 (08:28:17) Chapter 26 (08:45:05) Chapter 27 (09:16:33) Chapter 28 (09:29:10) Chapter 29 (09:57:15) Chapter 30 (10:21:14) Chapter 31 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter i take off that mute do cried louisa snatching her fingers from the piano keys and turning abruptly to the violinist helena looked slowly from her music my dear louisa she replied it would be simply unendurable she stood tapping her white skirt with her bow in a kind of a pathetic forbearance but i can't understand it cried louisa bouncing on her chair with the exaggeration of one who is indignant with a beloved it is only lately that you would even submit to muting your violin at one time you would have refused flatly and no doubt about it i have only lately submitted to many things replied helena who seemed weary and stupefied but still sententious louisa drooped from her bristling defiance at any rate she said scolding in tones too naked with love i don't like it go on from alegro said helena pointing with her bow to the place on louisa's score of the mozart sonata louisa obediently took the chords and the music continued a young man reclining in one of the wicker-arm chairs by the fire turned luxuriously from the girls to watch the flames poise and dance with the music he was evidently at his ease yet he seemed a stranger in the room

it was the sitting-room of a mean house standing in line with hundreds of others of the same kind along a wide road in south london now and again the trams hummed by but the room was foreign to the trams and to the sound of the london traffic it was helena's room for which she was responsible the walls were of the dead green colour of august foliage the green carpet with its border of polished floor lay like a square of grass in a setting of black loam ceiling and frieze and fireplace were smooth white there was no other colouring. The furniture, excepting the piano, had a transitory look, two light wicker-arm chairs by the fire, the two frail stands of dark polished wood, the couple of flimsy chairs, and the case of books in the recess. All seemed uneasy, as if they might be tossed out to leave the room clear, with its green floor and walls, and its white rim of skirting-board, serene. On the mantelpiece were white lustres, and a small soapstone Buddha from China, grey impassive, locked in his renunciation. Besides these, two tablets of translucent stone,

beautifully clouded with rose and blood, and carved with Chinese symbols. Then a litter of mementos, rock crystals and shells and scraps of seaweed. A stranger entering fell at a loss. He looked at the bare wall spaces of dark green, at the scanty furniture, and was assured of his unwelcome. the only objects of sympathy in the room were the white lamp that glowed on a stand near the wall and the large beautiful fern with narrow fronds which ruffled its cloud of green within the gloom of the window bay these only with the fire seemed friendly the three candles on the dark piano burned softly the music fluttered on, but like numbed butterflies stupidly.

Helena played mechanically. She broke the music beneath her bow, so that it came lifeless, very hurting to hear. The young man frowned and pondered. Uneasily he turned again to the players. The violinist was a girl of twenty-eight. her white dress, high-waisted, swung as she forced the rhythm, determinedly swaying to the time, as if her body were the white stroke of a metronome. It made the young man frown as he watched, yet he continued to watch.

She had a very strong, vigorous body. Her neck, pure white, arched in strength from the fine hollow between her shoulders, as she held the violin. The long white lace of her sleeve swung, floated after the bow. Byrne could not see her face, more than the full curve of her cheek. He watched her hair, which at the back was almost of the colour of the soapstone idle, take the candlelight into its vigorous freedom in front, and glisten over her forehead. suddenly helena broke off the music and dropped her arm in irritable resignation louisa looked round from the piano surprised why she cried wasn't it all right helena laughed wearily it was all wrong she answered as she put her violin tenderly to rest oh i'm sorry i did so badly said louisa in a huff

she loved helena passionately you didn't do badly at all replied her friend in the same tired apathetic tone it was i when she had closed the black lid of her violin case helena stood a moment as if at a loss louisa looked up with eyes full of affection like a dog that did not dare to move to her beloved getting no response she drooped over the piano at length helena looked at her friend then slowly closed her eyes the burden of this excessive affection was too much for her smiling faintly she said as if she were coaxing a child play some chopin louisa i shall only do that all wrong like everything else said the elder plaintively. Louisa was thirty-five. She had been Helena's friend for years. Play the mazurkas, repeated Helena calmly.

Louisa rummaged among the music. Helena blew out her violin candle and came to sit down on the side of the fire opposite to burn. The music began. Helena pressed her arms with her hands. musing. They are inflamed still, said the young man. She glanced up suddenly, her blue eyes, usually so heavy and tired, lighting up with a small smile.

Yes, she answered, and she pushed back her sleeve, revealing a fine, strong arm, which was scarlet on the outer side, from shoulder to wrist, like some long red-burned fruit. the girl laid her cheek on the smarting soft flesh caressively it is quite hot she smiled again caressing her son's squalded arm with peculiar joy funny to see a sunburn like that in midwinter he replied frowning i can't think why it should last all these months don't you ever put anything on it to heal it she smiled at it him again, almost pitying, then put her mouth lovingly on the burn. "'It comes out every evening like this,' she said softly, with curious joy. "'And that was August, and now it's February,' he exclaimed. "'It must be psychological. You know, you make it come, the smart. You invoke it.'

She looked up at him, suddenly cold. i i never think of it she answered briefly with a kind of a sneer the young man's blood ran back from her at her acid tone but the mortification was physical only smiling quickly gently never he re-echoed there was silence between them for some moments whilst louisa continued to play the piano for their benefit at last drat it she exclaimed flouncing round on the piano stool the two looked up at her he did run well what has hindered you laughed you cried louisa oh i can't play any more she added dropping her arms along her skirt pathetically helena laughed quickly oh i can't helenna laughed quickly oh i can't helen pleaded louisa my dear said helena laughing briefly you are really under no obligation whatever with the little groan of one who yields to a desire contrary to her self-respect louisa dropped at the feet of helena laid her arm and her head languishingly on the knee of her friend the latter gave no sign but continued to gaze in the face of her friend the latter gave no sign but continued to gaze in the in the fire. Burn, on the other side of the hearth, sprawled in his chair, smoking a reflective

cigarette. The room was very quiet, silent even of the tick of a clock. Outside the traffic swept by, and feet pattered along the pavement. But this vulgar storm of life seemed shut out of Helena's room, that remained indifferent like a church. Two candles burned dimly, as on an altar, glistening yellow on the dark piano. The lamp was blown out, and the flameless fire, a red rubble, dwindled in the grate, so that the yellow glow of the candles seemed to shine, even on the embers. Still no one spoke. at last helena shivered slightly in her chair though did not change her position she sat motionless will you make coffee louisa she asked louisa lifted herself looked at her friend and stretched slightly oh she groaned voluptuously this is so comfortable "'Don't trouble, then. I'll go.' "'No, don't get up,' said Helena, trying to disengage herself. Louisa reached and put her hands on Helena's wrists.

"'I will go,' she drawled, almost groaning with voluptuousness and appealing love. Then as Helena still made movements to rise, the elder woman got up slowly, leaning as she did so all her weight on her friend. "'Where is the coffee?' she asked, affecting the dullness of lethargy. She was full of small affectations, being consumed with uneasy love. "'I think, my dear,' replied Helena, "'it is in its usual place.' "'Oh!' ya!' yawned Louise.

and she dragged herself out the two had been intimate friends for years had slept together and played together and lived together now the friendship was coming to an end after all said byrne when the door was closed if you're alive you've got to live helena burst into a titter of amusement at this sudden remark wherefore she asked indulgently because there's no such thing as passive existence he replied grinning she curled her lip in amused indulgence of this very young man i don't see it at all she said you can't he protested any more than a tree can help budding in april it can't help it's alive same with you well then and again there was the touch of a sneer if i can't help myself why trouble my friend because because i suppose i can't help myself if it bothers me it does you see i he smiled brilliantly am april she paid very little attention to him but began in a peculiar reedy metallic tone that set his nerves quivering. But I am not a bare tree. All my dead leaves they hang to me, and go through a kind of dance macabre. But you bud underneath, like beach, he said quickly.

Really, my friend, she said coldly, I am too tired to bud. No, he pleaded. No. With his thick brows knitted, he surveyed her anxiously. She had received a great blow in August, and she still was stunned. Her face, white and heavy, was like a mask, almost sullen. She looked in the fire forgetting him. "'You want march,' he said. He worried endlessly over her.

to rip off your old leaves i shall have to be march he laughed she ignored him again because of his presumption he waited awhile then broke out once more you must start again you must always you rustle your red leaves of a blasted summer you are not dead even if you want to be you're not even if it's a bitter thing to say you have to say it you are not dead smiling a peculiar painful smile as if he hurt her she turned to gaze at a photograph that hung over the piano it was the profile of a handsome man in the prime of life he was leaning slightly forward as if yielding beneath a burden of life or to the pull of fate he looked out musingly and there was no hinting and there was no hint of rebellion in the contours of the regular features the hair was brushed back soft and thick straight from his fine brow his nose was small and shapely his chin rounded cleft rather beautifully moulded byrne gazed also at the photo his look became distressed and helpless you cannot say you are dead with sigmund he cried brutally she shuddered clasped her burning arms on her breast and looked into the fire you are not dead with sigmund he persisted so you can't say you live with him you may live with his memory but sigmund is dead and his memory is not he himself he made a fierce gesture of impatience

sigmund now he is not a memory he is not your dead red leaves he is seagmonde dead and you do not know him because you are alive like me so seagmonde dead is a stranger to you with her head bowed down cowering like a sulky animal she looked at him under her brows he stared fiercely back at her but beneath her steady, glowering gaze, he shrank, then turned aside. You stretch your hands blindly to the dead. You look backwards. No, you never touch the thing, he cried. I have the arms of Louisa always round my neck, came her voice like the cry of a cat. She put her hands on her throat, as if she must relieve an ache.

she saw her lip raised in a kind of disgust a revulsion from life she was very sick after the tragedy he frowned and his eyes dilated folk are good they are good for one you never have looked at them you would linger hours over a blue weed and let all the people down the road go by folks are better than a good garden in full blossom she watched him again a certain beauty in his speech and his passionate way roused her when she did not want to be roused when moving from her torpor was painful at last you are merciless you know sisal she said and i will be protested byrne flinging his hand at her she last she laughed she laughed softly wearily for some time they were silent she gazed once more at the photograph over the piano and forgot all the present burn spent for the time being was busy hunting for some life interest to give her he ignored the simplest that of love because he was even more faithful than she to the memory of sea and blinder than most to his own heart i do wish i had sigmund's violin she said quietly but with great intensity byrne glanced at her then away his heart beat sulkily his sanguine passionate spirit dropped and slouched under her contempt he also felt the jar

heard the discord. She made him sometimes pant with her own horror. He waited full of hate and tasting of ashes for the arrival of Louisa with the coffee. End of Chapter 1. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 2 of The Trespasser. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 2. Siegman's violin, desired of Helena, lay in its case beside Siegman's lean portmante

in the white dust of the lumber room in Highgate. It was worth £20, but Beatrice had not yet roused herself to sell it. she kept the black case out of sight sigman's violin lay in the dark folded up as he had placed it for the last time with hasty familiar hands in its red silk shroud after two dead months the first string had snapped sharply striking the sensitive body of the instrument the second string had snapped the second string had snapped the second string had broken nearer christmas but no one had heard the faint moan of its going the violin lay mute in the dark a faint odour of must creeping over the smooth soft wood its twisted withered strings lay crisped from the anguish of breaking smothered under the silk folds the fragrance of sigman himself with which the violin was steeped slowly changed into an odour of must. Seagman died out even from his violin. He had infused it with his life, till its fibres had been as the tissue of his own flesh. Grasping his violin, he seemed to have his fingers

on the strings of his heart, and of the heart of Helena. It was his little beloved that drank his being, and turned it into music, and now Siegmund was dead. Only an odour of must remained of him, in his violin. It lay folded in silk in the dark, waiting. Six months before, it had longed for rest, during the last nights of the season, when Siegman's fingers had pressed too hard, when Siegman's passion and joy and fear had hurt, too, the soft body of his little beloved. The violin had sickened for rest. On that last night of opera, without pity Siegman had struck the closing phrases from the fiddle, harsh in his impatience, wild in anticipation. The curtain came down, the great singers bowed, and Siegman felt the spattering roar of applause quicken his pulse. It was hoarse and savage,

and startling on his inflamed soul, making him shiver with anticipation, as if something had brushed his hot nakedness. Quickly, with hands of habitual tenderness, he put his violin away. The theatre-goers were tired. and life drained rapidly out of the opera-house the members of the orchestra rose laughing mingling their weariness with good wishes for the holiday with sly warning and suggestive advice pressing hands warmly ere they disbanded other years siegmund had lingered unwilling to take the long farewell of his associates of the orchestra other years he had left the opera-house with a little pain of regret now he laughed and took his comrade's hands and bade farewells all distractedly and with impatience the theatre awesome now in its emptiness he left gladly hastening like a flame stretched level on the wind with his black violin case he hurried down the street then halted to pity the flowers massed pallid under the gaslight of the market hall for himself the sea and the sunlight opened great spaces to-morrow

the moon was full above the river he looked at it as a man in abstraction watches some clear thing then he came to a standstill it was useless to hurry to his train the traffic swung past the lamplight shone warm on all the golden faces but siegmund had already left the city his face was silver and shadows to the moon the river in its soft gray shaking golden sequins among the folds of its shadows fell open like a garment before him to reveal the white moon glitter brilliant as living flesh mechanically overcast with the reality of the moonlight he took his seat in the train and watched the moving of things he was in a kind of trance his consciousness seeming suspended the train slid out amongst lights and dark places sigmund watched the endless movement fascinated this was one of the crises of his life for years he had suppressed his soul in a kind of mechanical despair doing his duty and enduring the rest then his soul had been softly enticed from its bondage now he was going to break free altogether to have at least a few days purely for his own joy this to a man of his integrity meant a breaking of bonds a severing of blood-ties a sort of new birth in the excitement of this last night his life power

out of his control, and he sat at the carriage window motionless, watching things move. He felt busy within him a strong activity which he could not help. Slowly the body of his past, the womb which had nourished him in one fashion for so many years, was casting him forth. He was trembling in all his body. being, though he knew not with what. All he could do now was to watch the lights go by, and to let the translation of himself continue. When at last the train ran out into the full, luminous night, and Siegman saw the meadows deep in moonlight, he quivered with a low

anticipation. The elms, great grey shadows, seemed to loiter to loiterer, in their cloaks across the pale fields. He had not seen them so before. The world was changing. The train stopped, and with a little effort he rose to go home. The night air was cool and sweet. He drank it thirstily. In the road again he lifted his face to the moon. It seemed to help him, in its brilliance amid the blondes. heavens, it seemed to transcend fretfulness. It would front the waves with silver as they slid to the shore, and Helena, looking along the coast, waiting, would lift her white hands with sudden joy. He laughed, and the moon hurried, laughing alongside, through the black masses of the trees.

He had forgotten he was going home for this night. The chill wetness of his little white garden gate reminded him, and a frown came on his face. As he closed the door and found himself in the darkness of the hall, the sense of his fatigue came fully upon him. It was an effort to go to bed. Nevertheless, he went very quietly into the drawing, There the moonlight entered, and he thought the whiteness was Helena. He held his breath and stiffened, then breathed again. Tomorrow, he thought, as he laid his violin case across the arms of a wicker chair.

But he had a physical feeling of the presence of Helena. In his shoulders he seemed to be aware of her. quickly, half lifting his arms, he turned to the moonshine. "'Tomorrow!' he exclaimed quietly, and he left the room stealthily, for fear of disturbing the children. In the darkness of the kitchen burned a blue bud of light. He quickly turned up the gas to a broad yellow flame and sat down at table. He was tired, excited, and vexed with misgiving. As he lay in his armchair, he looked round with disgust.

The table was spread with a dirty cloth that had great brown stains, betokening children. In front of him was a cup and saucer, and a small plate with a knife laid across it. The cheese, on another plate, was wrapped in a red-bordered fringed cloth to keep off the flies, which even then were crawling round on the sugar, on the loaf, on the cocoa tin. Siegmund looked at his cup. It was chipped, and a stain had gone under the glaze, so that it looked like the mark of a dirty mouth. He fetched a glass of water. The room was drab and dreary. The oilcloth was worn into a hole near the door. Boots and shoes of various sizes were scattered over the floor, while the sofa

was littered with children's clothing. In the black stove the ash lay dead, on the range were chips of wood and newspapers and rubbish of papers, and crusts of bread and crusts of bread and jam. As Siegmund walked across the floor, he crushed two sweets underfoot. He had to grope under sofa and dresser to find his slippers, and he was in evening dress. It would be the same, while ever Beatrice was Beatrice, and Siegmund her husband. He ate his bread and cheese mechanically, wondering why he was miserable, why he was not looking forward with joy to the morrow. As he ate, he had, He closed his eyes, half-wishing he had not promised Helena.

Half-wishing he had no tomorrow. Leaning back in his chair, he felt something in the way. It was a small teddy bear and half of a strong white comb. He grinned to himself. This was the summary of his domestic life, a broken coarse comb, A child crying, because her hair was lugged, a wife who had let the hair go till now, when she had got into a temper to see the job through. And then the teddy bear, pathetically cocking a black, worsted nose,

and lifting absurd arms to him. He wondered why Gwen had gone to bed without her pet. She would want the silly thing. strong feeling of affection for his children came over him, battling with something else. He sank in his chair, and gradually his baffled mind went dark. He sat, overcome with weariness and trouble, staring blankly into the space. His own stifling roused him. straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, then relaxed again.

After a while he rose, took the teddy bear and went slowly to bed. Gwen and Marjorie, aged nine and twelve, slept together in a small room. It was fairly light. He saw his favourite daughter lying quite uncovered, her willful head thrown back, her mouth half open. Her black hair was tossed across the pillow. He could see the action. Marjorie snuggled under the sheet. He placed the teddy bear between the two girls. As he watched them, he hated the children for being so dear to him. Either he himself must go under and drag on an existence he hated, or they must suffer. But he had agreed to spend this holiday

with Helena, and meant to do so. As he turned, he saw himself like a ghost cross the mirror. He looked back, he peered at himself. His hair still grew thick and dark from his brow. He could not see the grey at the temples. His eyes. were dark and tender, and his mouth under the black moustache was full of youth. He rose, looked at the children, frowned, and went to his own small rum. He was glad to be shut alone in the little cubicle of darkness. Outside the world lay in a glamorous pallor, casting shadows that made the farm, the trees, the bulks of villas look like live creatures the same pallor went all through the night glistening on helena as she lay curled up asleep at the core of the glamour like the moon

on the sea rocking backwards and forwards till it rocked her island as she slept she was so calm and full of her own assurance it was a great rest to be with her with her nothing mattered but love and the beauty of things he felt parched and starving she had rest and love like water and manner for him-and-and-money for his-he felt parched and starving she had rest and love like water and manner for him She was so strong in her self-possession, in her love of beautiful things and of dreams. The clock downstairs struck to, I must get to sleep, he said. He dragged his portmanteau from beneath the bed and began to pack it. When at last it was finished, he shut it with a snap. The click sounded final.

He stood up, stretched himself, and sighed. "'I am fearfully tired,' he said. But that was persuasive. When he was undressed, he sat in his pyjamas for some time, rapidly beating his fingers on his knee. "'Thirty-eight years old,' he said to himself, "'and disconsolate as a child.' He began to muse of the morrow.

When he seemed to be going to sleep, he woke up to find thoughts laboring over his brain, like bees on a hive. Recollections, swift thoughts flew in and delighted upon him, as wild geese swing down and take possession of a pond. Phrases from the opera tyrannized over him. He played the rhythm with all his blood. as he turned over in this torture he sighed and recognised a movement of the de berio concerto which helena had played for her last lesson he found himself watching her as he had watched then felt again the wild impatience when she was wrong started again as amid the dipping and sliding of her bow he realised where his thoughts were wrong started again as amid the dipping and sliding of her bow he realised where his thoughts were

going. She was wrong. He was hasty, and he felt her blue eyes looking intently at him. Both started as his daughter Vera entered suddenly. She was a handsome girl of nineteen. Crossing the room, brushing Helena as if she were a piece of furniture in the way, Vera had asked her father a question, in a hard, insulting tone, then had gone out again, just as if Helena had not been in the room. Helena stood fingering the score of Pellias. When Vera had gone, she asked in the peculiar tone that made Siegmund shiver. Why do you consider the music of Pellias cold?

Siegman had struggled to answer. So they passed everything off, without mention, after Helena's fashion, ignoring all that might be humiliating. And to her much was humiliating. For years she had come as a pupil to Siegmund, first as a friend of the household. Then she and Louisa went occasionally to whatever horse. or theatre had Siegmund in the orchestra, so that shortly the three formed the habit of coming home together. Then Helena had invited Siegmund to her home. Then the three friends went walks together. Then the two went walks together, whilst Louisa sheltered them. Helena had come

to read his loneliness and the humiliation of his lot. He had felt her blue eyes, heavily, steadily gazing into his soul, and he had lost himself to her. That day, three weeks before the end of the season, when Vera had so insulted Helena, the latter had said, as she put on her coat, looking at him all the while with heavy blue eyes. I think, Siegmund, I cannot come here any more. Your home is not open to me any longer. He had writhed in confusion and humiliation. As she pressed his hand closely and for a long time, she said,

I will write to you. Then she left him. Siegmund had hated his life that day. Soon she wrote. A week later, when he lay resting his head on her lap in Richmond Park, she said, You are so tired, Siegmund. She stroked his face and kissed him softly. Siegmund lay in the molten days of love.

But Helena was, if it is not to debase the word, virtuous, an inconsistent virtue, cruel and ugly for Siegman. You are so tired, dear. You must come away with me and rest, the first week in August. His blood had leapt, and whatever objections he raised, such as having no money, he allowed to be overridden. He was going to Helena, to the Isle of White. to-morrow helena with her blue eyes so full of storm like the sea but also like the sea so eternally self-sufficient solitary with her thick white throat the strongest and most wonderful thing on earth and her small hands silken and light as wind-flowers would be his to-morrow along with the sea and the downs he clung to the exquisite flame which flooded him but it died out and he thought of the return to london to beatrice and to beatrice and-and to beatrice and

the children. How would it be? Beatrice, with her furious, dark eyes, and her black hair, loosely knotted back, came to his mind as she had been the previous day, flaring with temper, when he said to her, I shall be going away to-morrow for a few days' holiday. She asked for detail, some of which she gave. Then, dissatisfied and inflamed, she broke forth in her suspicion and her abuse and her contempt, while two large-eyed children stood listening by. Segment Sigmund hated his wife for drawing on him the grave, cold looks of condemnation from his children. Something he had said touched Beatrice. She came of good family, had been brought up like a lady, educated in a convent school in France.

He evoked her old pride. She drew herself up with dignity and called the children away. He wondered if he could bear a repetition of that degradation. It bled him. of his courage and self-respect. In the morning, Beatrice was disturbed by the sharp sneck of the hall door. Immediately awake, she heard his quick, firm step hastening down the gravel path. In her impotence, discarded like a worn-out object, she lay for the moment stiff with bitterness.

I am nothing, I am nothing, she said to herself. She lay quite rigid for a time. There was no sound anywhere. The morning sunlight pierced vividly through the slits of the blind. Beatrice lay rocking herself, breathing hard, her fingernails pressing into her palm. Then came the sound of a train, slowing down in the station, and directly the quick chuff, chuff, chuff of its drawing out. Beatrice imagined the sunlight on the puffs of steam, and the two lovers, her husband and Helena, rushing through the miles of morning sunshine. God strike her dead.

Mother of God strike her down, she said aloud in a low tone. She hated Helena. Irene, who lay with her mother, woke up and began to question her. End of Chapter 2. Recording by Martin Gessen in Hazelmere Surrey. chapter three of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin gueson the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter three in the miles of morning sunshine zygman's shadows his children beatrice his sorrow dissipated like mist and he was elated as a young man setting forth to travel when he had passed portsmouth town everything had vanished but the old gay world of romance he laughed as he looked out of the carriage window below in the store

a military band passed glittering. A brave sound floated up, and again he laughed, loving the tune, the clash and glitter of the band, the movement of scarlet blithe soldiers beyond the park. People were drifting brightly from church. How could it be Sunday? It was no time. It was romance, going back to Trist's. done. Women like crocus flowers, in white and blue and lavender, moved gaily. Everywhere fluttered the small flags of holiday. Every form danced lightly in the sunshine. And beyond it all were the silent hillsides of the island, with Helena. It was so wonderful he could bear to be patient, she would be all in white with her cool thick throat left bare to the breeze her face shining smiling smiling as she dipped her head because of the sun which glistened on her uncovered hair

he breathed deeply stirring at the thought but he would not grow impatient the train had halted over the town where scarlet soldiers and ludicrous blue sailors and all the brilliant women from church shook like a kaleidoscope down the street the train crawled on drawing near to the sea for which sigmund waited breathless it was so like helena blue beautiful strong in its reserve another moment they were in the dirty station then the day flashed out and sigmund mated with joy he felt the sea heaving below him he looked round and the sea was blue as a periwinkle flower while gold and white and blood redone red sails lit here and there upon the blueness. Standing on the deck he gave himself to the breeze and to the sea, feeling like one of the ruddy sails, as if he were part of it all. All his body radiated amid the large magnificent sea-moon like a piece of colour.

The little ship began to pulse to tremble. White with the softness of a bosom, the water rose up frothing and swaying gently. Ships drew near the inquisitive birds. The old victory shook her myriad pointed flags of yellow and scarlet. The straight old houses of the quay passed by. Outside the harbour, like fierce creatures of the sea, come wildly up to look, the battleships laid their black snouts on the water.

Siegmund laughed at them. He felt the foam on his face like a sparkling, felt the blue sea gathering round. On the left stood the round fortress, quaintly checkered, and solidly alone in the walk of water amid the silent flight of the golden and crimson-winged boats. Siegmund watched the bluish bulk of the island. Like the beautiful women in the myths, his love hid in its blue haze. It seemed impossible. Behind him the white wake trailed myriads of daisies. On either hand the grim and wicked battle.

ships watched along their sharp noses. Beneath him the clear green water swung and puckered, as if it were laughing. In front Zieglander's island drew nearer, and nearer creeping towards him, bringing him Helena. Meadows and woods appeared, houses crowded down to the shore to meet him. He was in the key, and the ride was over. Siegmund regretted it. But Helena was on the island, which rode like an anchored ship and the fleets of cloud that had launched whilst Siegmund was on water. As he watched the end of the pier loom higher, large, ponderous trains of cloud cast over him the shadows of their bulk, and he shivered in the chill wind. his travelling was very slow the sky's dark shipping pressed closer and closer as if all the clouds had come to harbour over the flat lands near newport the wind moaned like the calling of many violoncello's all the sky was grey siegman waited drearily on newport's station where the wind swept cold It was Sunday, and the station and the island were desolate, having lost their purposes. Siegmund put on his overcoat, and sat down.

All his morning's blaze of elation was gone, though there still glowed a great hope. He had slept only two hours of the night. An empty man he had drunk joy. And now the intoxication was dying out. At three o'clock of the afternoon he sat alone in the second-class carriage looking out. A few raindrops struck the pain. Then the blurred dazzle of a shower came in a burst of wind, and hid the downs and the reeds that shivered in the marshy places.

Siegmund sat in a chilly torpor. He counted the station. Beneath his stupor, his heart was thudding heavily with excitement, surprising him, for his brain felt dead. The train slowed down. Yarmouth! One more station, then! Siegmund watched the platform, shiny with rain, slide past. On the dry grey under the shelter, one white passenger was waiting.

suddenly sigman's heart leapt up wrenching wildly he burst open the door and caught hold of helena she dilated gave a palpitating cry as he dragged her into the carriage you here he exclaimed in a strange tone she was shivering with cold her almost naked arms were blue she could not answer answer Siegman's question, but lay clasped against him, shivering away her last chill as his warmth invaded her. He laughed in his heart as she nestled into him. "'Is it a dream now, dear?' he whispered. Helena clasped him tightly, shuddering because of the delicious suffusing of his warmth through her. almost immediately they heard the grinding of the brakes here we are then exclaimed helena dropping into her conventional cheerful manner at once she put straight her hat while he gathered his luggage until tea-time there was a pause in their progress sigmund was tingling with an exquisite vividness as if he had taken some rare stigmat He wondered at himself.

It seemed that every fibre in his body was surprised with joy, as each tree in a forest at dawn utters astonished cries of delight. When Helena came back she sat opposite to him to see him. His naive look of joy was very sweet to her. His eyes were dark blue, showing the fibrils like a purple-veined flower at twilight, and somehow mysteriously joy seemed to quiver in the iris. Helena appreciated him, feature by feature. She liked his clear forehead with its thick black hair, and his full mouth, and his chin. She loved his hands that were small, but strong and nervous, and very white. She liked his breast, that breathed so strong and quietly,

and his arms, and his thighs, and his knees. For him, Helena was a presence. She was ambushed, fused in an aura of his love. He only saw she was white and strong, and full-fruited, He only knew her blue eyes were rather awful to him. Outside the sea mist was travelling thicker and thicker inland. Their lodging was not far from the bay. As they sat together at tea, Siegman's eyes dilated, and he looked frowning at Helena. "'What is it?' he asked, listening uneasily. Helena looked up at him from pouring out the tea.

His little anxious look of distress amused her. The noise you mean? Merely the fog-horn, dear, Not Votan's wrath nor Ziegfried's dragon. The fog was white at the window. They sat waiting. After a few seconds the sound came low, swelling, like the mooing.

of some great sea-animal, alone, the last of the monsters. The whole fog gave off the sound for a second or two, then it died down into an intense silence. Sigmund and Helena looked at each other. His eyes were full of trouble. To see a big, strong man anxious-eyed as a child because of a strange sound, a mute, her but he was tired i assure you it is only a fog-horn she laughed of course but it is a depressing sort of sound is it she said curiously why well yes i think i can understand it being so to some people it's something like the call of the horn across the sea to tristan she hummed softly then three times she sang the horn call sigmund with his face expressionless as a mask sat staring out at the mist the boom of the siren broke in upon them

to him the sound was full of fatality helena waited till the noise died down then she repeated her horn call yet it is very much like the fog-horn she said curiously interested this time next week helena he said she suddenly went heavy and stretched across to clasp his hand as it lay upon the table i shall be calling to you from cornwall she said he did not reply so often she did not take his meaning but-he did not take his meaning but-he should be calling to you from cornwall she said he did not reply so often she did not take his meaning but left him alone with his sense of tragedy. She had no idea how his life was wrenched from its roots, and when he tried to tell her, she bulked him, leaving him inwardly quite lonely. "'There is no next week,' she declared with great cheerfulness. "'There is only the present.' At the same moment she rose and slipped across to him.

Putting her arms round his neck, she stood holding his head to her bosom, pressing it close, with her hand among his hair. His nostrils and mouth were crushed against her breast. He smelled the silk of her dress and the faint intoxicating odour of her person. With shut eyes he owned heavily to himself again that she was blind to him. but some other self urged with gladness no matter how blind she was so that she pressed his face upon her she stroked and caressed his hair tremblingly clasped his head against her breast as if she would never release him then she bent to kiss his forehead he took her in his arms and they were still for a while now he wanted to blind himself with her to blaze up all his past and future in a passion worth years of living after tea they rested by the fire while she told him all the delightful things she had found she had a woman's curious passion for details a woman's peculiar attachment to certain dear trifles

he listened smiling revived by her delight and forgetful of himself she soothed him like sunshine and filled him with pleasure but he hardly attended to her words shall we go out or are you too tired no you are very tired said helena she stood by his chair looking down on him tenderly No, he replied, smiling brilliantly at her, and stretching his handsome limbs in relief. No, not at all tired now. Helena continued to look down on him in quiet, covering tenderness, but she quailed before the brilliant questioning gaze of his eyes. You must go to bed early to-night, she said, turning aside her face. ruffling his soft black hair. He stretched slightly, stiffening his arms, and smiled without answering.

It was a very keen pleasure to be thus alone with her, and in her charge. He rose, bidding her wrap herself up against the fog. You are sure you're not too tired, she reiterated. He laughed. outside the sea-mist was white and woolly they went hand in hand it was cold so she thrust her hand with his into the pocket of his overcoat while they walked together i like the mist he said pressing her hand in his pocket i don't dislike it she replied shrinking nearer to him it puts us together by ourselves he said. She plodded alongside, bowing her head, not replying. He did not mind her silence. It couldn't have happened better for us than this mist, he said. She laughed curiously, almost with a sound of tears. Why, she asked, half tenderly, half bitterly.

There is nothing else but you, and for you. there is nothing else but me. Look. He stood still. They were on the downs, so that Helena found herself quite alone with the man in a world of mist. Suddenly she flung herself sobbing against his breast. He held her closely, tenderly, not knowing what it was all about, but happy and unafraid. hollow place the siren from the needles seemed to bellow full in their ears. Both Siegmund and Helena felt their emotion too intense. They turned from it. What is the pitch? asked Helena. Where it is horizontal? It slides up a chromatic scale,

said Siegmund. Yes, but the settled pitch. Is it about E? e exclaimed sigmund more like f nay listen said helena they stood still and waited till there came the long booing of the fog-horn there exclaimed sigmund imitating the sound that is not e he repeated the sound it is f surely it is ee persisted helena even f sharp he rejoined humming the note she laughed and told him to climb the chromatic scale but you agree he said i do not she replied the fog was cold it seemed to rob them of their courage to talk what is the note in tristan helena made an effort to ask that is not the same he replied no dear that is not the same she said in low comforting tones he quivered at the caress she put her arms round him reached up her face yearningly for a kiss he forgot they were standing in the public footpath in daylight till she drew hastily away she heard footsteps she heard footstep down the fog.

As they climbed the path the mist grew thinner, till it was only a grey haze at the top. There they were, on the turfy lip of the land. The sky was fairly clear overhead. Below them the sea was singing hoarsely to itself. Helena drew him to the edge of the cliff. He crushed her hand, drawing slightly back, but it pleased her to feel the grip on her hand becoming unbearable. They stood right on the edge, to see the smooth cliff slope into the mist under which the sea

stirred noisily. "'Shall we walk over, then?' said Siegman, glancing downwards. helena's heart stood still a moment at the idea then beat heavily how could he play with the idea of death and the five great days in front she was afraid of him just then come away dear she pleaded he would then forego the few consummate days it was bitterness it was bitterness to her to think so-and-he would then forego the few consummate days it was bitterness to her to think so come away dear she repeated drawing him slowly to the path you are not afraid he asked not afraid no her voice had that peculiar reedy harsh quality that made him shiver it is too easy a way he said satirically she did not take in his meaning And five days of our own before us, Siegmund, she scolded. The mist is leithy. It is enough for us if its spell lasts five days.

He laughed and took her in his arms, kissing her very closely. They walked on joyfully, locking behind them the doors of forgetfulness. As the sun set, the fog displayed. a little. Breaking masses of mist went flying from cliff to cliff, and far away beyond the cliffs the western sky stood dimmed with gold. The lovers wandered aimlessly over the golf links to where green mounds and turfed banks suggested to Helena that she was tired and would sit down. They faced the lighted chamber of the west whence behind the torn dull-gold curtains of fog the sun was departing with pomp sigmund sat very still watching the sunset

it was a splendid flaming bridal chamber where he had come to helena he wondered how to express it how other men had borne this same glory what is the music of it he asked she glanced at him his eyelids were half lowered his mouth slightly open as if in ironic rhapsody of what dear what music do you think holds the best interpretation of sunset his skin was gold his real mood was intense she revered him for a moment i do not know she said quietly and she rested her head against his shoulder looking out west there was a space of silence while sigmund dreamed on. A Beethoven symphony, the one, and he explained to her. She was not satisfied, but leaned against him, making her choice. The sunset hung steady. She could scarcely perceive a change. The grail music in Lowengrin, she decided. Yes, said Siegmund. He found it quite other.

otherwise, but did not trouble to dispute. He dreamed by himself. This displeased her. She wanted him for herself. How could he leave her alone while he watched the sky? She almost put her two hands over his eyes. of Chapter 3. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmea, Surrey. Chapter 4 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence. Chapter 4. The Gold March of Sunset passed quickly, the ragged curtains of mist closed too. Soon Siegmund and Helena were shut alone within the dense, wide fog.

She shivered with the cold and the damp. Startled he took her in his arms, where she lay and clung to him. Holding her closely, he bent forward, straight to her lips. His moustache was drenched, cold with fog, so that she shuddered slightly after his kiss and shuddered again he did not know why the strong tremor passed through her thinking it was with fear and with cold he undid his overcoat put her close on his breast and covered her as best he could that she feared him at that moment was half pleasure half shame to him pleadingly he hid his face on her shoulder held her very tightly till his face grew hot buried against her soft strong throat you are so big i can't hold you she whispered plaintively catching her breath with fear her small hands grasped at the breadth of his shoulders ineffectually

you will be cold put your hands under my coat he whispered he put her inside his overcoat and his coat she came to his warm breast with a sharp intaking of delight and fear she tried to make her hands meet in the warmth of his shoulders tried to clasp him see i can't she whispered he laughed he laughed short, and pressed her closer. Then, tucking her head in his breast, hiding her face, she timidly slid her hands along his sides, pressing softly to find the contours of his figure. Softly her hands crept over the silky back of his waistcoat, under his coats, and as they stirred, his blood flushed up, and up again with fire. till all sigmund was hot blood and his breast was one great ache he crushed her to him crushed her in upon the ache of his chest his muscles set hard and unyielding at that moment he was a tense vivid body of flesh without a mind his blood alive and conscious running towards her

he remained perfectly still locked about helena conscious of nothing she was hurt and crushed but it was pain delicious to her it was marvellous to her how strong he was to keep up that grip of her like steel she swooned in a kind of intense bliss at length she found herself released taking a great breath while sigmund was moving his mouth over her throat something like a dog snuffing her but with his lips her heart leaped away in revulsion his moustache thrilled her strangely his lips brushing and his lips brushing and his lips brushing and her, pressing her throat beneath the ear, and his warm breath flying rhythmically upon her, made her vibrate through all her body. Like a violin under the bow, she thrilled beneath his mouth and shuddered from his moustache. Her heart was like fire in her breast. Suddenly she strained madly to him, and drawing back her head,

placed her lips on his close till at the mouth they seemed to melt and fuse together it was the long supreme kiss in which man and woman have one being two in one the only hermaphrodite when helena drew away her lips she was exhausted she belonged to that class of dreaming women-i she belonged to that class of dreaming women-and-a-maphrodite when helena drew away her lips she was exhausted she belonged to that class of dreaming women with whom passion exhausts itself at the mouth her desire was accomplished in a real kiss the fire in heavy flames had poured through her to siegmund and from siegment to her it sank and she felt herself flagging she had not the man's brightness and vividness of blood she lay upon his breast dreaming how beautiful it would be to go to sleep to swoon unconscious there on that rare bed she lay still on sigmund's breast listening to his heavily beating heart with her the dream was always more than the actuality her dream of sigmund was more to her than sigmund himself he might be less than her dream which is as it may be however to the real man she was very cruel he held her close his dream was melted in his blood and his blood ran bright for her his dreams were the flowers of his blood

hers were more detached and inhuman for centuries a certain type of woman has been rejecting the animal inhuman till now her dreams are abstract and full of fantasy and her blood runs in bondage and her kindness is full of cruelty helena lay flagging upon the breast of siegmund he folded her closely and his mouth and his breath were warm on her neck she sank away from his caresses passively subtly drew back from him he was far too sensitive not to be aware of this and far too much of a man not to yield to the woman his heart sank his blood grew sullen at her withdrawal still he held her the two held her the two were motionless and silent for some time she became distressedly conscious that her feet which lay on the wet grass were aching with cold she said softly gently as if he was her child whom she must correct and lead i think we ought to go home sigmund he made a small sound that might mean anything but did not stir or release her his mouth however remained motionless on her throat and the caress went out of it it is cold and wet dear we ought to go she coaxed determinedly soon he said thickly she sighed waited a moment then said very gently as if she were loth to take him from his pleasure

Siegmund, I am cold. There was a reproach in this which angered him. "'Cold!' he exclaimed. "'But you are warm with me.' "'But my feet are out on the grass, dear, and they are like wet pebbles.' "'Oh, dear,' he said, "'why didn't you give them me to warm?' He leaned forward and put his hand on her shoes. they are very cold he said we must hurry and make them warm when they rose her feet were so numbed she could hardly stand she clung to siegmund laughing

i wish you had told me before he said i ought to have known vexed with himself he put his arm round her and they set off home End of Chapter 4. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 5 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence. Chapter 5.

They found the fire burning brightly in their room. The only other person in the pretty, stiffly furnished cottage was their landlady, a charming old lady, who let this sitting-room more for the change, for the sake of having visitors, than for gain. Helila introduced Siegmund as, My Friend. The old lady smiled upon him. He was big and good-looking, and embarrassed. She had had a son, years back, and the two were lovers. She hoped they would come to her house for their honeymoon. Siegmund sat in his great horse-hair chair by the fire, while Helena attended to the lamp. Glancing at him over the glowing globe, she found him watching her with a small, peculiar smile of irony and anger, and bewilderment. He was not

quite himself. Her hand trembled so she could scarcely adjust the wicks. Helena left the room to change her dress. I shall be back before Mrs. Curtis brings in the tray. There is the Nietzsche I brought. He did not answer as he watched her go. Left alone he sat with his arms along his knees, perfectly still. His heart beat heavily, and all his being felt sullen, watchful, aloof, like a bulked animal. Thoughts came up in his brain like bubbles, random, hissing out aimlessly. Once, in the startling inflammability of his blood, his veins ran hot, and he smiled. When Helena entered the room, his eyes sought her swiftly, as sparks lighting on the tinder, but her eyes were only moist with tenderness. His look instantly changed. She wondered at his being so silent, so strange. Coming to him in her unhesitating womanly way, she was only twenty-six to him. his 38. She stood before him, holding both his hands and looking down on him with almost gloomy tenderness.

She wore a white dress that showed her throat, gathering like a fountain jet of solid foam to balance her head. He could see the full white arms, passing clear through the dripping spume of lace towards the rise of her breast. rest. But her eyes bent down upon him with such gloom of tenderness that he dared not reveal the passion burning in him. He could not look at her. He strove, almost pitifully, to be with her sad, tender, but he could not put out his fire. She held both his hands firm, pressing them in appeal for her. her dream love he glanced at her wistfully then turned away she waited for him she wanted his caresses and tenderness he would not look at her he would like supper now dear she asked looking where the dark hair ended and his neck ran smooth under his collar to the strong setting of his shoulders just as you will he replied still she waited and still he would not look at her something troubled him she thought he was foreign to her i will spread the cloth then she said in deep tones of resignation she pressed his hands closely and let them drop he took no notice but still with his arms on his knees he stared into the fire in the golden glow of lamplight she set small bowls of white and lavender sweet peas and mignonette upon the round table

he watched her moving saw the stir of her white sloping shoulders under the lace and the hollow of her shoulders firm as marble and the slight rise and fall of her loins as she walked he felt he felt as if his breast were scalded it was a physical pain to him supper was very quiet helena was sad and gentle he had a peculiar enigmatic look in his eyes between suffering and mockery and love he was quite intractable he would not soften to her but remained there aloof he was tired and the look of weariness and suffering was evident to her through his strangeness in her heart she wept at last she tinkled the bell for supper to be cleared meanwhile restlessly she played fragments of wagner on the piano will you want anything else asked the smiling old landlady nothing at all thanks said helena with decision oh then i think i will go to bed when i've washed the dishes you will put the lamp out dear i am well used to a lamp smiled helena we used them always at home she had had a day before sigman's coming in which to win mrs curtis's heart and she had been successful the old lady took the tray good-night dear good-night sir i will leave you you will not be long dear

no we shall not be long mr mcnair is very evidently tired out yes yes it is very tiring london when the door was closed helena stood a moment undecided looking at siegmund he was lying in his arm-chair in a dispirited way and looking into the fire as she gazed at him with troubled eyes he happened to glance to her with the same dark curiously searching disappointed eyes shall i read to you she asked bitterly if you will he replied he sounded so indifferent she could scarcely refrain from crying she went and stood in front of him looking down on him heavily what is it dear she said you he replied smiling with a little grimace why me he smiled at her ironically then closed his eyes she slid into his arms with a little moan he took her on his knee where she curled up like a heavy white cat she let him caress her with his mouth and did not move but lay there curled up and quiet and luxuriously warm he kissed her hair which was beautifully fresh he kissed her hair which was beautifully fragrant of itself and time after time drew between his lips one long keen thread as if he would ravell out with his mouth a vigorous confusion of hair his tenderness of love was like a soft flame lapping her voluptuously after a while they heard the old lady go upstairs

Helena went very still and seemed to contract. Siegmund himself hesitated in his love-making. All was very quiet. They could hear the faint breathing of the sea. Presently the cat, which had been sleeping in a chair, rose and went to the door. "'Shall I let her out?' said Siegmund. "'Do,' said Helena.

slipping from his knee she goes out when the nights are fine sigmund rose to set free the tabby hearing the front door open mrs curtis called from upstairs is that you dear i have just let kitty out said sigmund ah thank you good-night they heard the old lady lock her bedroom door helena was kneeling on the hearth sigmund softly closed the door then waited a moment his heart was beating fast shall we sit by firelight he asked tentatively yes if you wish she replied very slowly as if against her will he carefully turned down the lamp then blew out the light his whole body was burning and surging with desire the room was black and red with firelight helena shone ruddyly as she knelt a bright bowed figure full in the glow now and then red stripes of firelight leapt across the walls sigmund his face ruddy advanced out of the shadows he sat in the chair beside her leaning forward his hands hanging like two scarlet flowers listless in the fire-glow near to her as she knelt on the hearth with head bowed down one of the flowers awoke and spread towards her it asked for her mutely she was fascinated scarcely able to move

come he pleaded softly she turned lifted her hands to him the lace fell back and her arms bare to the shoulder shone rosily he saw her breasts raised towards him her face was bent between her arms as she looked up at him afraid lit by the firelight in her white clinging dress cowering between her uplifted arms she seemed to be offering him herself to sacrifice in an instant he was kneeling and she was lying on his shoulder abandoned to him there was a good deal of sorrow in his joy it was eleven o'clock when helena at last loosened Siegman's arms, and rose from the armchair where she lay beside him. She was very hot, feverish and restless. For the last half hour he had lain absolutely still, with his heavy arms about her, making her hot. If she had not seen his eyes blue and dark, she would have thought him asleep. She tossed in restlessness

on his breast. Am I not uneasy? She had said, to make him speak. He had smiled gently. It is wonderful to be as still as this, he said. She had lain tranquil with him then for a few moments. To her there was something sacred in his stillness and peace. She wondered at him.

He was so different from an hour ago. How could he be the same? Now he was like the sea, blue and hazy in the morning, musing by itself. Before he was burning, volcanic, as if he would destroy her. She had given him this new soft beauty. She was the earth in which his strange flowers grew. But she herself wondered at the flowers. produced of her he was so strange to her so different from herself what next would he ask of her what new blossom would she rear in him then he seemed to grow and flower involuntarily she merely helped to produce him helena could not keep still her body was full of strange sensationali she merely helped to produce him helena could not keep still her body was full of strange sensation

of involuntary recoil from shock she was tired but restless all the time Siegmund lay with his hot arms over her himself so incomprehensible in his base of blue open-eyed slumber she grew more breathless and unbearable to herself at last she lifted his arm and drew herself out of the chair. Siegmund looked at her from his tranquillity. She put the damp hair from her forehead, breathed deep, almost panting. Then she glanced hauntingly at her flushed face in the mirror. With the same restlessness she turned to look at the night. cool, dark, watery sea called to her. She pushed back the curtain. The moon was wading deliciously through shallows of white cloud. Beyond the trees and the few houses was the great concave of darkness, the sea and the moonlight. The moon was there to put a cool hand of

absolution on her brow. Shall we go out a moment, Siegmund? She asked fretfully. I, if you wish to, he answered, altogether willing. He was filled with an easiness that would comply with her every wish. They went out softly, walked in silence to the bay. There they stood at the head of the white living moon-pull. where the water whispered at the casement of the land seductively it's the finest night i have seen said siegmund

helena's eyes suddenly filled with tears at his simplicity of happiness i like the moon on the water she said i can hardly tell the one from the other he replied simply the sea seems to be poured out of the moon and rocking in the hands of the coast they are all one just as your eyes and hands and what you say are all you yes she answered thrilled this was the segment of her dream and she had created him yet there was a quiver of pain he was beyond her now and did not need her i feel at home here he said as if i had come home where i was bred she pressed his hand hard clinging to him we go an awful long way round helena he said just to find we're all right he laughed pleasantly i have thought myself such an outcast how can one be outcast in one's own night and the moon always naked to us and the sky half her time in rags what do we want helena did not know nor did she know what he meant but she felt something of the harmony whatever i have or haven't from now he continued the darkness is a sort of mother and the moon a sister and the star's children and sometimes the the sea is a brother, and there's a family in one house, you see.'

"'And I, Siegmund,' she said softly, taking him in all seriousness. She looked up at him piteously. He saw the silver of tears among the moonlit ivory of her face. His heart tightened with tenderness, and he laughed, then bent to kiss her. The key of the castle, he said. He put his face against hers, and felt on his cheek the smart of her tears. It's all very grandiose, he said comfortably. But it does for tonight all this that I say. It is true for ever, she declared.

Insofar as tonight is eternal, he said. He remained with the wetness of her cheek smarting on his, looking from under his brows at the white transport of the water beneath the moon. They stood folded together, gazing into the white heart of the night. End of Chapter 5. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmea, Surrey. Chapter 6 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 6. Siegmund woke with wonder in the morning. morning. It is like the magic tales, he thought, as he realized where he was. And I am transported to a new life, to realize my dream. Fairy tales are true, after all. He had slept very deeply, so that he felt strangely new. He issued with delight from the dark of sleep into the sunshine. out his hand he felt for his watch. It was seven o'clock. The dew of a sleep-drenched night

glittered before his eyes. Then he laughed and forgot the night. The creeper was tapping at the window as a little wind blew up the sunshine. Siegman put out his hands for the unfolding happiness of the morning. Helena was in the next room, which she was kept in violet. Sparrows in the creeper were shaking shadows of leaves among the sunshine. Milk-white shallop of cloud stemmed bravely across the bright sky. The sea would be blossoming with a dewy shimmer of sunshine. Siegmund rose to look, and it was so. Also the houses like white and red and black cattle were wandering down the bay, with a mist of sunshine between him and them. He leaned with his hands on the window-ledge, looking out of the casement.

The breeze ruffled his hair, blew down the neck of his sleeping jacket upon his chest. He laughed, hastily threw on his clothes, and went out. There was no sign of Helena. He strode along, singing to himself, and spinning his towel rhythmically. A small pass led him across a field, and down a zigzag in front of the cliffs. Some nooks sheltered from the wind were warm with sunshine, scented of honeysuckle and of time. He took a sprig of woodbine that was coloured of cream. and butter. The grass wetted his brown shoes and his flannel trousers. Again a breeze put the

scent of the sea in his uncovered hair. The cliff was a tangle of flowers, above and below, with poppies at the lip being blown out like red flame, and scabious leaning inquisitively to look down, and pink and white rest-harrow everywhere, very pretty sigmund stood at a bend where heath blossomed in shaggy lilac where the sunshine but no wind came he saw the blue bay curl away to the far-off headland a few birds white and small circled dipped by the thin foam edge of the water a few ships dimmed the sea with silent travelling a few small a few small people dark or naked white moved below the swinging birds he chose his bathing place where the incoming tide had half covered a stretch of fair bright sand that was studded with rocks resembling square altars hollowed on top he threw his clothes on a high rock it delighted him to feel the fresh soft fingers of the wind touching him and wandering timidly over his nakedness he ran laughing over the sand to the sea where he waded in thrusting his legs noisily through the heavy green water

it was cold and he shrank for a moment he found himself sigh deep watching the horizontal stealing of a ship through the intolerable glitter afraid to plunge Laughing, he went under the clear green water. He was a poor swimmer. Sometimes a choppy wave swamped him, and he rose gasping, wringing the water from his eyes and nostrils, while he heaved and sank with the rocking of the waves that clasped his breast.

Then he stooped again to resume his game with the sea. It is splendid to play, even at middle age, and the sea is a fine partner. With his eyes at the shining level of the water, he liked to peer across, taking a seal's view of the cliffs as they confronted the morning. He liked to see the ships standing up on a bright floor. He liked to see the birds come down.

But in his playing he drifted towards the spur of wrenes, rock, where, as he swam, he caught his thigh on a sharp, submerged point. He frowned at the pain, at the sudden cruelty of the sea. Then he thought no more of it, but ruffled his way back to the clear water, busily continuing his play. When he ran out under the fair sand, his heart and brain and body were in a turmoil. He panted, filling his breast with the air that was sparkled and tasted of the sea. As he shuddered a little, the wilful palpitations of his flesh pleased him, as if birds

had fluttered against him. He offered his body to the morning, glowing with the sea's passion. The wind nestled into him. The sunshine came on his shoulders like warm breast. He delighted in himself. The rock before him was white and wet like himself. It had a pool of clear water, with shells and one rose anemone. She would make so much of this little pool, he thought.

And as he smiled he saw very faintly his own shadow in the water. It made him conscious of himself, seeming to look at him. He glanced at himself at his handsome white maturity. As he looked, he felt the insidious creeping of blood down his thigh, which was marked with a long red slash. Siegmund watched the blood travel over the bright skin. It wound itself redly around the rise of his knee. That is I, that creeping red, and this whiteness I pride myself on his eye, and my black hair, and my blue eyes are I.

It is a weird thing to be a person. What makes me myself among all these? Feeling chill he wiped himself quickly. I am at my best, at my strong. he said proudly to himself she ought to be rejoiced at me but she is not she rejects me as if i were a baboon under my clothing he glanced at his whole handsome maturity the firm plating of his breasts the full thighs creatures proud in themselves only he was marred by the long raw scratch which he regretted deeply. If I was giving her myself, I wouldn't want that blemish on me, he thought.

He wiped the blood from the wound. It was nothing. She thinks ten thousand times more of that little pool, with a bit of pink anemone and some yellow weed than of me. But by Jove, I'd rather see her shoulders and breast than all heaven and earth. put together could show. Why doesn't she like me? he thought as he dressed. It was his physical self-thinking. After dabbling his feet in a warm pool, he returned home. Helena was in the dining-room, arranging a bowl of purple pansies. She looked up at him

rather heavily as he stood radiant on the threshold. He put her at her evening. It was a gay, handsome boy she had to meet, not a man, strange and insistent. She smiled on him with tender dignity. You have bathed, she said, smiling and looking at his damp, ruffled black hair. She shrank from his eyes, but he was quite unconscious. You have not bathed, he said, then bent to kiss her. She smelt the brine in his hair. No, I bathe later, she replied.

But what? Hesitating, she touched the towel, then looked up at him anxiously. It is blood, she said. I crazed my thigh, nothing at all, he replied. Are you sure? He laughed. The towel looks bad enough, she said. it's an alarmist he laughed she looked in concern at him then turned aside breakfast is quite ready she said and i for breakfast but shall i do

she glanced at him he was without a collar so his throat was bare above the neck-band of his flannel shirt altogether she disapproved of his slovenly appearance he was usually so smart in his dress I would not trouble, she said, almost sarcastically. Whistling he threw the towel on a chair. How did you sleep? she asked gravely, as she watched him beginning to eat. Like the dead, solid, he replied, and you? Oh, pretty well, thanks, she said, rather piqued that he had slept so deeply, whilst she had tossed and had called his name in a torture of sleeplessness. I haven't slept like that for years, he said enthusiastically.

Helena smiled gently on him. The charm of his handsome, healthy zest came over her. She liked his naked throat and his shirt-breast, which suggested the breast of the man beneath it. She was extraordinarily happy with him so bright. The dark-faced pansies in a little crowd seemed gaily winking a golden eye at her. After breakfast, while Siegmund dressed, she went down to the sea. She dwelt as she passed on all tiny, pretty things,

on the barbaric yellow ragwort and pink convolvuli, on all the twinkling of flowers and dew and snail tracks drying in the sun. Her walk was one long lingering. More than the spaces, she loved the nooks, and fancy more than imagination. She wanted to see just as she pleased, without any of humanity's previous vision for spectacles. So she knew hardly any flower's name,

nor perceived any of the relationships, nor cared a jot about an adaptation or a modification. It pleased her that the lowest browny florets of the clover hung down. She cared no more. She clothed everything in fancy. that yellow flower hadn't time to be brushed and combed by the fairies before dawn came it is tousled so she thought to herself the pink convolvially were fairy horns or telephones from the day fairies to the night fairies the rippling sunlight on the sea was the rhine maidens spreading their bright hair to the sun that was her favourite form of thinking the value of all things was in the fancy they evoked she did not care for people they were vulgar ugly and stupid as a rule

her sense of satisfaction was complete as she leaned on the low sea wall spreading her fingers to warm on the stones concocting magic out of the simple moor morning. She watched the indolent chasing of wavelets round the small rocks, the curling of the deep blue water round the water-shadowed reefs. "'This is very good,' she said to herself. "'This is eternally cool and clean and fresh. It could never be spoiled by satiety.' she tried to wash herself with the white and blue morning to clear away the soiling of the last night's passion the sea played by itself intent on its own game its aloofness its self-sufficiency are its great charm the sea does not give and take like the land and the sky it has no traffic with the world it spends its passion upon itself helena was something like the sea self-sufficient and careless of the rest siegmund came bareheaded his black hair ruffling to the wind his eyes shining warmer than the sea-like corn-flowers rather his limbs swinging backward and forward like the water

together they leaned on the wall warming the four white hands upon the gray bleached stone as they watched the water playing when sigmund had helena near he lost the ache the yearning towards something which he always felt otherwise she seemed to connect him with the beauty of things as if she were the nerve through which he received intelligence of the sun and wind and sea and of the moon and the darkness beauty she never felt herself came to him through her it is that makes love he could always sympathize with the wistful little flowers and trees lonely in their crowds and wild sad sea-birds in these things he recognized the great yearning the ache outwards towards something with which he was ordinarily burdened but with helena in this large sea-morning he was whole and perfect as the day "'Will it be fine all day?' he asked, when a cloud came over. "'I don't know,' she replied in her gentle, inattentive manner,

"'as if she did not care at all. "'I think it will be a mixed day, cloud and sun, more sun than cloud.' She looked up gravely to see if he agreed. He turned from frowning at the cloud to smile at her. He seemed so bright, teeming with life. I like a bare blue sky, he said, sunshine that you seem to stir about as you walk. It is warm enough here, even for you, she smiled.

Ah, here, he answered, putting his face down to receive the radiation from the stone, letting his fingers creep towards Helena's. She laughed and captured his fingers, pressing them into her hand. For nearly an hour they remained thus in the still sunshine by the sea-wall, till Helena began to sigh, and to lift her face to the little breeze that wandered down from the west. She fled as soon from warmth as from cold. Physically she was always so. she shrank from anything extreme.

But psychically, she was an extremist, and a dangerous one. They climbed the hill to the fresh-breathing west. On the highest point of land stood a tall cross, railed in by a red-iron fence. They read the inscription. That's all right, but a vilely ugly railing, exclaimed Siegmund. "'Oh, they'd have to fence in Lord Tennyson's white marble,' said Helena, rather indefinitely.

He interpreted her according to his own idea. "'Yes, he did belittle great things, didn't he?' said Siegmund. "'Tennyson!' she exclaimed. "'Not peacocks and princesses, but the bigger things.' i shouldn't say so she declared he sounded indeterminate but was not really so they wandered over the downs westward among the wind as they followed the headland to the needles they felt the breeze from the wings of the sea brushing them and heard restless poignant voices screaming below the cliffs now and again a gull like a piece of spume flung up rose over the cliff's edge and sank again now and again as the path dipped in a hollow they could see the low suspended intertwining of the birds passing in and out of the cliff shelter these savage birds appealed to all the poetry and yearning in helena they fascinated her they almost voiced her

she crept nearer and nearer the edge feeling she must watch the gulls thread out in flakes of white above the weed-black rocks sigmund stood away back anxiously he would not dare to tempt fate now having too strong a sense of death to risk it come back dear don't go so near he pleaded following as close as he might she heard the pain and appeal in his voice it thrilled her and she went a little nearer what was death to her but one of her symbols the death of her symbols the death of which the sagas talk, something grand and sweeping and dark. Leaning forward, she could see the line of grey sand, and the line of foam broken by black rocks, and over all the gulls, stirring round like froth on a pot, screaming in chorus. She watched the beautiful birds, heard the pleading of Siegmund, and she thrilled with her. with pleasure, toying with his keen anguish.

Helena came smiling to Siegmund, saying, They look so fine down there. He fastened his hands upon her as a relief from his pain. He was filled with a keen, strong anguish of dread, like a presentiment. She laughed as he gripped her. They went searching for a wretched. way of descent. At last Siegmund inquired of the Coast Guard the nearest way down the cliff.

He was pointed to the path of the hundred steps. "'When is a hundred not a hundred?' he said sceptically, as they descended the dazzling white chalk. There were sixty-eight steps. Helen laughed at his exactitude. It must be a love of round numbers, he said. No doubt, she laughed. He took the thing so seriously. Or of exaggeration, he added. There was a shelving beach of warm white sand, bleached soft as velvet.

A sounding of gulls filled the dark recesses of the headland. A low chatter of shingle, came from where the easy water was breaking, the confused shell-like murmur of the sea between the folded cliffs. Siegmund and Helena lay side by side upon the dry sand, small as two resting birds, while thousands of gulls whirled in a white-flaked storm above them, and the great cliffs towered beyond,

and high up over the cliffs the multitudinous clouds were travelling a vast caravan en route. Amidst the journeying of oceans and clouds and the circling flight of heavy spheres, lost to sight in the sky, Siegmund and Helena, two grains of life in the vast movement, were travelling a moment, side. by side. They lay on the beach like a grey and a white sea-bird together. The lazy ships that were idling down the solent observed the cliffs and the boulders, but Siegmund and Helena were too little. They lay ignored and insignificant, watching through half-closed fingers the diverse caravan of day go past. They lay with their latticed fingers over their eyes, looking out at the sailing of ships across their vision of blue water. Now that one with the greyish sails, Siegmund was saying.

Like a housewife of forty, going placidly round with the duster. Yes? Interrupted Helena. That is a schooner. You see her. for sails, and he continued to classify the shipping, until he was interrupted by the wicked laughter of Helena. "'That is right, I am sure,' he protested. "'I won't contradict you,' she laughed, in a tone which showed him he knew even less of the classifying of ships than she did. "'So you have lain there amusing yourself at my heart.

expense all the time, he said, not knowing in the least why she laughed. They turned and looked at one another, blue eyes smiling and wavering as the beach wavers in the heat. Then they closed their eyes with sunshine. Drowsed by the sun and the white sand and the foam, their thoughts slept like butterflies on the flowers of delight. But cold shadows startled them up. The clouds are coming, he said regretfully. Yes, but the wind is quite strong enough for them, she answered. Look at the shadows, like blocks floating away. Don't they devour the sunshine? It is quite warm enough here, she said, nestling into him. Yes, but the sting is missing. I like to feel the warmth biting in.

No, I do not. To be cosy is enough. I like the sunshine on me, real and manifest and tangible. I feel like a seed that has been frozen for ages. I want to be bitten by the sunshine. She leaned over and kissed him. kissed him. The sun came bright-footed over the water, leaving a shining print on Siegman's face. He lay with half-closed eyes, sprawled loosely on the sand. Looking at his limbs, she imagined he must be heavy, like the boulders. She sat over him, with her fingers stroking his eyebrows, that were broad and rather arched he lay perfectly still in a half-dream presently she laid her head on his breast and remained so watching the sea and listening to his heart beats the throb was strong and deep it seemed to go through the whole island and the whole afternoon and it fascinated her

so deep unheard with its great expulsions of life had the world a heart was there also deep in the world a great waves of life-and there also deep in the world a great god thudding out waves of life like a great heart unconscious it frightened her this was the god she knew not as she knew not this seagmond it was so different from the half-shut eyes with black lashes and the winsome shapely nose and the heart of the world as she heard it could not be the same as the curling splash of retreat of the little sleepy waves she listened for seekman's soul but his heart overbeat all other sound thudding powerfully end of chapter six recording by martin geesean in hazelma a surrey chapter seven of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin gison the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter seven sigmund woke to the muffled firing of guns on the sea he looked across at the shaggy gray water in wonder then he turned to helena i suppose he said they are saluting the tsar poor beggar i was afraid of the i was afraid they would wake you she smiled they listened again to the hollow dull sound of salutes from across the water and the downs the day had gone gray they decided to walk down below to the next bay

the tide is coming in said helena but this broad strip of sand hasn't been wet for months it's as soft as pepper he replied. They laboured along the shore, beside the black, sinuous line of shriveled fucus. The base of the cliff was piled with chalk debris. On the other side was the level plain of the sea. Hand in hand, alone and overshadowed by huge cliffs, they toiled on.

The waves staggered in and fell, overcome at the end of the race. Siegmund and Helena neared a headland, sheer as the side of a house, its base weighted with a tremendous white mass of boulders, that the green sea broke amongst with a hollow sound, followed by a sharp hiss of withdrawal. The lovers had to cross this desert of white boulders that glistened in smooth skin, uncannily. But Siegmund saw the waves were almost at the wall of the headland.

Glancing back, he saw the other headland white dashed at the base with foam. He and Helena must hurry, or they would be prisoned on the thin crescent of strand still remaining between the great wall and the water. The cliffs overhead oppressed him, made him feel trapped. and helpless. He was caught by them in a net of great boulders, while the sea fumbled for him. But he and Helena! She laboured strenuously beside him, blinded by the skin-like glisten of the white rock. I think I will rest a while, she said. No, come along, he begged.

My dear, she laughed, there is ten. Tons of this shingle to buttress us from the sea. He looked at the waves curving and driving maliciously at the boulders. It would be ridiculous to be trapped. Look at this black wood, she said. Does the sea really char it? Let us get round the corner, he begged. Really, Siegmund, the sea is not so anxious to take us, she said, ironically. When they rounded the first point, they found themselves in a small bay jutted out to sea. The front of the headland was, as usual, grooved. This bay was pure white at the

base, from its great heaped mass of shingle. With the huge concave of the cliff behind, the foothold of the masked white boulders and the immense arc of the sea in full. front. Helena was delighted. This is fine, Siegmund, she said, halting and facing west. Smiling ironically, he sat down on a boulder. They were quite alone in this great white niche thrust out to sea. Here he could see the tide would beat the base of the wall. It came plunging not far from their feet.

would you really like to travel beyond the end he asked she looked round quickly thrilled then answered as if in rebuke this is a fine place i should like to stay here an hour and then where then oh then i suppose it would be tea-time tea on brine and pink anemones with daddy neptune she looked sharply at the out jutting capes the sea did foam perilously near their bases i suppose it is rather risky she said and she turned began silently to clamber forwards he followed she should set the pace i have no doubt there's plenty of rum really he said the sea only looks near but she should set the pace but she has no doubt there's plenty of rum really he said the sea only looks near but she toiled on intently now it was a question of danger not of inconvenience sigmund felt elated the waves foamed up as it seemed against the exposed headland from which the massive shingle had been swept back supposing they could not get by he began to smile curiously he became aware of the tremendous noise of waters of the slight shudder of the shingle when a wave struck it and he always laughed to himself helena laboured on in silence he kept just behind her the point seemed near but it took longer than they thought they had against them the tremendous cliff the enormous weight of shingle and the swinging sea the waves struck the waves struck

struck louder, booming fearfully. Wind sweeping round the corner wet their faces. Siegman hoped they were cut off, and hoped anxiously the way was clear. The smile became set on his face. Then he saw there was a ledge or platform at the base of the cliff, and it was against this the waves broke. They climbed the edge of this ridge, hurried round. to the front. There the wind caught them, wet and furious. The water raged below. Between the two, Helena shrank, wilted. She took hold of Siegmund. The great brutal wave flung itself at the rock, then drew back for another heavy spring. Fume and spray were spun on the wind like smoke. thud of the waves reminded Helena of a beating heart. She clung closer to him as her hair was blown out damp,

and her white dress flapped in the wet wind. Always against rock came the slow thud of the waves, like a great heart beating under the breast. There was something brutal about it that she could not bear. She had no weapon against brute force. She glanced up at Siegmund. Tiny drops of mist greyed his eyebrows. He was looking out to sea, screwing up his eyes, and smiling brutally. Her face became heavy and sullen. He was like the heart and the brute sea, just here.

He was not hurt. Sigmund. She hated the brute in him. Turning suddenly, she plunged over the shingle towards the wide populous bay. He remained alone, grinning at the smashing turmoil, careless of her departure. He would easily catch her. When at last he turned from the wrestling water, he had spent his savagery. and was sad. He could never take part in the great battle of action. It was beyond him. Many things he had let slip by. His life was whittled down to only a few interests, only a few necessities. Even here he had but Helena, and through her the rest. After this week,

well, that was vague. he left it in the dark dreading it and helena was toiling over the rough beach alone he saw her small figure bowed as she plunged forward it smote his heart with the keenest tenderness she was so winsome a playmate with beauty and fancy why was he so cruel to her because she had not his own bitter whizziness she was so winsome a playmate with beauty and fancy why was he so cruel to her because she had not his own bitter whizzen of experience. She was young and naive, and should he be angry with her for that? His heart was tight at the thought of her. She would have to suffer also because of him. He hurried after her, not till they had nearly come to a little green mound, where the down sloped, and the cliffs were gone. Did he catch her up? Then he took her hand. as they walked.

They halted on the green hillock beyond the sand, and without a word he folded her in his arms. Both were out of breath. He clasped her close, seeming to rock her with his strong panting. She felt his body lifting into her and sinking away. It seemed to force a rhythm, a new pulse in her. gradually with a fine keen thrilling she melted down on him like metal sinking on a mould he was sea and sunlight mixed heaving warm deliciously strong

sigmund exulted at last she was moulded to him in pure passion they stood folded thus for some time then helena raised her burning face and relaxed she was throbbing with strange elation and satisfaction it might as well have been the sea as any other way dear she said startling both of them the speech went across their thoughtfulness like a star flying into the night from nowhere she had no idea why she said it he pressed his mouth on hers not for you he thought by reflex you can't go that way yet but he said nothing strained her very tightly and kept her lips they were roused by the sound of voices unclasping they went to walk at the fringe of the water the tide was creeping back sigmund stooped and from among the water's comings picked up an electric light bulb it lay in some weed at the base of a rock he held it in his hand to helena her face lighted with a curious pleasure she took the thing delicately from his hand fingered it with her exquisite softness isn't it remarkable she exclaimed joyously the sea must be very very gentle and very kind sometimes smiled sigmund but i did not think it could be so fine-fingered she said

she breathed on the glass bulb till it looked like a dim magnolia bud she inhaled its fine savour it would not have treated you so well he said she looked like a dim magnolia bud she inhaled its fine savour it would not have treated you so well he said she looked at her she looked at him with heavy eyes then she returned to her bulb her fingers were very small and very pink she had the most delicate touch in the world like a faint feel of silk as he watched her lifting her fingers from off the glass then gently stroking it his blood ran hot he watched her waited upon her words and movements attending her words and movements attending it his blood ran hot he watched her waited upon her words and movements attending It is a graceful act on the sea's part, she said. Votan is so clumsy. He knocks over the bowl, and flap, flap, flap, go the gasping fishes, pizicato, but the sea. Helena's speech was often difficult to render into plain terms. She was not lucid. but life so full of anti-climax she concluded sigmund smiled softly at her she had him too much in love to disagree or to examine her words there's no reckoning with life and no reckoning with the sea the only way to get on with both is to be as near a vacuum as possible

and float he gested it hurt her that he was flippant she proceeded to forget he had spoken there were three children on the beach helena had handed him back the senseless bauble not able to throw it away being a father i will give it to the children he said she looked up at him loved him for the thought wandering hand in hand for it pleased them both to own each other publicly after years of conventional distance they came to a little girl who was bending over a pool her black hair hung in long snakes to the water she stood up flung back her locks to see them as they approached in one hand she clasped some pebbles would you like this i found it down there said sigmund offering her the bulb she looked at him with grave blue eyes and accepted his gift evidently she was not going to say anything the sea brought it all the way from the mainland with a very way from the mainland with a very good way from the mainland with a very good out-breaking it," said Helena, with the interesting intonation some folk used to children. The girl looked at her. The waves put it out of their lap onto some seaweed with such careful fingers.

The child's eyes brightened. The tideline is full of treasures, said Helena, smiling. The child answered her smile a little. sigman had walked away what beautiful eyes she had said helena yes he replied she looked up at him he felt her searching him tenderly with her eyes but he could not look back at her she took his hand and kissed it knowing he was thinking of his own youngest child end of chapter seven recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter eight of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter eight the way home lay across country through deep little lanes where the late foxglove sat seriously like sad hounds over open downlands rough with gorse and ling and through pocketed hollows of bracken and trees

they came to a small roman catholic church in the fields there the carved christ looked down on the dead whose sleeping forms made mounds under the coverlet. Helena's heart was swelling with emotion. All the yearning and pathos of Christianity filled her again. The path skirted the churchyard wall, so that she had on the one hand the sleeping dead, and on the other Siegmund, strong and vigorous, but walking in the old dejected fashion.

She felt a rare tenderness and tenderness and, admiration for him. It was unusual for her to be so humble-minded, but this evening she felt she must minister to him, and be submissive. She made him stop to look at the graves. Suddenly, as they stood, she kissed him, clasped him fervently, roused him till his passion burned away his heaviness, and he seemed tipped with life. life, his face glowing as if he would soon burst a light. Then she was satisfied and could laugh. As they went through the fur-cops, listening to the birds like a family assembled and chattering

at home in the evening, listening to the light swish of the wind, she let Siegmund predominate. He set the swing of their motion. She rested on him like a bird on a swaying bough. They argued concerning the way. Siegmund, as usual, submitted to her. They went quite wrong. As they retraced their steps stealthily, through a poultry farm whose fowls were standing in forlorn groups, once more dismayed by evening, Helena's pride battled with her new

to Siegmund. She walked head down, saying nothing. He also was silent, but his heart was strong in him. Somewhere in the distance a band was playing the watch on the Rhine. As they passed the beaches and were near home, Helena said to try him, and to strike a last blow for her pride. I wonder what next Monday will bring us. Quick curtain, he answered joyously. He was looking down and smiling at her with such careless happiness that she loved him. He was wonderful to her.

She loved him, was jealous of every particle of him that evaded her. She wanted to sacrifice to him, make herself a burning altar to him. and she wanted to possess him. The hours that would be purely their own came too slowly for her. That night she met his passion with love. It was not his passion she wanted, actually, but she desired that he should want her madly,

and that he should have all, everything. It was a wonderful night to him. it restored in him the full will to live but she felt it destroyed her her soul seemed blasted at seven o'clock in the morning helena lay in the deliciously cool water while small waves ran up the beach full and clear and foamless continuing perfectly in their flicker the rhythm of the night's passion nothing she felt had ever been so delightful as this cool water running over her she lay and looked out on the shining sea all things it seemed were made of sunshine more or less soiled the cliffs rose out of the shining waves like clouds of strong fine texture and rocks along the shore where the dapplings of the dark fine texture and rocks along the shore where the dapplings of the dark of a bright dawn. The coarseness was fused out of the world, so that sunlight showed in the veins of the morning cliffs and the rocks. Yay, everything ran with sunshine, as we are full of blood,

and plants are tissueed from green-gold, glistening sap. Substance and solidity were shadows that the morning cast round itself to make itself tangible, as she herself was a shadow cast by that fragment of sunshine, her soul, over its inefficiency. She remembered to have seen the bats flying low over a burnished pool at sunset, and the web of their wings had burned in scarlet flickers, as they stretched across the light, winged momentarily on bits of tissueed flame, threaded with blood, the bats had flickered a secret to her. Now the cliffs were like wings uplifted, and the morning was coming dimly through them. She felt the wings of all the world, upraised against the morning, in a flashing multitudinous flight.

The world itself was flying. Sunlight poured on the large round world, till she fancied it a heavy bee humming on its iridescent atmosphere across a vast air of sunshine. She lay and rode the fine journey. Sunlight liquid in the water made the waves heavy, golden and rich, with a velvety coolness like cow-slips.

Her feet fluttered in the shadowy underwater. Her breast came out bright as the breast of a white bird. Where was Siegmund, she wondered. He also was somewhere among the sea and the sunshine, white and playing like a bird, shining like a vivid, restless speck of sunlight. She struck the water, smiling, feeling along with him. They too were the owners of this morning, as a pair of wild large birds inhabiting an empty sea.

Siegmund had found a white cave, welling with green water, brilliant and full of life as mounting sap. the white rock glimmered through the water and soon sigmund shimmered also in the living green of the sea like pale flowers trembling upward the water said sigmund is as full of life as i am and he pressed forward his breast against it he swam very well that morning he had more wilful life than the sea so he mastered it laughingly with his arms, feeling a delight in his triumph over the waves. Venturing recklessly in his new pride, he swam round the corner of the rock, through an archway, lofty and spacious, into a passage where the water ran like a flood of green light over the skin-white bottom. Suddenly he emerged in the brilliant daylight of the next tiny scoop of a bowl. bay. There he arrived like a pioneer, for the bay was inaccessible from the land. He waded out of the

green cold water onto sand that was pure as the shoulders of Helena, out of the shadow of the archway, into the sunlight, onto the glistening petal of this blossom of a sea bay. He did not know till he felt the sunlight how the sea had drunk with its cold lips, deeply of his warmth. Throwing himself down on the sand that was soft and warm as white fur, he lay glistening wet, panting, swelling with glad pride at having conquered also this small inaccessible sea cave, creeping into it like a white bee into a white virgin blossom that had waited how long for its bee. The sand was warm to his breast and his belly and his arms. It was like a great body he cleaved to.

Almost, he fancied, he felt it heaving under him in its breathing. Then he turned his face to the sun, and love. all the while he hugged the warm body of the sea-bay beneath him he spread his hands upon the sand he took it in handfuls and let it run smooth warm delightful through his fingers surely he said to himself it is like helena and he laid his hands again on the warm body of the shore let them wander discovering gathering all the warmth, the softness, the strange wonder of smooth, warm pebbles, then shrinking from the deep weight of cold his hand encountered, as he burrowed under the surface wrist-deep. In the end he found the cold mystery of the deep sand also thrilling. He pushed in his hands again, and deeper, enjoying the almost hurt of the

dark, heavy coldness. For the sun and the white flower of the bay were breathing and kissing him dry, were holding him in their warm concave, like a bee in a flower, like himself on the bosom of Helena. And flowing like the warmth of her breath in his hair came the sunshine, breathing near and lovingly. Yet under all was the this deep mass of cold, that the softness and warmth merely floated upon. Siegmund lay and clasped the sand, and tossed it in handfuls, till over him he was all hot and cloyed. Then he rose and looked at himself, and laughed. The water was swaying reproachfully against the steep pebbles below, murmuring like a child that it was,

It was not fair. It was not fair he should abandon his playmate. Ziegmund laughed and began to rub himself free of the clogging sand. He found himself strangely dry and smooth. He tossed more dry sand and more over himself, busy and intent, like a child playing some absorbing game with itself. Soon his body was dry and warm and soft. smooth as a chamomile flower. He was, however, grayed and smeared with sand-dust.

Siegmund looked at himself with disapproval, though his body was full of delight, and his hands glad with the touch of himself. He wanted himself clean. He felt the sand thick in his hair, even in his moustache. He went painfully over the pebbles. till he found himself on the smooth rock bottom then he soused himself and shook his head in the water and washed and splashed and rubbed himself with his hands assiduously he must feel perfectly clean and free fresh as if he had washed away all the years of soilier in the morning sea and sun and sand it was the purification Siegman became again a happy priest of the sun. He felt as if all the dirt of misery were soaked out of him, as he might soak clean a soiled garment in the sea,

and bleach it white on the sunny shore. So white and sweet and tissue clean he felt, full of lightness and grace. The garden in front of their house, where Helena was waiting for him, was long and crooked, with a sunken flagstone pavement running up to the door by the side of the lawn. On either hand, the high fence of the garden was heavy with wild clematis and honeysuckle. Helena sat sideways, with a map spread out on her bench under the bushy little Leburnham tree, tracing the course of their wanderings.

It was very still. There was just a murmur of bees, going in and out the brilliant little porches of nasturtium flowers. The nasturtium leaf coins stood cool and grey. In their delicate shade, underneath in the green twilight, a few flowers shone their submerged gold and scarlet. was a faint scent of Mignonette. Helena, like a white butterfly in the shade, her two white arms for antennae, stretching firmly

to the bench, leaned over her map. She was busy, very busy, out of sheer happiness. She traced word after word, and evoked scene after scene. As she discovered a name, she conjured up the place. As she moved to the next mark, she imagined the long path lifting and falling happily. She was waiting for Siegmund, yet his hand upon the latch startled her. She rose suddenly in agitation. Siegman was standing in the sunshine at the gate.

They greeted each other across the tall roses. When Siegman was holding her hand, he said, softly laughing, "'You have come out of the water "'very beautiful this morning.' "'She laughed. "'She was not beautiful, "'but she felt so at that moment.

"'She glanced up at him, "'full of love and gratefulness. "'And you,' she murmured, "'in a still tone, "'as if it were almost sacrilegiously "'unnecessary to say it. "'Zegmund was glad, He rejoiced to be told he was beautiful.

After a few moments of listening to the bees and breathing the mignonette, he said, I found a little white bay, just like you, a virgin bay. I had to swim there. Oh, she said, very interested in him, not in the fact. It seemed just like you. many things seem like you he said she laughed again in her joyous fashion and the reed-like vibration came into her voice i saw the sun through the cliffs and the sea and you she said he did not understand he looked at her searchingly she was white and still and inscrutable then she looked at her searchingly she was white and still and inscrutable then she looked up at him, her earnest eyes that would not flinch, gazed straight into him. He trembled, and things

all swept into a blur. After she had taken away her eyes, he found himself saying, You know, I felt as if I were the first man to discover things, like Adam, when he opened the first eyes in the world. I saw the sunshine in you, repeated Helena quietly, looking at him with her eyes heavy with meaning. He laughed again, not understanding, but feeling she meant love.

No, but you have altered everything, he said. The note of wonder, of joy in his voice, touched her almost beyond something. self-control. She caught his hand and pressed it, then quickly kissed it. He became suddenly grave. "'I feel as if it were right. You and me, Helena. So, even righteous. It is so, isn't it? And the sea and everything, they all seem with us. Do you think so?' looking at her he found her eyes full of tears he bent and kissed her and she pressed his head to her bosom he was very glad end of chapter eight recording by martin geesean in hazelmere surrey chapter nine of the trespasser this libri-box recording is in the public domain

recording by martin gison the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter nine the day waxed hot a few little silver tortoises of cloud had crawled across the desert of sky and hidden themselves the chalk roads were white quivering with heat helena and siegmund walked eastward bare-headed under the sunshine they felt like two insects in the niche of a hot hearth as they toiled along the deep road a few poppies here and there among the wild rye floated scarlet in sunshine like blood-drops on green water helena recalled francis thompson's poems which sigmund had never read she repeated what she knew and laughed thinking what an ineffectual pale shadow of a person thompson must have been she looked at seagmond walking in large easiness beside her artists are supremely unfortunate persons she announced think of wagner said sigmund lifting his face to the hot bright heaven and drinking the heat with his blinded face all states seemed meagre save his own he recalled people who had loved and he pitied them dimly drowsily without pain they came to a place where they might gain access to the shore by a path down a landslip. As they descended through the rockery, yellow with ragwort,

they felt themselves dip into the inert, hot air of the bay. The living atmosphere of the uplands was left overhead. Among the rocks of the sand, white as if smelted, the heat clod and quivered. Helena sat down and took off her shoes. she walked on the hot glistening sand till her feet were delightfully almost intoxicatingly scorched then she ran into the water to cool them sigmund and she paddled in the light water pensively watching the haste of the ripples like crystal beetles running over the white outline of their feet looking out on the sea that rose so near to them dwarfing them by its far reach for a short time they flitted silently in the water's edge then they're settled down on them a twilight of sleep the little hush that closes the doors and draws the blinds of the house after a festival they wandered out across the beach above high water mark where they sat down together on the sand leaning back against a flat brown stone zygman with the sunshine on his forehead helena drooping close to him in his shadow

then the hours ride by unnoticed making no sound as they go the sea creeps nearer nearer like a snake which watches two birds asleep sleep. It may not disturb them, but sinks back, ceasing to look at them with its bright eyes. Meanwhile the flowers of their passion were softly shed, as poppies fall at noon, and the seed of beauty ripened rapidly within them. Dreams came like a wind through their souls, drifting off with the seed-dust of beauty. dust of beautiful experience which they had ripened to fertilize the souls of others with all. In them the sea and the sky and ships had mingled and bred new blossoms of the torrid heat of their love, and the seed of such blossoms was shaken as they slept into the hand of God, who held it in his palm preciously, then scattered it again.

to produce new splendid blooms of beauty. A little breeze came down the cliffs. Sleep lightened the lovers of their experience. New buds were urged in their souls as they lay in a shadowed twilight at the porch of death. The breeze fanned the face of Helena. A coolness wafed on her throat. As the afternoon wore on, she revived.

Quick to flag, she was easy to revive, like a white pansy flung into water. She shivered lightly and rose. Strange it seemed to her to rise from the brown stone into life again. She felt beautifully refreshed, all around was quick as a garden wet, in the early morning of June. She took her hair and loosened it, shook it free from sand, spread, and laughed like a fringed poppy that opens itself to the sun. She let the wind comb through its soft fingers the tangles of her hair. Helena loved the wind. She turned to it and took its kisses on her face and throat.

lay still, looking up at her. The changes in him were deeper, like alteration in his tissue. His new buds came slowly, and were of a fresh type. He lay smiling at her. At last, he said, You look now as if you belonged to the sea. I do, and some day I shall go back to it, she replied. for to her at that moment the sea was a great lover like Siegman, but more impersonal, who would receive her when Siegman could not. She rejoiced momentarily in the fact. Siegman looked at her and continued smiling.

His happiness was budded firm and secure. "'Come,' said Helena, holding his. out her hand. He rose somewhat reluctantly from his large, fruitful inertia. End of Chapter 9. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 10 of the trespasser. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. By D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 10 Siegmund carried the boots and the shoes while they wandered over the sand to the rocks. There was a delightful sense of risk in scrambling with bare feet over the smooth,

irregular jumble of rocks. Helena laughed suddenly from fear as she felt herself slipping. Sigmund's heart was leaping like a child's with excitement as he stretched forward, himself very insecure, to succour her. Thus they travelled slowly. Often she called to him to come and look in the lovely little rock-pools, dusky with blossoms of red anemones and brown anemones that seemed nothing but shadows, and curtained with green of fire. finest sea-silk. Siegmund loved to poke the white pebbles and startled the little ghosts of crabs in a shadowy scuttle through the weed. He would tease the expectant anemones, causing them to close suddenly over his finger. But Helena liked to watch without touching things. Meanwhile the sun was slanting behind the cross far away to the west, and the light was swimming in silver and gold upon the lacquered water.

At last Siegmund looked doubtfully at two miles more of glistening gilded boulders. Helena was seated on a stone, doubling her feet in a warm pool, delicately feeling the wet sea-velet of the weeds. Don't you think we had better be mounting the cliffs, he said. She glanced up at him, smiling with irresponsible eyes. Then she lapped the water with her feet and surveyed her pink toes. She was absurdly childishly happy. Why should we? She asked lightly.

He watched her. Her childlike indifference to consequences touched. him with a sense of the distance between them. He himself might play with the delicious warm surface of life, but always he reeked of the relentless mass of cold beneath, the mass of life which has no sympathy with the individual, no cognizance of him. She loved the trifles and the toys, the mystery and the magic of things. She would not own life to. be relentless. It was either beautiful, fantastic, or weird, or inscrutable, or else mean and vulgar, below consideration. He had to get a sense of the anemone and a sympathetic

knowledge of its experience into his blood before he was satisfied. To Helena, an anemone was one more fantastic pretty figure in her kaleidoscope so she sat dabbling her pink feet in the water quite unconscious of his gravity he waited on her since he never could capture her come he said very gently you are only six years old to-day she laughed as she let him take her Then she nestled up to him, smiling in a brilliant, childlike fashion. He kissed her with all the father in him sadly alive. Now put your stockings on, he said. But my feet are wet! She laughed.

He kneeled down and dried her feet on his handkerchief, while she sat tossing his hair with her fingertips. The sunlight grew more and more. more goldom. I envy the savages their free feet, she said. There is no broken glass in the wilderness, or they used not to be, he replied. As they were crossing the sands, a whole family entered by the cliff track. They descended in single file, unequally, like the theatre.

two boys then a little girl the father another girl then the mother last of all trotted the dog warily suspicious of the descent the boys emerged into the bay with a shout the dog rushed barking after them the little one waited for her father calling shrilly "'Tis can't fall now, can she, Dada? "'Shall I put her down?' "'I let her have a run,' said the father. "'Very carefully she lowered the kitten "'which she had carried clasped to her bosom. "'The mite was bewildered and scared.

"'It turned round pathetically. "'Go on, Tissy, you're all right,' said the child. "'Go on, have a run on the sand.' The kitten stood dubious and unhappy. Then, perceiving the dog some distance ahead, it scampered after him, a fluffy scurrying might. But the dog had already raced into the water. The kitten walked a few steps, turning its small face, this way and that, and mewing piteously. It looked extraordinarily tiny as it stood, a fluffy handful, staring at a little.

away from the noisy water, its thin cry floating over the plash of waves. Helena glanced at Siegmund, and her eyes were shining with pity. He was watching the kitten and smiling. Crying because things are too big and it can't take them in, he said. But look how frightened it is, she said. so am i he laughed and if there are any gods looking on and laughing at me at least they won't be kind enough to put me in their pinafores she laughed very quickly but why she exclaimed why should you want putting in a pinafore i don't he laughed on top of the cliff they were between two bays with darkening blue water on the left, and on the right gold-water smoothing to the sun. Siegmund seemed to stand waist-deep

in shadow, with his face bright and glowing. He was watching earnestly. "'I want to absorb it all,' he said. When at last they turned away, "'Yes,' said Helena slowly. "'One can recall the detail. but never the atmosphere. He pondered a moment. How strange, he said. I can recall the atmosphere, but not the detail. It is a moment to me, not a piece of scenery.

I should say the picture was in me, not out there. Without troubling to understand, she was inclined to think it was verbiage, verbiage. She made a small sound of assent. That is why you want to go again to a place, and I don't care so much, because I have it with me, he concluded. End of Chapter 10. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 11 of The Trespasser

This Librivox recording is in the Purpose. domain. Recording by Martin Gieson The trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 11 They decided to find their way through the lanes to Allum Bay, and then keeping the cross in sight to return over the downs, with the moon path broad on the water before them. For the moon was rising late.

twilight however rose more rapidly than they had anticipated the lane twisted among meadows and wild lands and copses a wilful little lane quite incomprehensible so they lost their distant landmark the white cross darkness filtered through the daylight when at last they came to a sign-post it was almost too dark to read it The fingers seemed to withdraw into the dusk the more they looked. We must go to the left, said Helena. To the left rose the downs, smooth and grey near at hand, but higher black with gorse, like a giant lying asleep with a bear-skin over his shoulders. Several pale chalk tracks ran side by side through the turf. Climbing, they came to a disused chalk pit, which they circumvented.

Having passed a lonely farmhouse, they mounted the side of the open down, where there was a sense of space and freedom. "'We can steer by the night,' said Siegmund, as they trod upwards pathlessly. Helena did not mind whither they steered. All places in the night, that large fair night were home and welcome to her. They drew nearer to the shaggy cloak of furs. There will be a path through it, said Siegmund. But when they arrived there was no path. They were confronted by a tall, impenetrable growth of gorse, taller than Siegmund. Stay here, said he, while I look for a way through. through. I am afraid you will be tired. She stood alone by the walls of gorse. The lights that

had flickered into being during the dusk grew stronger, so that a little farmhouse down the hill glowed with great importance on the night, while the far-off, invisible sea became like a roadway, large and mysterious, its specks of light moving slowly. and its bigger lamps stationed out amid the darkness helena wanted the day oneness to be quite wiped off the west she asked for the full black night that would obliterate everything save sigmund Siegmund it was that the whole world meant. The darkness, the gorse, the downs, the specks of light, seemed only to bespeak him. She waited for him to come back. She could hardly endure the condition of intense waiting.

He came, in his grey clothes almost invisible, but she felt him coming. no good he said no vestige of a path not a rabbit run then we will sit down a while she said calmly here on this molehill he quoted mockingly they sat down in a small gap in the gorse where the turf was very soft and where the darkness seemed deeper the night was all fragrance cool odor of darker darkness, keen, savoury scent of the Downs, touched with honeysuckle and gorse and bracken scent. Helena turned to him, leaning her hand on his thigh. "'What day is it, Siegmund?' she asked in a joyous, wondering tone. He laughed, understanding, and kissed her. "'But really,' she insisted, "'I would not have believed the labels could have fallen off everything like this. He laughed again. She still leaned towards

him, her weight on her hand, stopping the flow in the artery down his thigh. The days used to walk in procession like seven marionettes, each in order and costume, going endlessly round. She laughed amused at the idea. It is very simple. strange, she continued, to have the days and nights smeared into one piece, as if the clock-hand only went round once in a lifetime. That is how it is, he admitted, touched by her eloquence. You have torn the labels off things, and they are all so different. This morning!

It does seem absurd to talk about this morning. Why should I be parceled up into mornings and evenings and nights? I am not made up of sections of time. Now nights and days go racing over us like cloud-shadows and sunshine over the sea, and all the time we take no notice. She put her arms round his neck. He was reminded by a sudden pain in his leg, how much he was reminded by a sudden pain in his leg how much her hand had been pressing on him. He held his breath from pain. She was kissing him softly

over the eyes. They lay cheek to cheek, looking at the stars. He felt a peculiar, tingling sense of joy, a keenness of perception, a fine, delicate tingling as of music. You know, he said repeating himself, it is true. You seem to have knit all things in a piece for me. Things are not separate. They are all in a symphony. They go moving on and on. You are the motive in everything.

Helena lay beside him, half upon him, sad with bliss. You must write. a symphony of this, of us," she said, prompted by a disciple's vanity. "'Some time,' he answered, later when I have time.' "'Later,' she murmured, later than what?' "'I don't know,' he replied. "'This is so bright we can't see beyond.' He turned his face to hers, and through the darkness

smiled into her eyes that was so close to his. Then he kissed her long and lovingly. He lay with her head on his shoulder, looking through her hair at the stars. I wonder how it is you have such a fine, natural perfume, he said, always in the same abstract, inquiring tone of happiness. Haven't all women? she replied. and the peculiar penetrating twang of a brass reed was again in her voice. I don't know, he said, quite untouched, but you are scented like nuts, new kernels of hazelnuts and a touch of opium. He remained abstractedly breathing her with his open mouth, quite absorbed in her. "'You are so strange,' she murmured tenderly, hardly able to control her voice to speak.

"'I believe,' he said slowly, "'I can see the stars moving through your hair. "'No, keep still. You can't see them.' Helena lay obediently very still. I thought I could watch them travelling, crawling like gold flies on the ceiling, he continued in the slow sing-song. But now you make your hair tremble, and the stars rush about. Then as a new thought struck him, Have you noticed that you can't recognise the constellations lying back like this? I can't see one.

Where is the north even? She laughed at the idea of his questioning her concerning these things. She refused to learn the names of the stars or of the constellations, as of the wayside plants. Why should I want to label them, she would say? I prefer to look at them, not to hide them under a name. So she laughed when he asked her to find Vega. or Arcturus. How full the sky is!

Siegmund dreamed on, like a crowded street. Down here it is vastly lonely in comparison. We found a place far quieter and more private than the stars, Helena. Isn't it fine to be up here with the sky for nearest neighbour? I did well to ask you to come, she knows. inquired wistfully. He turned to her. As wise as God for the minute, he replied softly. I think a few furtive angels brought us here, smuggled us in. And are you glad, she asked. He laughed. Carpe diem, he said. We have plucked a beauty, my dear. With this rose in my coat,

I dare go to hell or anywhere.' "'Why hell, Siegmund?' she asked in displeasure. "'I suppose it is the postero. In anything else I'm a failure, Helena.' "'Put,' he laughed, "'this day of hours is a rose not many men have plucked.' She kissed him passionately, beginning to cry in a quick, noiseless fashion. What does it matter, Helena? he murmured.

What does it matter? We are here yet. The quiet tone of Siegmund moved her with a vivid passion of grief. She felt she should lose him. Clasping him very closely, she burst into uncontrollable sobbing. He did not understand, but he did not interrupt. her. He merely held her very close, while he looked through her shaking hair at the motionless stars. He bent his head to hers. He sought her face with his lips, heavy with pity. She grew

a little quieter. He felt his cheek all wet with her tears, and between his cheek and hers, the ravelled roughness of her wet hair, that chafed and made his face burn. "'What is it, Helena?' he asked at last. "'Why should you cry?' She pressed her face in his breast, and said in a muffled, unrecognisable voice, "'You won't leave me, will you, Siegmund?' "'How could I? How should I?'

he murmured soothingly she lifted her face suddenly and pressed on him a fierce kiss how could i leave you he repeated and she heard his voice waking the grip coming into his arms and she was glad an intense silence came over everything helena almost expected to hear the stars moving everything below was was so still. She had no idea what Siegman was thinking. He lay with his arms strong around her. Then she heard the beating of his heart, like the muffled sound of salutes, she thought. It gave her the same thrill of dread and excitement, mingled with a sense of triumph. Sigmund had changed again. His mood was gone. so that he was no longer wandering in a night of thoughts but had become different incomprehensible to her she had no idea what she thought or felt all she knew was that he was strong and was knocking urgently with his heart on her breast like a man who wanted something and who dreaded to be sent away

how he came to be so concentratedly urgent she could not understand it seemed an unreasonable an incomprehensible obsession to her yet she was glad and she smiled in her heart feeling triumphant and restored yet again dimly she wondered where was the segment of ten minutes ago and her heart and her heart feeling triumphant and restored yet again dimly she wondered where was the seagment of ten minutes ago and her heart and her heart lifted slightly with yearning to sink with a dismay this sigmund was so incomprehensible then again when he raised his head and found her mouth his lips filled her with a hot flush like wine a sweet flaming flush of her whole body most exquisite as if she were nothing but a soft rosy flame of fire against him for a moment or two that she decided was supreme transcendental the lights of the little farmhouse below had vanished the yellow specks of ships were gone only the pier light far away shone in the black sea like the broken piece of a star overhead was a silver grayness of stars below was the velvet blackness of the night and the sea helena found herself glimmering with fragments of poetry as she saw the sea when she looked very closely glimmered dustily with a reflection of stars

Tiefer stiller, herds in the water. O'ne regung root the mer. She was fond of what scraps of German verse she knew. With French verse she had no sympathy, but Goethe and Heine and Uland seemed to speak her language. The Luft is cool and it's dunkled and, Rue

Flies'd The Rhine. She liked Hiner best Wohl. How Trouement of the

childhood I see it Flimmer on your wogenden Wellengeb And alter

Rinnererner Tellt me Of's Neue From all the Leben Herlichen

Spielze From all the Blinkenden Weinach'sgapen. As she lay in Siegman's arms again, and he was very still, dreaming she knew not what, fragments such as these flickered and were gone, like the gleam of a falling star over water. The night moved on imperceptibly across the sky.

Unlike the day, it made no sound and gave no sign, but passed. unseen, unfelt over them, till the moon was ready to step forth. Then the eastern sky blenched, and there was a small gathering of clouds round the opening gates. out of old merchen winkethes herefore with a wiser hand da singt it and there clinked it from an sowerland helena sang this to herself as the moon lifted herself slowly among the clouds she found herself repeating them aloud in a forgetful sing-song as children do what is it said siegmund they were both of them sunk in their own stillness therefore it was a moment or two before she repeated her sing-song in a little louder tone he did not listen to her having forgotten that he had asked her a question turn your head she told him when she had finished the verse and look at the moon he pressed back his head so that there was a gleaming pallor on his chin and his forehead and deep black shadow over his eyes and his nostrils this thrilled helena with a sense of mystery and magic

the groszen bloomin schmachten she said to herself curiously awake and joyous the big flowers open with black petals and silvery one you are the big flowers sigmund yours is the bridegroom face sigmund like a black and glistening flesh-petalled flower seagmunt and it blooms in the tsaubberland sigmund this is the magic land between the phrases of this whispered ecstasy she kissed him swiftly on the throat in the shadow and on his faintly gleaming cheeks he lay still his heart beating heavily he was almost afraid of the strange ecstasy she concentrated on him meanwhile she whispered over him sharp breathless phrases in german and english touching him with her mouth and her cheeks and her forehead and libus weizen turnin not to-night sigmund they are all still gorse and the stars and the sea and the trees are all kissing sigmund the sea has its mouth on the earth, and the gorse and the trees pressed together, and they all look up at the moon. They put up their faces in a kiss, my darling.

But they haven't you, and it all centres in you, my dear, and all the wonder love is in you, more than in them all, Siegmont! Siegmont! He felt the tears falling on him as he lay with heart beating, in slow, heavy drops under the ecstasy of her love. Then she sank down and lay prone on him, spent, clinging to him, lifted up and down by the beautiful strong motion of his breathing. Rocked thus on his strength, she swooned lightly, into unconsciousness. When she came to herself, she sighed deeply. She woke to the exquisite heaving of his life beneath her. I have been beyond life. I have been a little way into death, she said to her soul,

with wide-eyed delight. She lay dazed, wondering upon it, that she should come. She should come back into a marvellous, peaceful happiness astonished her. Suddenly she became aware that she must be slowly weighing down the life of Siegmund. There was a long space between the lift of one breath and the next. Her heart melted with sorrowful pity. Resting herself on her hands, she kissed him, a long, anguished kiss, as if she would fuse her soul into his forever. Then she rose, sighing, sighing again deeply. She put up her hands to her head and looked at the moon. No more, said her heart, almost as if it sighed too. No more. She looked at her. She looked at, down at Siegmund. He was drawing in great, heavy breaths. He lay still on his back,

gazing up at her, and she stood motionless at his side, looking down at him. He felt stunned, half conscious. Yet as he lay helplessly looking up at her, some other consciousness inside him murmured, "'Hawah! Eve!' mother she stood compassionate over him without touching him she seemed to be yearning over him like a mother her compassion her benignity seemed so different from his little helena this woman tall and pale drooping with the strength of her compassion seemed stable immortal not a woman tall and pale drooping with the strength of her compassion seemed stable immortal not a fragile human being, but a personification of the great motherhood of women. I am her child, too, he dreamed, as a child murmurs unconscious in sleep. He had never felt her eyes so much as now, in the darkness, when he looked only into deep

She had never before so entered and gathered his plaintive masculine soul to the bosom of her nurture. Come, she said gently, when she knew he was restored. Shall we go? He rose, with difficulty gathering his strength. End of Chapter 11. recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter twelve of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter twelve sigmund made a great effort to keep the control of his body the hillside the gorse when he stood up seemed to have fallen back into shadowed vagueness about him they were meaningless dark heaps at some distance very great it seemed i can't get hold of them he said distractedly to himself he felt detached from the earth from all the near concrete beloved things as if these had melted away from him and left him sick and unsupported somewhere alone on the edge of an enormous space he wanted to lie down again to relieve himself of the sickening effort of an enormous space he wanted to lie down again to relieve himself of the sickening effort of supporting and controlling his body. If he could lie down again perfectly still, he need

not struggle to animate the cumbersome matter of his body, and then he would not feel thus sick and outside himself. But Helena was speaking to him, telling him they would see the moon path. They must set off downhill. He felt felt her arm clasped firmly, joyously, round his waist. Therein was his stability and warm support. Siegmund felt a keen flush of pitiful tenderness for her as she walked with buoyant feet beside him, clasping him so happily, all unconscious. This pity for her drew him nearer to life. He shuddered lightly now and again, as they stepped lurching down the hill. He set his jaws hard to suppress this shuddering.

It was not in his limbs, or even on the surface of his body, for Helena did not notice it, yet he shuddered almost in anguish internally. What is it? he asked himself in wonder. His thought consisted of these detached phrases which he spoke verbally to himself. Between whiles he was conscious only of an almost insupportable feeling of sickness, as a man feels who is being brought from under an anaesthetic. Also, he was vaguely aware of a teeming stir of activity, such as one may hear from a closed hive within him.

They swung rapidly downhill. Siegman still shuddered, but not so uncontrollably. They came to a style which they must climb. As he stepped over, it needed a concentrated effort of will to place his foot securely on the step. The effort was so great that he began. became conscious of it. "'Good Lord,' he said to himself, "'I wonder what it is.'

He tried to examine himself. He thought of all the organs of his body, his brain, his heart, his liver. There was no pain, and nothing wrong with any of them, he was sure. His dim searching resolved itself into another detached phrase. There is nothing the matter with me, he said. Then he continued vaguely wondering, recalling the sensation of wretched sickness, which sometimes follows drunkenness, thinking of the times when he had fallen ill. But I am not like that, he said, because I don't feel tremulous. I am sure my hand is steady. Helena stood still to consider the road.

He held out his hand before him. It was as motionless as a dead flower on this silent night. "'Yes, I think this is the right way,' said Helena, and they set off again, as if gaily. "'It certainly feels rather deathly,' said Siegman to himself. he remembered distinctly when he was a child and had diphtheria he had stretched himself in the horrible sickness which he felt was and here he chose the french word lagonis but his mother had seen and had cried aloud which suddenly caused him to struggle with all his soul to spare her her suffering certainly it is like that he said certainly it is rather deathly i wonder how it is then he reviewed the last hour

i believe we are lost helena interrupted him lost what matter he answered indifferently and helena pressed him tighter nearer to her in a kind of triumph But did we not come this way?' he added. "'No, see!' her voice was reeded with restrained emotion. "'We have certainly not been along this bare path which dips up and down.' "'Well, then, we must merely keep due eastward, towards the moon pretty well as much as we can,' said Sigmund, looking forward over the down, where the moon was wrestling heroically, to win free of the pack of clouds which hung on her like wolves on a white deer as he looked at the moon he felt a sense of companionship helena not understanding left him so much alone the moon was nearer sigmund continued to review the last hours he had been so wondrously happy

the world had been filled with a new magic a wonderful stately beauty which he had perceived for the first time for long hours he had been wandering in another a glamorous primordial world i suppose he said to himself i have lived too intensely i seem to have had the stars and moon and everything else for guests and now they've gone my house is weak so he struggled to diagnose his case of splendour and sickness he reviewed his hour of passion with helena surely he told himself i have drunk life too hot and it has hurt my cup my soul seems to leak out i am half here half gone away that's why i understand the trees and the night so painfully then he came to the hour of helena's strange ecstasy over him that somehow had filled filled him with passionate grief. It was happiness concentrated one drop too keen, so that what should have been vivid wine was like a pure poison scathing him. But his consciousness, which had been unnaturally active, now was dulling. He felt the blood flowing vigorously

along the limbs again, and stilling his brain, sweeping away his sickness, soothing him. I suppose, he said to himself for the last time, I suppose living too intensely kills you, more or less. Then Ziegmund forgot. He opened his eyes and saw the night about him. The moon had escaped from the cloud. pack and was radiant behind a fine veil which glistened to her rays and which was broidered with a lustrous halo very large indeed the largest halo sigmund had ever seen when the little lane turned full towards the moon it seemed as if sigmund and helena would walk through a large moorish arch of horseshoe shape the enormous

white halo opening in front of them they walked on keeping their faces to the moon smiling with wonder and a little rapture until once more the little lane curved wilfully and they were walking north helena observed three cottages crouching under the hill and under trees to cover themselves from the magic of the moonlight we certainly did not come this way before she said triumphantly the idea of being lost delighted her sigmund looked round at the grey hills smeared over with a low dim glisten of moon mist he could not yet fully realise that he was walking along a lane in the isle of white his surroundings seemed to belong to some state beyond ordinary experience some place in romance perhaps or among the hills where brunhilde lay sleeping in her large bright halo of fire how could it be that he and helena were two children of london wandering to find their lodging in fresh water he sighed and looked again over the hills where the moonlight was condensing in mist ethereal frail and yet substantial reminding him of the way the manor must have condensed out of the white moonlit mists of arabian deserts we may be on the road to newport said helena presently and the distance is ten miles

she laughed not caring in the least whither they wandered exulting in this wonderful excursion she and sigmund alone in a glistening wilderness of night at the back of habited days and nights sigmund looked at her he by no means shared her exultation though he sympathised with it he walked on alone in his deep seriousness of which she was not aware yet when he noticed her abandon he drew nearer and his heart softened with protecting tenderness towards her and grew heavy her and grew heavy with responsibility and grew heavy with responsibility the fields breathed off a scent as if they were come to life with the night and were talking with fragrant eagerness the farms huddled together in sleep and pulled the dark shadow over them to hide from the supernatural white night the cottages were locked and darkened helena walked on in triumph through this wondrous hinterland of night actively searching for the spirits watching the cottages they approached listening looking for the dreams of those sleeping inside in the darkened rooms she imagined she could see the frail dream faces at the windows she fancied they stole out timidly into the gardens and went running away among the rabbits on the gleamy hillside helena laughed to herself pleased with her fancy of wayward little dreams playing with weak hands and feet among the large solemn sleeping cattle

this was the first time she told herself that she had ever been out among the gray-frocked dreams and white-armed fairies she imagined herself lying asleep in her room while her own dreams slid out down the moonbeams she imagined Siegman sleeping in his room while his dreams dark-eyed their blue eyes very dark and yearning at night-time, came wandering over the grey grass, seeking her dreams. So she wove her fancies as she walked, until for very weariness she was fain to remember that it was a long way, a long way. Siegman's arm was about her to support her. She rested herself upon it. They crossed a style, and recognized her. on the right of the path the graveyard of the Catholic chapel. The moon, which the days were paring smaller with envious keen knife, shone upon the white

stones in the burial ground. The carved Christ upon his cross hung against a silver-gray sky. Helena looked up wearily, bowing to the tragedy. Siegmund also looked and bowed his head. Thirty years of earnest love. Three years life like a passionate ecstasy, and it was finished. He was very great and very wonderful. I am very insignificant and shall go out ignobly. but we are the same love the brief ecstasy and the end but mine is one rose and his all the white beauty in the world sigmund felt his heart very heavy sad and at fault in presence of the christ yet he derived comfort from the knowledge that life was treating him in the the same manner as it had treated the master, though his compared small and despicable with

the Christ tragedy. Siegman stepped softly into the shadow of the pine-cops. Let me get under cover, he thought. Let me hide in it. It is good the sudden intense darkness. I am small and futile. My small, futile tragedy. Helena shrank in the darkness. It was almost terrible to her, and the silence was like a deep pit. She shrank to Siegmund. He drew her closer, leaning over her as they walked, trying to assure her. His heart was heavy, and heavy with a tenderness approaching grief for his small, brave Helena. Are you sure this is the right way? He whispered to her.

Quite, quite sure, she whispered confidently in reply. And presently they came out into the hazy moonlight and began stumbling down the steep hill. They were both very tired. both found it difficult to go with ease or surety this sudden way down. Soon they were creeping cautiously across the pasture and the poultry farm. Helena's heart was beating, as she imagined what a merry noise there would be should they wake all the fowls. She dreaded any commotion, any questioning, this night. So she stole carefully along till they issued on the high road, not far from home.

End of Chapter 12. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazel near Surrey. Chapter 13 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. chapter thirteen in the morning after bathing sigmund leaned upon the sea-wall in a kind of reverie it was late towards nine o'clock yet he lounged dreamily looking out on the turquoise blue water and the white haze of the morning and the small fair shadows of ships slowly realizing before him in the bay were two battleships uncouth monsters lying as naive and curious as sea lions strayed afar

Siegmund was gazing over sea in a half-stupid way, when he heard a voice beside him say, Where have they come from? Do you know, sir? He turned, saw a fair, slender man of some thirty-five years, standing beside him, and smiling faintly at the battleships. The men of war? There are a good many at spit-head, said Siegmund. the other glanced negligently into his face they look rather incongruous don't you think we left the sea empty and shining and when we come again behold these objects keeping their eye on us Sigmund laughed.

You are not an anarchist, I hope, he said jestingly. A nihilist, perhaps, laughed the other. But I am quite fond of the Tsar, if pity is akin to love. No, but you can't turn round without finding some policeman or other at your elbow. Look at them, abominable ironmongery, ready to put his hand on your shoulder. shoulder. The speaker's grey-blue eyes, always laughing with mockery, glanced from the battleships and lit on the dark blue eyes of Siegmund.

The latter felt his heart lift in a convulsive movement. This stranger ran so quickly to a perturbing intimacy. I suppose we are in the hands of God. something moved Siegman to say. The stranger contracted his eyes slightly as he gazed deep at the speaker. Ah, he drawled curiously. Then his eyes wandered over the wet hair, the white brow and the bare throat of Siegmund, after which they returned again to the eyes of his interlocutor.

Does the Tsar sail this way? he asked at last. i do not know replied sigmund who troubled by the others penetrating gaze had not expected so trivial a question i suppose the newspaper will tell us said the man sure too said sigmund you haven't seen it this morning not since saturday the swift blue eyes of the man dilated he looked curiously at seekman he looked curiously at seekman's not since saturday the swift blue eyes of the man dilated he looked curiously at seek Sigmund. You were not alone on your holiday. No! Siegman did not like this. He gazed over the sea in displeasure.

I live here, at least for the present. Name Hampson. Why weren't you one of the first violins at the Savoy, fifteen years back? Asked Siegman. They chatted a while about music. music. They had known each other, had been fairly intimate, and had since become strangers. Hampson excused himself for having addressed Siegman.

I saw you with your nose flattened against the window, he said, and as I had mine in the same position, too, I thought we were fit to be reacquainted. Siegman looked at the man in astonishment. I only mean you were staring rather hard at nothing. It's a pity to try and stare out of a beautiful blue day like this, don't you think? Stare beyond it, you mean? asked Siegmund. Exactly, replied the other, with a laugh of intelligence. I call a day like this the blue room.

It's the least draughty apartment in all the confoundedly drowndy. raftery house of life." Siegmund looked at him very intently. This Hampson seemed to express something in his own soul. I mean, the man explained, that after all the great mass of life that washes unidentified and that we call death creeps through the blue envelope of the day, and through our white tissue, and we can't stop it, once we've begun to leak. What do you mean by leak? asked Siegmund.

Goodness knows, I talk through my hat, but once you've got a bit tired of the house, you glue your nose to the window-pane, and stare for the dark, as you were doing. But to use your metaphor, I'm not tired of the house. if you mean life," said Siegmund. "'Praise God! I've met a poet who's not afraid of having his pocket-picked, or his soul, or his brain,' said the stranger, throwing his head back in a brilliant smile, his eyes dilated. "'I don't know what you mean, sir,' said Siegman very quietly, with a strong fear and a

fascination opposing each other in his heart. You're not tired of the house, but of your own particular room, say sweet of rooms. "'To-morrow I am turned out of this blue room,' said Siegmund with a wry smile. The other looked at him seriously. "'Dear Lord!' exclaimed Hampson, then—' "'Do you remember Flaubert's saint? who laid naked against a leper. I could not do it.

Nor I, shuddered Siegmund. But you've got to, or something near it. Siegman looked at the other with frightened, horrified eyes. What of yourself, he said resentfully. I funked, ran away from my leper, and now, now i'm eating my heart out and staring from the window at the dark but can't you do something said sigmund the other man laughed with amusement throwing his head back and showing his teeth i won't ask you what your intentions are he said with delicate irony in his tone you know i'm a tremendously busy man. I earn five hundred a year by hard work, but it's no good. If you have acquired a liking

for intensity in life, you can't do without it. I mean vivid soul experience. It takes the place with us of the old adventure and physical excitement. Siegmund looked at the other man with baffled, anxious eyes. Well, and what, then, he said. What, then? A craving for intense life is nearly as deadly as any other craving. You become a concentre. You feed your normal flame with oxygen, and it devours your tissue.

The soulful ladies of romance are always semi-transpresenter. parent." Siegmund laughed. At least I am quite opaque, he said. The other glanced over his easy, mature figure and strong throat. Not altogether, said Hampson, and you, I should think, are one whose flame nearly goes out when the stimulant is lacking. Sigmund glanced again at him, startled.

You haven't much reserve. You're like a tree that'll flower till it kills itself, the man continued. You'll run till you drop, and then you won't get up again. You've no dispassionate intellect to control you and economise. You're telling me very plainly what I am and am not, said Sigmund, laughing rather sarcastically he did not like it oh it's only what i think replied hampson we're a good deal alike you see and have gone the same way you married and i didn't but women have always done as they liked with me that's hardly so in my case said sigmund hampson eyed him critically say one woman it's enough he replied sigmund gazed musing over the sea

the best sort of women the most interesting are the worst for us hampson resumed by instinct they aim at suppressing the gross and animal in us then they are super sensitive refined a person bit beyond humanity. We, who are as little growth as need be, become their instruments. Life is grounded in them, like electricity in the earth, and we take from them their unrealised life, turn it into light or warmth or power for them. The ordinary woman is alone a great potential force, an accumulator if you are a you like, charged from the source of life. In us her force becomes evident. She can't live without us, but she destroys us.

These deep, interesting women don't want us. They want the flowers of the spirit they can gather of us. We as natural men are more or less degrading to them and to their love of us. therefore they destroy the natural man in us. That is us altogether. You're a bit downright, are you not? Asked Siegmund deprecatingly. He did not disagree with what his friend said,

nor tell him such statements were arbitrary. That's according to my intensity, laughed Hampson, I can open the blue heaven with looking, and push back the doors of day a little, and see, God knows what! One of these days I shall slip through. Oh, I am perfectly sane. I only strive beyond myself.

Don't you think it's wrong to get like it? asked Siegmund. Well, I do, and so does everybody. But the crowd profits by us in the end. When they understand my music, it will be an education to them, and the whole aim of mankind is to render life intelligible." Siegman pondered a little. You make me feel as if I were loose, and a long way off from myself, he said slowly.

The young man smiled, then looked down at the wall, where his own hands lay white and fragile, showing the blue veins. "'I can scarcely believe they are me,' he said. If they rose up and refused me, I should not be surprised. But aren't they beautiful?' He looked with a faint smile at Siegmund. Siegmund glanced from the strangers to his own hands, which lay curved on the sea-wall as if asleep. They were small for a man of his stature, but lying warm in the sun they looked particularly secure in life.

Instinctively, with a wave of self-love, he closed his fists over his thumbs. I wonder, said Hampson softly with strange bitterness, that she can't see it. I wonder she doesn't cherish you. You are full and beautiful enough in the flesh. Why will she help to destroy you when she loved you to such extremity? Siegmund looked at him with awe-stricken eyes. The frail, swift man with his intensely living eyes. laughed suddenly.

Fools! The fools! These women, he said, either they smash their own crystal, or its revolts, turns opaque, and leaps out of their hands. Look at me. I am whittled down to the quick, but your neck is thick with compressed life. It is a stem so tense with life that it will hold up by itself. I am very sorry.

All at once he stopped. The bitter despair in his tone was the voice of a heavy feeling of which Siegman had been vaguely aware for some weeks. Siegman felt a sense of doom. He laughed, trying to shake it off. I wish I didn't go on like this, said Hampson pity. I wish I could be normal. How hot it is already!

You should wear a hat. It is really hot. He pulled open his flannel shirt. I like the heat, said Siegmund. So do I. Directly the young man dashed the long hair on his forehead into some sort of order, bowed, and smiling in his gait.

in his gay fashion, walked leisurely to the village. Siegman stood a while as if stunned. It seemed to him only a painful dream. Sying deeply to relieve himself of the pain, he set off to find Helena. End of Chapter 13. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazel near Surrey. Chapter 14 of The Trespasser.

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 14. In the garden of tall rose-trees and nasturtiums, Helena was again waiting. It was past nine o'clock, so she was growing in peering. patient. To herself, however, she professed a great interest in a little book of verses she had bought in St. Martin's Lane for tuppence. A late harsh blackbird smote him with her wings, as through the glade, dim in the dark she flew.

So she read. She made a curious, pleased sound, and remarked to herself that she thought these verses, is very fine. But she watched the road for Siegmund. And now she takes the scissors on her thumb. Oh, then, no more unto my lattice come. Hmm, she said, I really don't know whether I like that or not. Therefore she read the piece again, before she looked down the road. He really is very late. it is absurd to think he may have got drowned but if he were washing about at the bottom of the sea his hair loose on the water her heart stood still as she imagined this but what nonsense i like these verses very much i will read them as i walk along the side path where i shall hear the bees and catch the flutter of a butterfly among the word That will be a very fitting way to read this poet."

So she strolled to the gate, glancing up now and again. There sure enough was Siegmund coming, the towel hanging over his shoulder, his throat bare, and his face bright. She stood in the mottled shade. I have kept you waiting, said Siegmund. well i was reading you see she would not admit her impatience i have been talking he said talking she exclaimed in slight displeasure have you found an acquaintance even here a fellow who was quite close friends in savoy days he made me feel queer sort of doppelganger he was helena glanced up swiftly and curiously.

In what way? she said. He talked all the skeletons in the cupboard. Such piffle it seems now. The sea is like a hare-bell, and there are two battleships lying in the bay. You can hear the voices of the men on deck distinctly. Well, have you made the plans for to-day? They went into the house to breakfast. She watched him helping himself to the scarlet and green salad.

Mrs. Curtis, she said, in a rather reedy tone, has been very motherly to me this morning. Oh, very motherly! Siegman, who is in a warm, gay mood, shrank up. What has she been saying something about last night, he asked. She was very much concerned for me, was. afraid something dreadful had happened continued helena in the same keen sarcastic tone which showed she was trying to rid herself of her own mortification because we weren't in till about eleven said sigmund also with sarcasm i mustn't do it again oh no i mustn't do it again really for fear of alarming the old lady he asked You know, dear, it troubles me a good deal, but if I were your mother, I don't know how I should feel," she quoted.

When one engages rooms one doesn't usually stipulate for a stepmother to nourish one's conscience, said Siegmund. They laughed, making jest of the affair. But they were both too thin-skinned. writhed within himself with mortification, while Helena talked as if her teeth were on edge. "'I don't mind in the least,' she said. The poor old woman has her opinions, and I mine.' Siegmund brooded a little. "'I know I'm a moral coward,' he said bitterly.

"'Nonsense,' she replied, then with a little heat. But you do continue to try so hard to justify yourself, as if you felt you needed justification. He laughed bitterly. I tell you, a thing like this, it remains tied, tight round something inside me, reminding me for hours, well, what everybody else's opinion of me is. Helena laughed rather plaintively. I thought you were so sure we were right, she said. He winced again.

In myself, I am, but in the eyes of the world. If you feel so in yourself, is that not enough? She said brutally. He hung his head, and slowly turned his servietering. What is myself? he asked. very definite, she said, with a bitter laugh. They were silent. After a while she rose, went lovingly over to him, and put her arms round his neck.

"'This is our last clear day, dear,' she said. A wave of love came over him, sweeping away all the rest. He took her in his arms. "'It will be hot to-day,' said Helena, as they put. prepared to go out. I felt the sun steaming in my hair as I came up, he replied. I shall wear a hat. You had better do so, too.

No, he said. I told you I wanted a sun soaking. Now I think I shall get one. She did not urge nor compel him. In these matters he was old enough to choose for himself. This morning they were rather silent. Each felt the tarnish on their remaining day. "'I think, dear,' she said, "'we ought to find the little path that escaped us last night.'

"'We were lucky to miss it,' he answered. "'You don't get a walk like that twice in a lifetime, in spite of the old ladies.' She glanced up at him with a winsome smile, glad to hear his words. They set off. Seagman bare-headed. He was dressed in flannels and a loose canvas shirt, but he looked what he was, a Londoner on holiday. He had the appearance, the diffident bearing, and the well-cut clothes of a gentleman. He had a slight stoop, a strong-shouldered stoop, and as he walked he looked unseeing in front of him. Helena belonged to the unclassed. She was not ladylike, nor smart, nor assertive. One could not tell whether she were of

independent means or a worker. One thing was obvious about her. She was evidently educated. Rather short, of strong figure, she was much more noticeably a concentre than was Siegmund. Unless definitely looking at something, she always seemed coiled within herself. She wore a white voile dress made with the waist just below her breasts, and the skirt dropping straight and clinging. On her head was a large, simple hat of burnt straw. Through the open-worked sleeves of her dress, she could feel the sun bite vigorously. I wish you had put on a hat, Siegmund, she said.

Why? he laughed. My hair is like a hood. He ruffled it back with his hand. The sunlight glistened on his forehead. On the higher paths a fresh breeze was energetically chasing the butterflies and driving the few small clouds disconsolate out of the sky the lovers stood for some time watching the people of the farm in the down below dip their sheep on this sunny morning there was a ragged noise of bleating from the flock penned in a corner of the yard two red-armed men seized a sheep hauled it to a large bath that stood in the middle of the yard and there held it more or less in the bath while a third man baled a dirty yellow liquid over its body the white legs of the sheep twinkled as it butted this way and that to escape the yellow douche the blue-shirted men ducked and struggled there was a faint splashing and shouting to be heard even from a distance the farmer's wife and children

stood by ready to rush in with assistance if necessary helena laughed with pleasure that really is a very quaint and primitive proceeding she said it is cruder than theocritus in an instant it makes me wish i were a farmer he laughed i think every man has a passion for farming at the bottom of his blood it would be fine to be plain-minded to see no farther than the end of one's nose and to own cattle and land would it asked helena sceptically if i had a red face and went to sleep as soon as i sat comfortable i should love it he said it amuses me to hear you long to be stupid she replied to have a simple slow-moving mind and a simple slow-moving mind and an active life is the desideratum. Is it? she asked ironically. I would give anything to be like that, he said. That is not to be yourself, she said pointedly.

He laughed without much heartiness. Don't they seem a long way off, he said, staring at the bucolic scene. They are farther than Theocritus. down there is farther than Sicily, and more than twenty centuries from us. I wish it weren't. Why do you? she cried with curious impatience. He laughed. Crossing the down, scattered with dark bushes, they came directly opposite the path through the firs.

There it is, she cried. How could we miss it? "'Ascribe it to the fairies,' he replied, whistling the bird music out of Siegfried, then pieces of Tristan. They talked very little. She was tired. When they arrived at a green, naked hollow near the cliff's edge, she said, "'This shall be our house to-day.' "'Welcome home,' said Siegmund. He flung himself down on the high, breezy slope of the dip, looking out to sea.

Helena sat beside him. It was absolutely still, and the wind was slackening more and more. Though they listened attentively, they could hear only an indistinct breathing sound, quite small from the water below. No clapping nor hoarse conversational. of waves. Siegmund lay with his hands beneath his head, looking over the sparkling sea. To put her page in the shadow, Helena propped her book against him, and began to read. Presently the breeze, and Siegmund, dropped asleep. The sun was pouring with dreadful

persistence. It beat and beat on Helena, gradually drawing her from her book in a confusion of thought. She closed her eyes wearily, longing for shade. Vaguely she felt a sympathy with Adam in Adam cast forth. Her mind traced again the tumultuous, obscure struggleings of the two, forth from Eden, through the primitive wildernesses, and she felt sorrowful. Thinking of Adam blackened with struggle, she looked down at Siegmund. The sun was beating him upon the face and upon his glistening brow. His two hands which lay out on the grass were full of blood, the veins of his wrists purple and swollen, with heat. Yet he slept on, breathing with a slight panting motion. Helena felt deeply moved.

She wanted to kiss him as he lay helpless, abandoned to the charge of the earth and the sky. She wanted to kiss him and shed a few tears. She did neither, but instead moved her position so that she shaded his head. Cautiously putting her hand on his hair, she found it warm, quite hot, as when you put your hand under a sitting hen and feel the hot-feathered bosom. It will make him ill, she whispered to herself, and she bent over to smell the hot hair. She noticed where the sun was scalding his forehead. She felt very pitiful and helpless when she saw his brow becoming inflamed with the sun scalding. Turning wearily away, she sought relief in the landscape.

But the sea was glittering unbearably, like a scaled dragon reething. The houses of freshwater slept as cattle sleep motionless in the hollow vows. valley. Green Farringford on the slope was drawn over with a shadow of heat and sleep. In the bay below the hill the sea was hot and restless. Helena was sick with sunshine and the restless glitter of water. And there shall be no more sea, she quoted to herself. She knew not wherefrom. no more sea no more anything she thought dazedly as she sat in the midst of this fierce welter of sunshine it seemed to her as if all the lightness of her fancy and her hope were being burned away in this tremendous furnace leaving her helena like a heavy piece of slag seemed with metal she tried to imagine herself resuming the old activities the old manner of living it is impossible she said it is impossible what shall i be when i come out of this i shall not come out except as metal to be cast in another shape no more the same sigmund no more the same life what will become of us what will have become of us what will

happen? She was roused from these semi-delirious speculations in the sun furnace by Siegman's waking. He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked smiling at Helena. It is worth while to sleep, said he, for the sake of waking like this, I was dreaming of huge ice crystals. She smiled at him. he seemed unconscious of fate happy and strong she smiled upon him almost in condescension i should like to realize your dream she said this is terrible they went to the cliff's edge to receive the cool upflow of air from the water she drank the traveling freshness eagerly with her face, and put forward her sun-burnt arms to be refreshed. "'It is really a very fine sun,' said Siegmund lightly.

"'I feel as if I were almost satisfied with heat.' Helena felt the chagrin of one whose wretchedness must go unperceived, while she affects a light interest in another's pleasure. This time, when Siegman failed to follow her, as she put it, she felt she must follow him. "'You are having your satisfaction complete this journey,' she said, smiling, even a sufficiency of me.' "'Aye,' said Siegmund drowsily, "'I think I am. I think this is about perfect, don't you?' she laughed i want nothing more and nothing different he continued and that's the extreme of a decent time i should think the extreme of a decent time she repeated but he drawled on lazily i've only rubbed my bread on the cheeseboard until now now i've got all the cheese-board which is you

you, my dear. I certainly feel eaten up, she laughed, rather bitterly. She saw him lying in a royal ease, his eyes naive as a boy's, his whole being careless. Although very glad to see him thus happy, for herself she felt very lonely, being listless with sun-weariness, and heavy with a sense of impenely. pending fate. She felt a great yearning for his sympathy, his fellow-suffering. Instead of receiving this, she had to play to his buoyant happiness, so as not to shrivel one petal of his flower, or spoil one minute of his consummate hour. From the high point of the cliff where they stood,

they could see the path winding down to the beach and broadening upwards towards them. Slowly approaching up the slight incline came a black invalid's chair, wheeling silently over the short dry grass. The invalid, a young man, was so much deformed that already his soul seemed to be wilting in his pale, sharp face, as if there were not enough life-flow in the distorted body to develop the fair bud of the spirit. He turned his pain-sunken eyes towards the sea, whose meaning, like that of all things, was half obscure to him. Siegmund glanced, and glanced quickly away before he should see. Helena looked intently for two seconds.

she thought of the torn shrivelled seaweed flung across the reach of the tide the life tide she said to herself the pain of the invalid overshadowed her own distress she was fretted to her soul come she said quietly to siegmund no longer resenting the completeness of his happiness which left her unnecessary to him. We will leave the poor invalid in possession of our green hollow. So quiet, she said to herself. They sauntered downwards towards the bay. Helena was brooding on her own state, after her own fashion. The mist spirit, she said to herself. The mist spirit draws a curtain round us. It is very kind. A heavy gold curtain sometimes. A thin torn curtain sometimes.

I want the mist spirit to close the curtain again. I do not want to think of the outside. I am afraid of the outside. And I am afraid when the curtain tears open in rags. I want to be in our own fine world, inside the heavy gold, happy gold mist curtain. As if in answer or in protest to her thoughts, Siegman said, Do you want anything better than this, dear?

Shall we come here again next year, and stay for a whole month? If there be any next year, said she, Siegmund did not reply. She wondered if he had really spoken. had really spoken in sincerity, or if he too were mocking fate. They walked slowly through the broiling sun towards their lodging. There will be an end to this, said Helena, communing with herself. And when we come out of the mist curtain, what will it be?

No matter. Let come what will? All along fate has been resolving, from the very beginning, resolving obvious discords gradually by unfamiliar progression, and out of original combinations, weaving wondrous harmonies with our lives. Really the working out has been wondrous, is wondrous now. The master fate is too great an artist to suffer an anti-climax. I am sure the master musician is too great an artist to allow a pathetic anti-climax.

End of Chapter 14. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 15 of the trespasser. Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 15. The afternoon of the blazing day passed drowsily.

Lying close together on the beach, Siegmund and Helena let the day exhale its hours like perfume, unperceived. Sigmund slept, a light evanescent sleep, irised with dreams and with suffering. Nothing definite, the colour of dreams without shape. Helena, as usual, retained her consciousness much more clearly. She watched the far-off floating of ships, and the near wading of children through the surf. Endless trains of thoughts, like little waves, rippled forward and broke on the shore of her drowsiness. But each thought ripple, though it ran lightly, was tinged with copper-coloured gleams as from a lurid sunset.

Helena felt that the sun was setting on her and Siegmund. The hour was too composed, spell-bound, for grief or anxiety, or even for close perception. She was merely aware that the sun was wheeling down, tangling Siegmund and her in the traces, like overthrown charioteers. So the hours passed. After tea they went eastwards on the downs. was animated so that helena caught his mood it was very rare that they spoke of the time preceding their acquaintance helena knew little or nothing of sigman's life up to the age of thirty whilst he had never learned anything concerning her childhood somehow she did not encourage him to self-discovery to-day however the painful need

of lovers for self-revelation took hold on him. It is awfully funny, he said. I was so gone on Beatrice when I married her. She had only just come back from Egypt. Her father was an army officer, a very handsome man, and, I believe, a bit of a rake. Beatrice is really well connected, you know. But old Fitzherbert ran through all his money, and through everything else. He was too hot for the rest of the family, so they dropped him altogether. He came to live at Peckham when I was sixteen. I had just left school and was to go into father's business. Mrs. Fitzherbert left cards, and very soon we were acquainted. Beatrice had been a good time in a French convent school. She had only

knocked about with the army a little while, but it had brought her out. I remember I thought she was miles above me, which she was. She wasn't bad looking, either, and you know men all like her. I bet she'd marry again in spite of the children. At first I fluttered round her. I remember I'd got a little silky moustache. They all said I looked older than sixteen. at that time i was mad on the violin and she played rather well then fitzherbert went off abroad somewhere so beatrice and her mother half lived at our house the mother was an invalid i remember i nearly stood on my head one day the conservatory opened off the smoking-room so when i came in the room i heard my two sisters and beatrice talking about my little talking about the smoking-room so when i came in the room i heard my two sisters and beatrice talking about good-looking men. I consider Bertram will make a handsome man, said my younger sister.

He's got beautiful eyes, said my other sister. And a real darling nose and chin, cried Beatrice. If only he was more solid, he is like a windmill, all limbs. He will fill out. Remember he's not quite seventeen, said my elder sister. "'Ah, he is due, he is calin,' said Beatrice. "'I think he is rather too spoony for his age,' said my elder sister. "'But he is a fine boy for all that.

"'See how thick his knees are,' my younger sister chimed in. "'Ah, si, see, see,' cried Beatrice. "'I made a row against the door, then walked across. "'Hello, is somebody in here?' I said, as I pushed into the little conservatory. I looked straight at Beatrice, and she at me. We seemed to have formed an alliance in that look. She was the other half of my consciousness. I of hers. There were a lot of white narcissus and little white hyacinths, Roman hyacinth, in the conservatory. see them now great white stars and tangles of little ones among a bank of green and i can recall the keen fresh scent on the warm air and the look of beatrice her great dark eyes

it's funny but beatrice is as dead i far more dead than dants and i am not that young fool not a big I was very romantic, fearfully emotional, and the soul of honour. Beatrice said nobody cared a thing about her. Fitzherbert was always jaunting off. The mother was a fretful invalid. So I was seventeen, earning half a guinea week, and she was eighteen with no money, when we ran away to Brighton and got married. poor old pater he took it awfully well i have been a frightful drag on him you know there's the romance i wonder how it will all end

helena laughed and he did not detect her extreme bitterness of spirit they walked on in silence for some time he was thinking back before helena's day this left her very much alone and forced on her the idea that after all love which she chose to consider as single and wonderful a thing in a man's life as birth or adolescence or death was temporary and formed only an episode it was her hour of disillusion come to think of it sigman continued i have always shirked whenever i've been in a tight corner i've gone to pater i think she said marriage has been a tight corner you couldn't get out of to go to anybody yet i'm here he answered simply the blood suffused her face and neck and some men would have made a better job of it when it's come to sticking out against beatrice and sailing the domestic ship in spite of her i've always funked i tell you i'm something of a moral coward he had her so much on edge she was inclined to answer so be it indeed she ran back over her own history it consisted of petty discord in contemptible surroundings then of her dreams and fancies finally sigmund in my life she said with the fine grating discord in her tones i might

say always, the real life has seemed just outside, brownies running and fairies peeping, just beyond the common, ugly place where I am. I seem to have been hedged in by vulgar circumstances, able to glimpse outside now and then and see the reality. You are so hard to get out, said Siegmund, and so scornful of familiar. familiar things. She smiled, knowing he did not understand. The heat had jaded her, so that physically she was full of discord, of dreariness that set her teeth on edge. Body and soul she was out of tune. A warm, noiseless twilight was gathering over the downs, and rising darkly from the sea. fate with wide wings was hovering just over her fate ashen gray and black like a carrion crow had her in its shadow yet siegmund took no notice he did not understand he walked beside her whistling to himself which only distressed her the more they were alone on the smooth hills to the east helena looked at the day melting out of the sky leaving the permanent structure of the night

it was her turn to suffer the sickening detachment which comes after moments of intense living the rosiness died out of the sunset as embers fade into thick ash in herself too the ruddy glow sank and went out the earth was a cold dead heap coloured drearily the sky was dark with floculent grey ash and she herself an upright mass of soft ash she shuddered slightly with horror the whole face of things was to her livid and ghastly being a moralist rather than an artist coming of fervent wesley and stock she began to scourge herself she had done wrong again looking back no one had she touched without hurting she had a destructive force any one she embraced she injured faint voices echoed back from her conscience her conscience her own her conscience her own she had a destructive force any one she embraced she injured faint voices echoed back from her conscience the shadows were full of complaint against her it was all true she was a harmful force dragging fate to petty mean conclusions life and hope were ash in her mouth she shuddered with discord despair grated between her teeth this this dreariness was worse than any her dreary lonely life had known she felt she could bear it no longer

sigmund was there surely he could help he would rekindle her but he was straying ahead carelessly whistling the spring song from de valcure she looked at him and again shuddered with horror was that really sigmund that stooping thick-shouldered indifferent man was that the seagman who had seemed to radiate joy into his surroundings the seagman whose coming had always changed the whole weather of her soul was that the seaman whose touch was keen with bliss for her whose face was a panorama of passing god she looked at him again his radiance was gone his aura had ceased she saw him a stooping man past the buoyance was gone-his aura had ceased she saw him a stooping man past the buoyance of youth, walking and whistling rather stupidly. In short, something of the clothed animal on end, like the rest of men. She suffered an agony of disillusion. Was this the real Siegment, and her own only a projection of his soul? She took her breath sharply. Was he the real clay? and that other her beloved only the breathing of her soul upon this there was an awful blank before her

siegmund she said in despair he turned sharply at the sound of her voice seeing her face pale and distorted in the twilight he was filled with dismay she mutely lifted her arms to him, watching him in despair. Swiftly he took her in his arms, and asked in a troubled voice. What is it, dear? Is something wrong? His voice was nothing to her. It was stupid. She felt his arms round her, felt her face pressed against the cloth of his coat, against the beating of his heart. What was all this? This was not comfort or love. He was not understanding or helping, only chaining her, hurting. She did not want his brute embrace. She was most utterly alone, gripped so in his arms. If he could not save her from herself, he must leave her free to pant her heart out in free air. the secret thud thud of his heart the very self of that animal in him she feared and hated repulsed her she struggled to escape what is it won't you tell me what is the matter he pleaded she began to sob dry wild sobs feeling as if she would go mad he tried to look at her face for which she hated him and all the time he held her fast all the time she was imprisoned in the embrace of this brute blind creature whose heart confessed itself in her

thud thud thud thud have you heard anything against us have i done anything have i said anything tell me at any rate tell me helena her sobbing was like the chattering of dry leaves she grew frantic to be free stifled in that prison any longer she would choke and go mad his coat chafed her face as she sawed her face as she saw her struggled she could see the strong working of his throat. She fought against him. She struggled in panic to be free. Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! He held her in bewilderment and terror. She thrust her hands in his chest and pushed him apart. Her face blind to him was very much distorted by her suffering. She thrust him furiously away with great strength. His heart stood still with wonder. She broke from him and dropped down, sobbing wildly in the shelter of the tumuli. She was bunched in a small, shaken heap. Siegmund could

not bear it. He went on one knee beside her. trying to take her hand in his, and pleading, Only tell me, Helena, what it is. Tell me what it is. At least tell me, Helena, tell me what it is. Oh, but this is dreadful. She had turned convulsively from him. She shook herself, as if beside herself,

and at last covered her ears with her hands, to shut out this unreasonable. pleading of his voice. Seeing her like this, Siegmund at last gave in. Quite still he knelt on one knee beside her, staring at the late twilight. The intense silence was crackling with the sound of Helena's dry, hissing sobs. He remained silenced, stunned by the unnatural conflict. after waiting a while he put his hand on her she winced convulsively away then he rose saying in his heart it is enough he went behind the small hill and looked at the night

it was all exposed he wanted to hide to cover himself from the openness and there was not even a bush under which he could find cover. He lay down flat on the ground, pressing his face into the wiry turf, trying to hide. Quite stunned, with a death taking place in his soul, he lay still, pressed against the earth. He held his breath for a long time before letting it go. again he held it. He could scarcely bear, even by breathing, to betray himself. His consciousness was dark. Helena had sobbed and struggled the life animation back into herself.

At length, weary but comfortable, she lay still to rest. Almost she could have gone to sleep. But she grew chilly, and a ground insect tickled her face. Was somebody coming? It was dark when she rose. Segment was not in sight. She tidied herself, and rather frightened, went to look for him. She saw him like a thick shadow on the earth. Now she was heavy with tears, good to shed.

She stood in silent sorrow looking at him. Suddenly she became aware of someone passing, and looking curiously at them. "'Dear,' she said softly, stooping and touching his hair, he began to struggle with himself to respond. At that minute he would rather have died than face anyone. His soul was too much. uncovered. Dear, someone is looking, she pleaded.

He drew himself up from cover, but he kept his face averted. They walked on. Forgive me, dear, she said softly. Nay, it's not you, he answered, and she was silenced. They walked on till the night seemed. private. She turned to him, and Siegmund, she said, in a voice of great sorrow and pleading. He took her in his arms, but did not kiss her, though she lifted her face. He put his mouth against her throat, below the ear, as she offered it, and stood looking out through the

ravell of her hair, dazed, dreamy. The sea was smoking with darkness and a half-luminous heavens. The stars, one after another, were catching a light. Siegmund perceived first one, and then another dimmer one, flicker out in the darkness over the sea. He stood perfectly still watching them. Gradually he remembered how in the cathedral the tapers of the choir stalls would tremble and set steadily to burn, opening the darkness point after point,

with yellow drops of flame, as the acolyte touched them one by one delicately with his rod. The night was religious then, with its proper order of worship. Day and night had their ritual, and passed in uncouth worship. Siegman found himself in an abbey.

He looked up the nave of the night, where the sky came down on the sea-like arches, and he watched the stars catch fire. At least it was all sacred, whatever the God might be. Helena herself, the bitter bread, was stuff of the ceremony which he touched with his lips

as part of the service. He had Helena in his arms, which was sweet company, but in spirit he was quite alone. She would have drawn him back to her, and on her woman's breast have hidden him from full, fate, and saved him from searching the unknown.

But this night he did not want comfort. If he were an infant crying in the night, it was crying that a woman could not still. He was abroad seeking courage and faith for his own soul. He in loneliness must search the night for faith. My fate is finally wrought out, he thought to himself. Even damnation may be finally imagined for me in the night. I have come so far. Now I must get clarity and courage to follow out the theme.

I don't want to botch and bungle even damnation. But he needed to know what was right, what was the proper sequence of his act. Staring at the darkness, he seemed to feel his course, though he could not see it. He bowed in obedience. The stars seemed to swing softly, in token of submission. End of Chapter 15. Recording by Martin Gessen in Hazelmere, Surrey. 16 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin

Gieson The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 16. Feeling him abstract, withdrawn from her, Helena experienced the dread of losing him. She was in his arms, but his spirit ignored her. That was insufferable to her pride. Yet she dared not disturb him. She was afraid. Bitterly she repented her of the giving way to her revulsion a little space before. Why had she not smothered it and pretended? Why had she, a woman, betrayed herself so flagrantly? Now perhaps she had lost him for good. She was consumed with uneasiness. At last she drew back from him, held him her mouth to kiss.

As he gently, sadly kissed her, she pressed him to her bosom. She must get him back, whatever else she lost. She put her hand tenderly on his brow. what are you thinking of she asked ay he replied i really don't know i suppose i was hardly thinking anything she waited a while clinging to him then finding some difficulty in speech she asked was i very cruel dear it was so unusual to hear her grieved and filled with humility that he drew her close into him it was pretty bad i suppose he replied but i should think neither of us could help it she gave a little sob pressed her face into his chest wishing she had helped it then with madonna love she clasped his chest she had helped it then with madonna love she clasped his head upon her shoulder covering her hands over his hair twice she kissed him softly in the nape of the neck with fond reassuring kisses

all the while delicately she fondled and soothed him till he was child to her madonna they remained standing with his head on her shoulder for some time. Till at last he raised himself to lay his lips on hers in a long kiss of healing and renewal, long, pale kisses of after-suffering. Someone was coming along the path. Helena let him go, shook herself free, turned sharply aside, and said, shall we go down to the water? If you like, he replied, putting out his hand to her. They went thus with clasped hands down the cliff path to the beach. There they sat in the shadow of the uprising island, facing the restless water.

Around them the sand and shingle were grey. They stretched a long pale line of surf. beyond which the sea was black and smeared with star reflections the deep velvety sky shone with lustrous stars as yet the moon was not risen helena proposed that they should lie on a tuft of sand in a black cleft of the cliff to await its coming they lay close together without speaking each was looking each was looking at a low large star which hung straight in front of them dripping its brilliance in a thin streamlet of light along the sea almost to their feet it was a star path fine and clear trembling in its brilliance but certain upon the water helena watched it with delight as sigmund looked at the star it seemed to him a lantern hung at the gate to light some one home he imagined himself following the thread of the star trek what was behind the gate they heard the wash of a steamer crossing the bay the water seemed populous in the night-time with dark uncanny comings and goings

sigmund was considering what was the matter with you he asked she leaned over him took his head in her lap holding his face between her two hands as she answered in a low grave voice very wise and old in experience why you see dear you won't understand but there was such a grayish darkness and through it the crying of lives i have touched his heart suddenly shrank and sank down she acknowledged then that she also had helped to injure beatrice and his children he coiled with shame a crying of lives against me and i couldn't silence them nor escape out of the darkness i wanted you i saw you in front whistling the spring song but i couldn't find you it was not you i couldn't find you she kissed his eyes and his brows no i don't see it he said you would always be you i could think of hating you but you'd still be yourself she made a moaning loving sound full of passionate pity she moved her mouth on his face as a woman does on her child that has hurt itself sometimes she murmured in a low grieved confession you lose me he gave a brief laugh i lose you he repeated you mean i lose my attract

for you or my hold over you and then you he did not finish she made the same grievous murmuring noise over him it shall not be any more she said all right he replied since you decided she clasped him round the chest and fondled him distracted with pity you mustn't be bitter she murmured four days is enough he said in a fortnight i should be intolerable to you i am not masterful it is not so siegmund she said sharply i give way always he repeated and then to-night to-night to-night she cried in wrath to-night i cried in wrath to-night have been a fool and i he asked you what of you she cried then she became sad i have little perverse feelings she lamented and i can't bear to compel anything for fear of hurting it so i'm always pushed this way and that like a fool you don't know how you don't know how you you hurt me talking so she said he kissed her after a moment he said you are not like other folk irelasek's zeit an anehras i thought of you when we read it would you rather have me more like the rest or more unlike sigmund which is it

neither he said you are you they were quiet for a space the only movement in the night was the faint gambling of starlight on the water the last person had passed in black silhouette between them and the sea he was thinking bitterly she seemed to goad him deeper and deeper into life he had a sense of despair a preference of death the german she read with him she loved its loose and violent romance came back to his mind the toad goes toe him toseite fast sichtbarly and yachted an emmer tifer in's well the next place he would be hunted to like a hare run down was home it seemed impossible the morrow would take him back to beatrice this time to-morrow night he said sigmund she implored why not he laughed don't dear she pleaded all right i won't some large steamer crossing the mouth of the bay made the water dash a little as it broke in accentuated waves a warm puff of air wandered in on them now and again you won't be tired when you go back helena asked tired he echoed you know how you were when you came she reminded him in tones full of pity he laughed

oh that is gone he said with a slow mechanical rhythm she stroked his cheek and will you be sad she said hesitating "'Sat,' he repeated. "'But will you be able to take the old life up, happier, when you go back?' "'The old life will take me up, I suppose,' he said. There was a pause. "'I think, dear,' she said, "'I have done wrong.' "'Good Lord, you have not,' he replied sharply, pressing back his head to look at her, for the first time.

"'I shall have to send you back to Beatrice and the babies to-morrow, as you are now.' "'Take no thought for the morrow. "'Be quiet, Helena!' he exclaimed as the reality bit him. He sat up suddenly. "'Why?' she asked, afraid. "'Why?' he repeated. He remained sitting, leaning forward on the sand, staring intently at Helena. She looked back in fear at him.

The moment terrified her, and she lost courage. With a fluttered motion she put her hand on his, which was pressed hard on the sand as he leaned forward. At once he relaxed his intensity, laughed, then became tired. tender. Helena yielded herself like a forlorn child to his arms, and there lay, half-crying, while he smoothed her brow with his fingers, and grains of sand fell from his palm on her cheek. She shook with dry, withered sobs, as a child does when it snatches itself away from the lancet of the doctor, and hides in the mother's bosom, refusing to be touched but she knew the morrow was coming whether or not and she cowered down on his breast she was wild with fear of the parting and the subsequent days they must drink after to-morrow separate cups she was filled with vague terror of what it would be the sense of the oneness and unity of their fates was gone. Siegmund also was cowed by the threat of separation. He had more definite knowledge of the next move than had Helena. His heart was certain of calamity,

which would overtake him directly. He shrank away. Wildly he beat about to find a means of escape from the next day and its consequences. He did not want to go, anything rather than go back. In the midst of their passion of fear, the moon rose. Siegman started to see the rim appear ruddyly beyond the sea. His struggling suddenly ceased, and he watched spellbound, the oval horse. of fiery gold come up resolve itself some golden liquor dripped and spilled upon the far waves where it shook in ruddy splashes the gold-red cup rose higher looming before him very large yet still not all discovered by degrees the horn of gold-of-gold

attached itself from the darkness at back of the waves. It was immense and terrible. When would the tip be placed upon the table of the sea? It stood at last, whole and calm before him. Then the night took up this drinking-cup of fiery gold, lifting it with majestic movement overhead, letting stream forth the wonderful, unwasted liquor of gold over the sea, a libation. Siegmund looked at the shaking flood of gold and paling gold, spread wider as the night upraised the blanching crystal, poured out farther and farther the immense libation from the whitening cup,

till at last the moon looked frail and empty. And there, exhaustless in the night, the white light shook on the floor of the sea. He wondered how it would be gathered up. I gather it up into myself, he said. And the stars and the cliffs and a few trees were watching, too. If I have spilled my life, he thought, the unfamiliar eyes of the land and sky will gather it up again. Turning to Helena, he found her face white and shining as the empty moon.

End of Chapter 16. recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter seventeen of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin gison the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter seventeen towards morning sigmund went to sleep for four hours until seven o'clock the womb of sleep received him and nourished him again but it is finest of all to wake he said as the bright sunshine of the window and the lumining green sunshine coming through the lifted hands of the leaves challenged him into the open the morning was exceedingly fair and it looked at him so gently that his blue eyes trembled with self-pity a fragment of scarlet geranium glanced up at him as he passed so that amid the vermilion tyranny of the uniform it wore he could see the eyes of the flower wistful offering him love as one sometimes sees the eyes of a man beneath the brass helmet of a soldier and is startled everything looked at him with the same eyes of tenderness offering him timidly a little love

they are all extraordinarily sweet said sigmund to the full-mouthed scabious and the awkward downcast ragwort three or four butterflies fluttered up and down in agitated little leaps around him instinctively sigmund put his hand forward to touch them the careless little beggars he said when he came to the cliff-tops there was the morning very bravely dressed rustling forward with a silken sound and much silken shining to meet him the battleships had gone the sea was blue with a pannier of diamonds the sky was full with a misty tenderness like love sigman had never recognized before the affection that existed between him and everything we do not realize how tremendously dear and indispensable to us are the hosts of common things till we must leave them and we break our hearts we have been very happy together everything seemed to say sigmund looked up into the eyes of the morning with a laugh it is very lovely he said whatever happens so he went down to the beach his dark blue eyes darker from last night's experience smiled always with the pride of love. He undressed by his usual altar-stone.

How closely familiar everything is, he thought. It seems almost as if the curves of this stone were rounded to fit in my soul. He touched the smooth white slope of the stone gently with discovering fingers, in the same way as he touched the cheek of Helena, or of his own babies. He found great pleasure in this feeling of intimacy with things. A very soft wind, shy as a girl, put his arms round him, and seemed to lay its cheek against his chest. He placed his hands beneath his arms, where the wind was caressing him, and his eyes opened with wondering pleasure. pleasure. They find no fault with me, he said.

I suppose they are as fallible as I, and so don't judge, he added, as he waded thigh-deep into the water, thrusting it to hear the mock-angry remonstrance. Once more, he said, and he took the sea in his arms. He swam very quietly. the water buoyed him up holding him closely clasped he swam towards the white rocks of the headlands they rose before him like beautiful buttressed gates so glistening that he half expected to see fantail pigeons puffing like white irises in the niches and white peacocks with dark green feet stepping down the terraces trailing a sheen of silver. Helena is right, he said to himself, as he swam,

scarcely swimming, but moving upon the bosom of the tide. She is right. It is all enchanted. I have got into her magic at last. Let us see what it is like. He determined to visit again his little bay. He swam carefully, round the terraces, whose pale shadows through the swift-spinning emerald facets of the water seemed merest fancy. Siegman touched them with his foot. They were hard, cold, dangerous. He swam

carefully. As he made for the archway, the shadows of the headland chilled the water. There, under the water, clamouring in a throng at the base of the submerged walls, were sea-women with dark locks, and young sea-girls with soft hair, vividly green, striving to climb up out of the darkness into the morning, their hair swirling in abandon. Sigmund was half afraid of their frantic efforts. but the tide carried him swiftly through the high gate into the porch there was exultance in this sweeping entry the skin-white full-fleshed walls of the archway were dappled with green lights that danced in and out among themselves sigmund was carried along in an invisible chariot beneath the jewel-stained walls the tide swerved through him as he swam against the inward curving white rock his elbow met the rock and he was sick with pain

he held his breath trying to get back the joy and magic he could not believe that the lovely smooth side of the rock fair as his own side with its ripple of muscles could have hurt him thus he let the water carry him till he might climb out onto the shingle there he sat upon a warm boulder and twisted to look at his arm the skin was grazed not very badly merely a ragged scarlet patch no bigger than a carnation petal the bruise however was painful especially when a minute or two later he bent a his arm. No, said he pitiably to himself. It is impossible it should have hurt me. I suppose I was careless. Nevertheless the aspect of the morning changed.

He sat on the boulder looking out on the sea. The azure sky and the sea laughed on, holding a bright conversation one with another. The two headlands of the tiny bay gossiped across the street of water. All the boulders and the pebbles of the seashore played together. Surely, said Siegman, they take no notice of me. They do not care a jot or a title for me. I am a fool to think myself one with them. He contrasted this with the kindness of the morning,

as he had stood on the cliffs. I was mistaken, he said. It was an illusion. He looked wistfully out again. Like neighbours leaning from opposite windows of an overhanging street, the headlands were occupied one with another. White rocks strayed out to sea, followed closely by other white rocks.

Everything was busy. interested occupied with its own pursuit and with its own comrades sigmund alone was without pursuit or comrade they will all go on the same they will be just as gay even helena after a while will laugh and take interest in others what do i matter sigmund thought of the futility of death we are not long for music and laughter love and desire and hate i think we have no portion in them after we pass the gate why should i be turned out of the game he asked himself rebelling he frowned and answered and answered o lord the old argument. But the thought of his own expunging from the picture was very bitter. Like the puff from the steamer's funnel, I should be gone. He looked at himself, at his limbs and his body in the pride of his maturity. He was very beautiful to himself.

Nothing in the place where I am, he said, Gone, like a puff of steam that melts on the sunshine. Again Siegmund looked at the sea. It was glittering with laughter as at a joke. And I, he said, lying down in the warm sand, I am nothing. I do not count. I am inconsiderable. He set his teeth with pain. There were no tears. There was no relief.

A convulsive gasping shook him as he lay on the sands. All the while he was arguing with himself. Well, he said, if I am nothing dead, I am nothing alive. But the vulgar proverb arose. Better a live dog than a dead lion to answer him. it seemed an ignominy to be dead it meant to be overlooked even by the smallest creature of god's earth surely that was a great ignominy helena meanwhile was bathing for the last time by the same seashore with him she was no swimmer her endless delight was to explore to discover small treasure for her the world was still a great wonder-box which hid innumerable sweet toys for surprises in all its crevices

she had bathed in many rock-pool's tepid baths trying first one then another she had lain on the sound where the cold arms of the ocean lifted her and smothered her impetuously like an awful lover the sea is a great deal like siegmund she said as she rose panting trying to dash her nostrils free from water it was true the sea as it flung over her filled her with the same uncontrollable terror as did siegmund when he sometimes grew silent and strange in a tide of passion she wandered back to her rock pools they were bright and docile they did not fling her about in a game of terror she bent over watching the anemone's fleshy petals shrink from the touch of her shadow and she laughed to think they should be so needlessly fearful the flowing tide trickled noiselessly among the rocks widening and deepening insidiously her little pools helena retreated towards a large cave round the bend there the water-watered the water-watered, Gurgled under the bladder rack of the large stones. The air was cool and clammy. She pursued her way into the gloom, bending, though there was no need, shivering at the coarse

feel of the seaweed beneath her naked feet. The water came rustling up beneath the fucus, as she crept along on the big stones. It returned with a quiet gurgle, which she, made her shudder, though even that was not disagreeable. It needed for all that more courage than was easy to summon before she could step off her stone into the black pool that confronted her. It was festooned thick with weeds that slid under her feet like snakes. She scrambled hastily upwards towards the outlet. turning the ragged arch was before her brighter than the brightest window it was easy to believe the light fairies stood outside in a throng excited with fine fear throwing handfuls of light into the dragon's hole

how surprised they will be to see me said helena scrambling forward laughing she stood still in the archway astounded the sea was blazing with white fire and glowing with azure as coals glow red with heat below the flames the sea was transfused with white burning while over it hung the blue sea-sure and over it hung the blue sea-southed with heat below the flames the sea was transfused with white burning while over it hung the blue sea sky in a glory like the blue smoke of the fire of God. Helena stood still and worshipped. It was a moment of astonishment when she stood breathless and blinded, involuntarily offering herself for a thank-offering. She felt herself confronting God at home in his white incandescence, his fire settling on her like the holy spirit.

Her lips were parted in a woman's joy of adoration. The moment passed, and her thoughts hurried forward in confusion. It is good, said Helena. It is very good. She looked again and saw the waves like a line of children, racing hand in hand, the sunlight pursuing, catching hold of them from behind, as they ran wildly till they fell, caught, with the sunshine dancing upon them, like a white dog. It is really wonderful here, said she. But the moment had gone. She could not see again the grand burning of God among the waves. after a while she turned away as she stood dabbling her bathing dress in a pool sigmund came over the beach to her you are not gone then he said siegmund she exclaimed

looking up at him with radiant eyes as if it could not be possible that he had joined her in this rare place his face was glowing with the sun's inflaming but helena did not notice that his eyes were full of misery i actually he said smiling i did not expect you she said still looking at him in radiant wonder i could easier have expected she hesitated struggled and continued eros walking by the sea but you are like him she said looking radiantly up into sigmund's face isn't it beautiful this morning she added sigmund endured her wide glad look for a moment then he stooped and kissed her he remained moving his hand in the pool ashamed and full of contradiction he was at the bitter point of farewell could see beyond the glamour around him the ugly building of his real life isn't the sea wonderful this morning said helena as she wrung the water from her costume it is very fine he answered helena she wrung the water from her costume it is very fine he answered he refrained from saying what his heart said it is my last morning it is not yours it is my last morning and the sea is enjoying the joke and you are full of delight yes said siekman the morning is perfect it is assented helena warmly

have you noticed the waves they are like a line of children chased by a white dog ay said siegmund didn't you have a good time she asked touching with her finger-tips the nape of his neck as he stooped beside her i swam to my little bay again he replied did you she exclaimed pleased she sat down by the pool in which she washed her feet free from sand holding them to siegmund to dry i am very hungry she said and i he agreed i feel quite established here she said gaily something in his position having reminded her of their departure. He laughed. It seems another eternity before the three-forty-five train, doesn't it? she insisted. I wish we might never go back, he said. Helena sighed. It would be too much for life to give. We have had something, Siegmund, she said. He bowed his head. He bowed his head. and did not answer.

It has been something, dear, she repeated. He rose and took her in his arms. Everything, he said, his face muffled in the shoulder of her dress. He could smell her fresh and fine from the sea. Everything, he said. She pressed her two hands on his head. I did well, didn't I Siegmund? she asked. Helena felt the responsibility of this holiday.

She had proposed it. When he had withdrawn, she had insisted, refusing to allow him to take back his word, declaring that she should pay the cost. He permitted her at last. Wonderfully well, Helena, he replied. she kissed his forehead you are everything he said she pressed his head on her bosom end of chapter seventeen recording by martin gueson in hazelmere surrey chapter eighteen of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain

recording by martin gison the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter eighteen siegmund had shaved and dressed and come down to breakfast mrs curtis brought in the coffee she was a fragile little woman of delicate gentle manner the water would be warm this morning she said addressing no one in particular sigmund stood on the hearthrug with his hands behind him swaying from one leg to the other he was embarrassed always by the presence of the amiable little woman he could not feel at ease before strangers in his capacity of accepted swain of helena it was assented helena it was as warm as new milk ay it would be said the old lady looking in admiration upon the experience of sigmund and his beloved and did ye see the ships of war she asked no they had gone replied helena sigmund swayed from foot to foot rhythmically you'll be coming into dinner to-day asked the old lady helena arranged the matter i think you both look better mrs curtis said she glanced at sigmund he smiled constrainedly i thought she looked so worn when you came she said sympathetically he had been working hard said helena also glancing

at him. He bent his head and was whistling without making any sound. "'Aye,' sympathised the little woman, "'and it's a very short time for you. What a pity you can't stop for the fireworks at cows on Monday! They are grand, so they say.' Helena raised her eyebrows in polite interest. "'Have you never seen them?' she asked. No, replied Mrs. Curtis. I've never been able to get, but I hope to go yet. I hope you may, said Siegmund. The little woman beamed on him. Having won a word from him, she was quite satisfied. Well, she said brightly, the eggs must be done by now. She tripped out, to return directly. "'I've brought you,' she said,

"'some of the island cream "'and some white currents if you'll have them. "'You must think well of the island and come back.' "'How could we help?' laughed Helena. "'We will,' smiled Siegmund. "'When finally the door was closed on her, "'Sigman sat down in relief. "'Helina looked in amusement at him.

"'She was perfect. self-possessed in presence of the delightful little lady. "'This is one of the few places that has ever felt like home to me,' she said. She lifted a tangled bunch of fine white currents. "'Ah!' exclaimed Siegman, smiling at her. "'One of the few places where everything is friendly,' she said, and everybody you have made so many enemies he asked with gentle irony strangers she replied i seem to make strangers of all the people i meet she laughed in amusement at this moe siegman looked at her intently he was thinking of her left alone amongst strangers

need we go need we leave this place of friends he said as if ironically he was very much afraid of tempting her she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and counted one two three four five hours thirty-five minutes it is an age yet she laughed sigmund laughed too as he acted as he acted as he acted as he acted as he acted as he accepted the particularly fine bunch of currents she had extricated for him. End of Chapter 18. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 19 of The Trespasser This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson.

The Trespasser by D.H. L.H. Lawrence. Chapter 19 The air was warm and sweet in the little lane, remote from the sea, which led them along their last walk. On either side the white path was a grassy margin, thickly woven with pink convolvially. Some of the reckless little flowers, so gay and evanescent, had climbed the trunks of an old yew tree and were looking up pertly at their rough host helena walked along watching the flowers and making fancies out of them who called them fairies telephones she said to herself they are tiny children in pinafores how gay they are they are children dawdling along the pavement of a morning how fortunate they are see how they take a wind-thrill see how wide they are set to the sunshine and when they are tired they will curl daintily to sleep and some fairies in the dark will gather them away they won't be here in the morning shrivelled and dowdy if only we could curl up and be gone after our day she looked at sigmund he was walking moodily beside her it is good when life holds no anti-climax she said

ay he answered of course he could not understand her meaning she strayed into the thick grass a sturdy white figure that walked with bent head abstract but happy what is she thinking he asked himself she is sufficient to herself she doesn't want me she has her own private way of communing with things and is friends with them the dew has been very heavy she said turning and looking up at him from under her brows like a smiling witch i see it has he answered then to himself he said she can't translate herself into language she is incommunicable she can't render herself to the intelligence so she is alone and a law unto herself she only wants me to explore me like a rock-pool and to bathe in me after a while when i am gone she will see i was not indispensable The lane led up to the eastern down. As they were emerging, they saw on the left hand an extraordinarily spick and span red bungalow. The low roof of dusky red sloped down towards the coolest green lawn that was edged and ornamented with scarlet and yellow and white flowers, brilliant with dew. a stout man in an alpaca jacket and panama hat was seated on the bare lawn his back to the sun reading a newspaper he tried in vain to avoid the glare of the sun on his reading

at last he closed the paper and looked angrily at the house not at anything in particular he irritably read a few more lines then jerked up his head in sudden decision, glared at the open door of the house, and called, "'Amy! Amy!' No answer was forthcoming. He flung down the paper and strode off indoors, his mean one of wrathful resolution. His voice was heard calling curtly from the dining-room. There was a jingle of crockery as he bumped the table-leg in sitting down.

he is in a bad temper laughed sigmund breakfast is late said helena with contempt look said sigmund an elderly lady in black and white striped linen a young lady in holland both carrying some wild flowers hastened towards the garden gate their faces were turned anxiously to the house they were hot with hurry and had no breath for words. The girl pressed forward, opened the gate for the lady in striped linen, who hastened over the lawn. Then the daughter followed, and vanished also under the shady veranda. There was a quick sound of women's low apologetic voices, overridden by the resentful abuse of the man.

The lovers moved out of hearing. Imagine that breakfast-table, said Siegmund. I feel, said Helena, with a keen twang of contempt in her voice, as if a fussy cock and hens had just scuffled across my path. There are many such roosts, said Siegmund pertinently. Helena's cold scorn was very disagreeable to him. She talked to him winceomely and very kindly as they crossed the open down to meet the next in-curving of the coast, and Siegmund was happy. But the sense of humiliation which he had got from her the day before, and which had fixed itself, bled him secretly like a wound.

This haemorrhage of self-esteem tortured him to the end. helena had rejected him she gave herself to fancies only for some time she had confused sigmund with her god yesterday she had cried to her ideal lover and found only sigmund it was the spear in the side of his tortured self-respect at least he said in mortification of himself at least he said in mortification of himself at least someone must recognise a strain of God in me. And who does? I don't believe in it myself. And, moreover, in the intense joy and suffering of his realized passion, the island, with its sea and sky, had fused, till like a brilliant bead all their beauty ran together out of the common awe, and Siegman saw it naked, saw the beauty of everything naked in the shifting magic of this bead. The island would be gone to-morrow. He would look for the beauty and find the dirt.

What was he to do? You know, Dominé, said Helena, it was his old nickname she used. You look quite stern to-day. I feel anything but stern, he laughed, weaker than usual, in fact. Yes, perhaps so, when you talk, then you are really surprisingly gentle. But when you are silent, I'm even afraid of you, you seem so grave. He laughed, and shall I not be brave, he said, can't you smell Fum or met opé stu. He turned quickly to Helena.

I wonder if that's right, he said. It's years since I did a line of Latin, and I thought it had all gone. In the first place what does it mean? said Helena calmly, for I can only half translate. I have thrown overboard all my scrap-books of such stuff. Why? Siegmund rather abashed, only the row and the smoke of Rome. But it is remarkable, Helena.

Here the peculiar look of interest came on his face again. It is really remarkable that I should have said that. Yes, you look surprised, smiled she. But it must be twenty, he counted. Twenty-two or three years since I learned that, and I forgot it. "'Goodness knows how long ago. Like a drowning man, I have these memories before—' He broke off, smiling mockingly to tease her. "'Before you go back to London,' said she, in a matter of fact almost ironical tone.

She was inscrutable. This morning she could not bear to let any deep emotion come uppermost. she wanted rest no she said with calm distinctness a few moments after when they were climbing the rise to the cliff's edge i can't say that i smell the smoke of london the mist curtain is thick yet there it is she pointed to the heavy purple-grey haze that hung like arras on a wall between the sloping sky and the sea sea. She thought of yesterday morning's mist curtain, thick and blazing gold, so heavy that no wind could sway its fringe. They lay down in the dry grass, upon the gold bits of bird's foot trefoil of the cliff's edge, and looked out to sea. A warm, drowsy calm drooped over everything. "'Six hours,' thought Helena, "'and we shall have passed the mist curtain. "'Already it is thinning.

"'I could break it open with waving my hand. "'I will not wave my hand.' "'She was exhausted by the suffering of the last night, "'so she refused to allow any emotion "'to move her this morning till she was strong. "'Sigman was also exhaught. exhausted, but his thoughts laboured like ants, in spite of himself, striving towards a conclusion. Helena had rejected him.

In his heart he felt that in this love affair also he had been a failure. No matter how he contradicted himself, and said it was absurd to imagine he was a failure as Helena's lover. Yet he felt a physical sensation of defeat, a kind of knot in his breast, which neither reason nor dialectics nor circumstance, not even Helena, could untie. He had failed as lover to Helena. It was not surprising his marriage with Beatrice should prove disastrous, rushing into wedlock as he had done at the ripe age of seventeen he had known nothing of his woman nor she of him when his mind and soul set to develop as beatrice could not sympathise with his interests he naturally inclined away from her so that now after twenty years he was almost a stranger to her that was not very surprising but why should he have failed with helena the bees droned fitfully over the scented grass aimlessly swinging in the heat sigmund watched one gold and amber fellow lazily let go a white clover head and boom in a careless curve out to sea humming softer and softer

as he reeled along in the giddy space the little fool said sigmund watching the black dot swallowed into the light no ship sailed the curving sea the light danced in a whirl upon the ripples everything else watched with heavy eyes of heat enhancement the wild spinning of the lights even if i were free he continued to think we should only grow apart helena and i she would leave me this time i should be the laggard she is young and vigorous i am beginning to set Is that why I have failed? I ought to have had her in love sufficiently to keep her these few days. I am not quick. I do not follow her or understand her swiftly enough, and I am always timid of compulsion. I cannot compel anybody to follow me.

So we are here. I am out of my depth. the bee i was mad with the sight of so much joy such a blue space and now i shall find no footing to alight on i have flown out into life beyond my strength to get back when can i set my feet on when this is gone the sun grew stronger slower and more slowly went the hawks of siegman's mind after the quarry of conclusion. He lay bare-headed, looking out to sea. The sun was burning deeper into his face and head. "'I feel as if it were burning into me,' thought Siegmund abstractedly. "'It is certainly consuming some part of me. Perhaps it is making me ill.' meanwhile perversely he gave his face and his hot black hair to the sun helena lay in what shadow he afforded the heat put out all her thought activity

presently she said this heat is terrible siegmund shall we go down to the water they climbed giddily down the cliff path already they were somewhat sun-intoxicated. Siegmund chose the hot sand, where no shade was, on which to lie. Shall we not go under the rocks? said Helena. Look, he said, the sun is beating on the cliffs. It is hotter, more suffocating there. So they lay down in the glare. Helena, watching the foam, retreat slowly with a cool splam. Sigmund sinking. The naked body of heat was dreadful. My arms, Siegman, said she, they feel as if they were dipped in fire. Siegman took them without a word and hid them under his coat.

Are you sure it is not bad for you? Your head, Siegman. Are you sure? He laughed stupidly. stupidly. "'That is all right,' he said. He knew that the sun was burning through him, and doing him harm. But he wanted the intoxication. As he looked wistfully far away over the sea at Helena's mist curtain, he said,

"'I think we should be able to keep together if—' he faltered. If only I could have you a little longer. I have never had you. Some sound of failure, some tone telling her it was too late, some ring of despair in his quietness, made Helena cling to him wildly, with a savage little cry as if she were wounded. She clung to him, almost beside herself. She could not lose him. She could not spare him. she would not let him go.

Helena was for the moment frantic. He held her safely, saying nothing until she was calmer, when with his lips on her cheek, he murmured, "'I should be able, shouldn't I, Helena?' "'You are always able,' she cried. "'It is I who play with you at hiding.'

"'I have really had you so little,' he said, said. Can't you forget it, Siegmund, she cried. Can't you forget it? It was only a shadow, Segment. It was a lie. It was nothing real. Can't you forget it, dear? You can't do without me, he asked. If I lose you, I am lost, answered she with swift decision. She had no knowledge of weeping, yet her teeth. Tears were wet on his face. He held her safely. Her arms were hidden under his coat.

I will have no mercy on those shadows the next time they come between us, said Helena to herself. They may go back to hell. She still clung to him, craving so to have him that he could not be reft away. felt very peaceful. He lay with his arms about her, listening to the backward creeping tide. All his thoughts, like bees, were flown out to sea and lost. If I had her more, I should understand her through and through. If we were side by side, we should grow together. If we could stay here, I should get stronger and more up. pride. This was the poor heron of quarry the hawks of his mind had struck. Another hour fell like a foxglove

bell from the stork. There were only two red blossoms left. Then the stem would have set to seed. Helena leaned her head upon the breast of Siegmund, her arms clasping under his coat, his body, which swelled and sank gently, With the quiet of great power. If, thought she, The whole clock of the world could stand still now, And leave us thus, Me with the lift and fall of the strong body of Siegmund in my arms.

But the clock ticked on in the heat, The seconds marked off by the falling of the waves. repeated so lightly and in such fragile rhythm that it made the silence sweet if now prayed siegmund death would wipe the sweat from me and it were dark but the waves softly marked the minutes retreating farther leaving the bare rocks to bleach and the weed to shrivel gradually like the shadow on a dial the knowledge that it was time to rise and go crept upon them although they remained silent each knew that the other felt the same weight of responsibility the shadow finger of the sunday travelling over them. The alternative was not to return, to let the finger travel and be gone.

But then... Helena knew she must not let the time cross her. She must rise before it was too late and travel before the coming finger. Sigmund hoped she would not get up. He lay in suspense waiting. At last she sat up abruptly. It is time, Siegmund, she said.

He did not answer, he did not look at her, but lay as she had left him. She wiped her face with her handkerchief, waiting. Then she bent over him. He did not look at her. She saw his forehead was swollen and inflamed with the sun. Very gently she wiped from it the glistening sweat. He closed his eyes, and she wiped his cheeks and his mouth. Still he did not look at her. She bent very close to him, feeling her heart crushed with grief for him. We must go, Siegmund, she whispered. All right, he said, but so.

Still he did not move. She stood up beside him, shook herself, and tried to get a breath of air. She was dazzled blind by the sunshine. Seagmund lay in the bright light, with his eyes closed, never moving. His face was inflamed, but fixed like a mask. Helen waited, until the terror of the passing of the hour was too strong for her. She lifted his hand, which lay swollen with heat on the sand, and she tried gently to draw him. "'We shall be too late,' she said in distress. He sighed and sat up, looking out over the water. Helena could not bear to see him look so vacant and expressionless. She put her arm round his neck and pressed his head against her skirt.

Siegmund knew he was making it unbearable for her. Pulling himself together, he bent his head from the sea and said, Why, what time is it? He took out his watch, holding it in his hand. Helena still held his left hand, and had one arm round his neck. I can't see the figures, he said. everything is dimmed as if it were coming dark yes replied helena in that reedy painful tone of hers my eyes were the same it is the strong sunlight i can't he repeated and he was rather surprised i can't see the time can you she stooped down and looked it is half-past one she said

Siegman hated her voice as she spoke. There was still sufficient time to catch the train. He stood up, moved inside his clothing, saying, I feel almost stunned by the heat. I can hardly see, and all my feeling in my body is dulled. Yes, answered Helena, I am afraid it will do you harm. at any rate he smiled as if sleepily i have had enough if it's too much what is too much they went unevenly over the sand their eyes sun dimmed we are going back we are going back the heart of helena seemed to run hot beating these words they climbed the cliff path toilsomely standing at the top on the edge of the grass they looked down the cliffs at the beach and over the sea

the strand was wide forsaken by the sea forlorn with rocks bleaching in the sun and sand and seaweed breathing off their painful scent upon the heat the sea crept smaller farther away the sky stood still sigmund and helena looked hopelessly out on their beautiful incandescent world they looked hopelessly at each other sigman's mood was gentle and forbearing he smiled faintly at helena then turned and lifting his hand to his mouth in a kidman's mood was gentle and forbearing he smiled faintly at helena then turned and lifting his hand to his mouth in a kiss for the beauty he had enjoyed. Adio, he said. He turned away, and looking from Helena landwards, he said, smiling peculiarly, it reminds me of traviata, an adio at every verse end. She smiled with her mouth in acknowledgement of his facetious irony. It jars. It jars. on her. He was pricked again by her supercilious reserve.

Adio! Adio! He whistled between his teeth, hissing out the Italian's passion notes, in a way that made Helena clench her fists. I suppose, she said, swallowing and recovering her voice to check this discord, I suppose we we shall have a fairly easy journey. Thursday. I don't know, said Siegmund. There will not be very many people, she insisted.

I think, he said in a very quiet voice, you'd better let me go by the south-western from Portsmouth while you go on by the Brighton. But why? she exclaimed in astonishment. i don't want to sit looking at you all the way he said but why should you she exclaimed he laughed indeed no she said we shall go together very well he answered they walked on in silence towards the village as they drew near the little post-office he said i suppose i may as well wire them that i shall be home to-night you haven't sent them any word she asked he laughed they came to the open door of the little shop he stood still not entering helena wondered what he was thinking shall i he asked meaning should he wire to beatrice his manner was rather peculiar well i should think so faltered helena turning away to look at the postcards in the window sigmund entered the shop it was dark and cumbered with views cheap china ornaments and toys he asked for a telegraph form

my god he said to himself bitterly as he took the pencil he could not sign the abbreviated name his wife used towards him he scribbled his surname as he would have done to a stranger as he watched the amiable stout woman counting up his words carefully pointing with her finger he felt sick with irony that's right she said picking up the sixpence and taking the form to the instrument what beautiful weather she continued it will be making you sorry to leave us there goes my warrant thought sigmund watching the flimsy bit of paper under the postmistress's heavy hand yes it is too bad isn't it he replied bowing and laughing to the woman it is sir she answered pleasantly good-morning he came out of the shop still smiling and when helena turned from the postcards to look at him the lines of laughter remained over his face like a mask she glanced at his eyes for a sign his facial expression told her nothing his eyes were just as inscrutable which made her falter with dismay What is he thinking of? She asked herself.

Her thoughts flashed back, and why did he ask me so peculiarly whether he should wire them at home? Well, said Siegnant, are there any postcards? None that I care to take, she replied. Perhaps you would like one of these. She pointed to some faded-looking cards, which proved to be imaginary

views of Allum Bay, done in variegated sand. Siegman smiled. I wonder if they dribbled the sand on with a fine glass tube, he said. Or a brush, said Helena. She does not understand, said Siegman to himself, and whatever I do I must not tell her. I should have thought she would understand. he walked home beside her then mingled with his other feelings resentment against her almost he hated her end of chapter nineteen recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter twenty of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin geeseon

The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 20 At first they had a carriage to themselves. They sat opposite each other with averted faces, looking out of the windows and watching the houses, the downs dead asleep in the sun, the embankments of the railway with exhausted hot flowers, go slowly past out of their reach.

They felt as if they were being dragged away like criminals. Unable to speak or think, they stared out of the windows, Helena struggling in vain to keep back her tears, Siegmund laboring to breathe normally. At Yarmouth the door was snatched open, and there was a confusion of shouting, and running. A swarm of humanity, clamouring, attached itself at the carriage doorway, which was immediately blocked by a stout man who heaved a leather bag in front of him, as he cried

in German that here was room for all. Faces innumerable, hot blue-eyed faces strained to look over his shoulders at the shocked girl. and the amazed Siegmund. There entered eight Germans into the second-class compartment, five men and three ladies. When at last the luggage was stowed away, they sank into the seats. The last man on either side to be seated lowered himself carefully like a wedge between his two neighbours. Siegmund watched the stout man, the one who had led the charge, settling himself between his large lady and the small Helena. The latter crushed herself against the side of the carriage. The German's hips came down tight against her. She strove to lessen herself against the window, to escape the pressure of his flesh,

whose heat was transmitted to her. The man squeezed in the opposite direction. I am afraid I press you, he said, smiling in his gentle, chivalric German fashion. Helena glanced swiftly at him. She liked his grey eyes. She liked the agreeable intonation and the pleasant sound of his words.

Oh, no, she answered. said, you do not crush me. Almost before she had finished the words, she turned away to the window. The man seemed to hesitate a moment, as if recovering himself from a slight rebuff, before he could address his lady with the good-humoured remark in German. Well, and have we not managed it very nicely, eh? The whole party began to talk in German with God. great animation. They told each other of the quaint ways of this or the other. They joked loudly

over Billy, this being a nickname discovered for the German Emperor. And what he would be saying of the Tsar's trip? They questioned each other, and answered each other concerning the places they were going to see, with great interest, displaying admirable knowledge. They were pleased with everything. They extolled things English. Helena's stout neighbour, who it seemed was from Dresden, began to tell anecdotes. He was a raconteur of the naive type. He talked with face, hands, with his whole body. Now and again he would give little spurts in his seat. After one of these, he was a he must have become aware of helena who felt as if she were enveloped by a soft stove struggling to escape his compression

he stopped short lifted his hat and smiling beseechingly said in his persuasive way i am sorry i am sorry i compress you he glanced round in perplexity seeking some escape or remedy finding none he turned to her again after having squeezed hard against his lady to free helena and said forgive me i am sorry you are forgiven replied helena suddenly smiling into his face with her rare winsomeness the whole party attentive relaxed into a smile at this the good-humour was complete thank you said the german gratefully helena turned away the talk began again like the popping of corn the raconteur resumed his anecdote everybody was waiting to laugh helena rapidly wearied of trying to follow the tale sigmund had made no attempt he had watched with the others the germans who had watched with the others the germans apologies, and the sight of his lover's face had moved him more than he could tell. She had a peculiar childish wistfulness at times, and with this an intangible aloofness that pierced his heart.

It seemed to him he should never know her. There was a remoteness about her, an estrangement between her and all-natural daily things, as if she were of an unknown race that can never tell its own story this feeling always moved sigman's pity to its deepest leaving him poignantly helpless this same foreignness revealed in other ways sometimes made him hate her it was as if she would sacrifice him rather than renounce her foreign birth there was something in her he could never understand so that never never could he say he was master of her as she was of him the mistress as she smiled and turned away from the german mute uncomplaining like a child wise in sorrow beyond its years sigman's resentment against her suddenly took fire and blazed him with sheer pain of pity. She was very small. Her quiet ways, and sometimes her impetuous clinging made her seem small, for she was very strong. But Siegman saw her now, small, quiet,

uncomplaining, living for him who sat and looked at her. But what would become of her when he had left her, when she was alone, little foreigner as she was, in this world, which apologises when it has done the hurt, too blind to see beforehand. Helena would be left behind. Death was no way for her. She could not escape, thus, with him, from this house of strangers which she called life. she had to go on alone, like a foreigner who cannot learn the strange language. "'What will she do?' Siegmund asked himself,

when her loneliness comes upon her like a horror, and she has no one to go to. She will come to the memory of me for a while, and that will take her over till her strength is established. But what then?' Siegman could find no answer. He tried to imagine her life. It would go on after his death, just in the same way, for a while, and then. He had not the faintest knowledge of how she would develop. What would she do when she was thirty-eight, and as old as himself? He could not conceive. Yet she would not die. Of that he was certain. Siegman suddenly realized that he knew nothing of her life, her real inner life. She was a book written in characters unintelligible to him, and to everybody. He was tortured with the problem of her, till it became acute, and he felt as if his heart would burst inside him. As a boy he had experienced the same sort of feeling after wrestling for an hour with a problem in Euclid,

for he was capable of great concentration. He felt Helena looking at him. Turning, he found her steady unswerving eyes fixed on him, so that he shrank confused from them. She smiled. By an instinctive movement she made him know that he had she wanted him to hold her hand. He leaned forward and put his hand over hers. She had peculiar hands, small, with a strange delightful silkiness. Often they were cool or cold. Generally they lay unmoved within his clasp, but then they were instinct with life, not inert. Sometimes he would feel a peculiar jerking in his pulse, very much like electricity, when he held her hand. Occasionally it was almost painful, and felt as if a little virtue were passing out of his blood.

But that he dismissed as nonsense. The Germans were still rattling away, perspiring freely, wiping their faces with their handkerchiefs as they laughed, moving in its own. inside their clothing which was sticking to their sides. Siegman had not noticed them for some time. He was so much absorbed. But Helena, though she sympathized with her fellow-passengers, was tormented almost beyond endurance by the noise, the heat of her neighbour's body, the atmosphere of the crowded carriage, and her own emotion. The only thing that could relieve her was the hand of Siegmund, soothing her in its hold.

She looked at him with the same steadiness, which made her eyes feel heavy upon him, and made him shrink. She wanted his strength of nerve to support her, and he submitted at once, his one aim being to give her out of himself whatever. she wanted. End of Chapter 20. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 21 of the trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geeson.

The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence. Chapter 21. The tall, white, yachts in a throng were lounging off the roads of ride. It was near the regatta time, so these proud creatures had flown loftily together, and now flitted hither and thither among themselves, like a concourse of tall women, footing the waves with superb touch. To Siegmund they were very beautiful, but removed from him, as dancers crossing the

window-lights are removed from the man who looks up from the street. He saw the solent and the world of glamour, flying gay as snow outside, where inside was only Siegmund, tired, dispirited, without any joy. He and Helena had climbed among coils of rope onto the prow of their steamer, so they could catch a little spray of speed on their faces to stimulate them. The sea was very bright and crowded. White sails leaned slightly and filed along the roads. Two yachts with sails of amber floated, it seemed, without motion, amid the eclipsed blue of the day.

Small boats with red and yellow flags fluttered quickly, trailing the sea with colour a pleasure steamer coming from cows swung her soft stout way among the fleeting ships high in the background were men of war a long line each one threading tiny triangles of flags through a sky dim with distance it is all very glad said siegman to himself but it seems to be fanciful. He was out of it. Already he felt detached from life. He belonged to his destination. It is always so.

We have no share in the beauty that lies between us and our goal. Helena watched with poignant sorrow all the agitation of colour on the blue afternoon. We must leave it. we must pass out of it she lamented over and over again each new charm she caught eagerly i like the steady purpose of that brown-sailed tramp she said to herself watching a laden coaster making for portsmouth they were still among the small shipping of ride siegmund and helena as they looked out became aware of a small motor launch heading across their course towards a yacht whose tall masts were drawn clean on the sky The eager launch, its nose up as if to breathe, was racing over the swell like a coursing dog. A lady in white, and a lad with dark head and white jersey were leaning in the boughs.

A gentleman was bending over some machinery in the middle of the boat, while the sailor in the low stern was also stooping forward, attending to something. The steamer was sweeping onwards, huge above the water. The dog of a boat was coursing straight across her track. The lady saw the danger first. Stretching forward, she seized the arm of the lad and held him firm, making no sound but watching the forward menace of the looming steamer. "'Look!' cried Helena, catching hold of Siegmund. He was already watching. Suddenly the steamer bell clanged.

The gentleman looked up with startled sunburned face, and he leapt to the stern. The launch veered. It and the steamer closed together like a pair of scissors. The lady, still holding the boy, looked up with an expressionless face at the high sweeping chisel of the steamer's bows. The husband stood rigid, staring ahead. No sound was to be heard, save the rustling of water under the boughs. The scissors closed. The launch scalped forward like a dog from in front of the traffic.

It escaped by a yard or two. Then, like a dog, it seemed to look round. The gentleman in the stern glanced back quickly. he was a handsome dark-haired man with dark eyes his face was as if carven out of oak set and grey-brown then he looked to the steering of his boat no one had uttered a sound from the tiny boat coursing low on the water not a sound only tense waiting the launch raced out of danger towards the yacht the gentleman with a brief gesture put his man in charge again whilst he himself went forreid to the lady he was a handsome man very proud in his movements and she in her bearing was prouder still she received him almost with indifference helena turned to sigmund he took both her hands and pressed them whilst she looked at him with eyes blind with emotion she was white to the lips and heaving like the boy in the wake of the steamer the noise of life had suddenly been hushed and each heart had heard for a moment the noiseless

of death. How everyone was white and gasping! They strove on every hand to fill the day with noise and the colour of life again. By Jove, that was a near thing. Oh, that has made me feel bad, said a woman. A French yacht, said somebody. Helena was waiting for the voice of Siegmund, but he did not know what to say. "'Confused,' he repeated. "'That was a close shave.' Helena clung to him, searching his face. She felt his difference from herself.

There was something in his experience that made him different, quiet, with a peculiar expression as if he were pained. "'Ah, dear Lord,' he was saying to himself, how bright and whole the day is for them if god had suddenly put his hand over the sun and swallowed us up in a shadow they could not have been more startled that man with his fine white flanneled limbs and his dark head has no suspicion of the shadow that supports it all between the blueness of the sea and the sky he passes easily as a gull, close to the fine white sea-mew of his mate, amid red flowers of flags, and soft birds of ships, and slow-moving monsters of steam-boats.

For me the day is transparent and shriveling. I can see the darkness through its petals. But for him it is a fresh bell-flower, in which he fumbles with delight like a be. For me, quivering in the interspaces of the atmosphere is the darkness the same that fills my soul. I can see death urging itself into life, the shadow supporting the substance. For my life is burning an invisible flame. The glare of the light of myself, as I burn on the fuel of death, is not enough to hide from me the source and the issue. For what is a life but a flame that bursts off the surface of darkness,

and tapers into the darkness again? But the death that issues differs from the death that was the source. At least I shall enrich death with a potent shadow, if I do not enrich life. Wasn't that woman fine? said Helena. So perfectly still, he answered. The child realised nothing, she said. Sigmund laughed, then leaned forward impulsively to her.

I am always so sorry, he said, that the human race is urged inevitably into a deeper and deeper realisation of life. She looked at him, wondering what provoked such a remark. I guess, she said slowly after a while, that the man, the sailor, will have a bad time. He was abominably careless. He was careful of something else just then, said Siegmund, who hated to hear her speak in cold condemnation. He was attending to the machine. machinery or something.

That was scarcely his first business, said she rather sarcastic. Sigmund looked at her. She seemed very hard in judgment, very blind. Sometimes his soul surged against her in hatred. Do you think the man wanted to drown the boat? He asked. He nearly succeeded, she replied. There was antagonism between them.

Siegmund recognised in Helena the world sitting in judgment, and he hated it. But after all, he thought, I suppose it is the only way to get along, to judge the event and not the person. I have a disease of sympathy, a vice of exoneration. Nevertheless, he did not love Helena as a judge. He thought rather of the woman in the boat. She was evidently one who watched the sources of life, saw it great and impersonal. Would the woman cry, or hug and kiss the boy when she got on board? he asked.

I rather think not. Why? she replied. I hope she didn't, he said. Helena sat watching the water spurt back from the boughs. She was very much in love with Siegmund. He was suggestive. He stimulated her. But to her mind he had not her own dark eyes of hesitation. He was swift and proud as the wind.

She never realised his helplessness. Siegmund was gathering strength from the thought of that other woman's courage. If she had so much restraint as not to cry out, or alarm the boy, if she had so much grace not to complain to her husband, surely he himself might refrain from revealing his own fear of Helena, and from lamenting his hard fate. They sailed on past the checkered round towers. The sea opened, and they looked out to eastward into the sea space.

Siegmund wanted to flee. He yearned to escape down the open ways before him. Yet he knew he would be carried on to London. He watched the seaways closing up. The shore came round. the high old houses stood flat on the right hand the shore swept round in a sickle reaping them into the harbour there the old victory gay with myriad pointed pennons was harvested saved for a trophy it is a dreadful thing thought sigmund to remain as a trophy when there is nothing more to do he watched the landing-stages swooping nearer there were the trains drawn up in readiness at the other end of the train was london

he could scarcely bear to have helena before him for another two hours the suspense of that protracted farewell while he sat opposite her in the beating train would cost too much he longed to be released from her they had got their luggage and were standing at the foot of the ladder in the heat of the engines and the smell of hot oil waiting for the crowd to pass on so that they might ascend and step off the ship on to the mainland won't you let me go by the south-western and you by the brighton asked sigmund hesitating repeating the morning's question. Helena looked at him, knitting her brows with misgiving and perplexity. No, she replied, let us go together. Siegman followed her up the iron ladder to the key. There was no great crowd on the train.

They easily found a second-class compartment without occupants. He swung the luggage on the rack, and sat down facing helena now he said to himself i wish i were alone he wanted to think and prepare himself helena who was thinking actively leaned forward to him to say shall i not go down to cornwall by her soothing willingness to do anything for him sigmund knew that she was dogging him closely he could not bear to have his anxiety protracted but you have promised louisa have you not he replied oh well she said in the peculiar slighting tone she had when she wished to convey the unimportance of affairs not touching him then you must go he said but she began with harsh petulance i do not want to go down to cornwall with louisa and olive she accentuated the two names after this she asked her. she added.

"'Then Louisa will have no holiday, and you have promised,' he said gravely. Helena looked at him. She saw he had decided that she should go. "'Is my promise so very important?' she asked. She glanced angrily at the three ladies who were hesitating in the doorway. Nevertheless, the ladies entered, and seated themselves at the opposite end of the carriage.

Siegman did not know whether he were displeased or relieved by their intrusion. If they had stayed out, he might have held Helena in his arms for still another hour. As it was, she could not harass him with words. He tried not to look at her, but to think. the train at last moved out of the station as it passed through portsmouth sigmund remembered his coming down on the sunday it seemed an indefinite age ago he was thankful that he sat on the side of the carriage opposite from the one he had occupied five days before the afternoon of the flawless sky was ripening into evening the chimneys and the sides of the houses of portsmouth took on that radiant appearance which transfigures the end of day in town a rich bloom of light appears on the surfaces of brick and stone it will go on thought seagland being gay of an evening for ever and i shall miss it all but as soon as the train moved into the gloom of the town station he began again

beatrice will be proud and silent as steel when i get home she will say nothing thank god nor shall i that will expedite matters there will be no interruptions but we cannot continue together after this why should i discuss reasons for and against we cannot she goes to a cottage in the country already i have spoken of it to her i allow her all i can of my money and on the rest i manage for myself in lodgings in london very good but when i am comparatively free i cannot live alone i shall want helena i shall remember the children if i have the one i shall be damned by the thought of the other this bruise on my mind will never get better helena says she would never come to me but she would out of pity for me i know she would but then what then beatrice and the children in the country and me not looking after the children beatrice is thriftless she would be in endless difficulty it would be a degradation to me she would keep a red sore inflamed against me i should be a shameful thing in her mouth besides there would go all her strength she would not make any efforts he has brought it on us she would say let him see what the result is

and things would go from bad to worse with them it would be a gangrene of shame and helena i should have nothing but mortification when she was asleep i could not look at her she is such a strange incongruous creature but i should be responsible for her she believes in me as if i had the power of god what should i think of myself sigmund leaned with his head against the window watching the country whirl past but seeing nothing he thought imaginatively and his imagination destroyed him he pictured beatrice in the country he sketched the morning breakfast haphazard at a late hour the elder children rushing off without food miserable and untidy the youngest bewildered under her swift indifferent preparations for school he thought of beatrice in the evening worried and irritable her bills unpaid the work undone declaiming lamentably against the cruelty of her husband who had abandoned her to such a burden of care while he took his pleasure elsewhere this line exhausted or intolerable sigmund switched off to the consideration of his own life in town he would go to america the agreement was signed with the theatre manager but america would be only a brief shutting of the eyes and closing of the mouth he would wait for the home-coming to helena and she would wait for him it was inevitable

then would begin what he would never have enough money to keep helena even if he managed to keep himself their meetings would then be occasional and clandestine oh it was intolerable if i were rich said sigmund all would be plain i would give each of my children enough and beatrice and we would go away but i am nearly forty i have no genius i shall never be rich round and round went his thoughts like oxen over a threshing floor treading out the grain gradually the chaff flew away gradually the corn of conviction gathered small and hard upon the floor as he sat thinking helena leaned across to him and laid her hand on his knee if i have made things more difficult she said her voice harsh with pain you will forgive me he started this was one of the cruel cuts of pain that love gives filling the eyes with blood sigmund stiffened himself slowly he smiled as he looked at her childish plaintive lips and her large eyes haunted with pain forgive you he repeated forgive you for five days of perfect happiness the only real happiness i have ever known helena tightened her fingers on his knee she felt herself stinging with painful joy

but one of the ladies was looking at her curiously she leaned back in her place and turned to watch the shocks of corns strike swiftly in long rows across her vision Siegmund, also quivering, turned his face to the window, where the rotation of the wide sea-flat helped the movement of his thought. Helena had interrupted him. She had bewildered his thoughts from their hawking, so that they struck here and there, wildly among small, pitiful prey that was useless, conclusions which only hindered the bringing home of the final convictions. What will she do? cried Siegmund.

What will she do when I am gone? What will become of her? Already she has no aim in life. Then she will have no object. Is it any good my going if I leave her behind? What an inextricable knot this is! But what will she do? it was a question she had aroused before a question which he could never answer indeed it was not for him to answer

they wound through the pass of the south downs as sigmund looking backward saw the northern slope of the downs swooping smoothly in a great broad bosom of sward down to the body of the land he wiggum of the land he wretched he was a great broad bosom of the land he was, warmed with sudden love for the earth. There the great downs were, naked like a breast, leaning kindly to him. The earth is always kind. It loves us, and would foster us like a nurse.

The downs were big and tender and simple. Siegman looked at the farm, folded in a hollow, and he wondered what fortune at folk were there, nourished and quiet, hearing the vague roar of the train that was carrying him home. Up towards Arendel, the cornfields of red wheat were heavy with gold. It was evening, when the green of the trees went out, leaving dark shapes proud upon the sky. But the red wheat was forged in the sunset, hot and magnificent.

sigmund almost gloated as he smelled the ripe corn and opened his eyes to its powerful radiation for a moment he forgot everything amid the forging of red fields of gold in the smithy of the sunset like sparks poppies blew along the railway banks a crimson train sigmund waited through the meadows for the night's next wheat-field. It came like the lifting of yellow-hot metal out of the gloom of darkened grasslands. Helena was reassured by the glamour of evening over ripe Sussex. She breathed the land now and then while she watched the sky. The sunset was stately. The blue-eyed day with great limbs, having fought its victory and won now mounted triumphant on its pyre and with white arms uplifted took the flames which leaped like blood about its feet the day died nobly so she thought one gold cloud as an encouragement tossed to her followed the train surely that cloud is first us, said she, as she watched it anxiously.

Dark trees brushed between it and her while she waited in suspense. It came unswerving from behind the trees. I am sure it is for us, she repeated. A gladness came into her eyes. Still the cloud followed the train. She leaned forward to Siegmund and pointed out the cloud. to him. She was very eager to give him a little of her faith. It has come with us quite a long way. Doesn't it seem to you to be travelling with us?

It is the golden hand. It is the good omen. She then proceeded to tell him the legend from Aylwyn. Siegmund listened and smiled. The sunset was handsome on his face. Helena was almost happy. I am right, said he to himself. I am right in my conclusions, and Helena will manage by herself afterwards. I am right. There is the hand to confirm it.

The heavy trains settled down to an easy, unbroken stroke, swinging like a greyhound over the level northwards. all the time sigmund was mechanically thinking the well-known movement from the valkyrie ride his whole self beating to the rhythm it seemed to him that there was a certain grandeur in this flight but it hurt him with its heavy insistence of catastrophe he was afraid he had to summon his courage to sit quiet for a time he was reassured he was reassured he believed he was going on towards the right end he hunted through the country and the sky asking of everything am i right am i right he did not mind what happened to him so long as he felt it was right what he meant by right he did not trouble to think but the question remained for a time he had been reassured then a dullness came over him when his thoughts were stupid and he merely submitted to the rhythm of the train which stamped him deeper and deeper with a brand of catastrophe the sun had gone down over the west was a gush of brightness as the fountain of light bubbled lower the stars like specks of froth from the foaming of the day clung

to the blue ceiling. Like spiders they hung overhead, while the hosts of the gold atmosphere poured out of the hive by the western low door. Soon the hive was empty, a hollow dome of purple, with here and there on the floor a bright brushing of wings, a village. Then overhead the luminous star spider began to run. Ah, well, thought Siegmund, he was tired. If one bee dies in a swarm, what is it, so long as the hive is all right? Apart from the gold light and the hum and the colour of day, what was I? Nothing.

Apart from these rushings out of the hive along with swarm, into the dark meadows of night, gathering God knows what, I was a pebble. Well, the day will swarm in golden again, with colour on the wings of every bee, and humming in each activity. The gold and the colour and sweet smell and the sound of life may exist, even if there is no bee.

It only happens we see the iridescence on the wings of a bee. It exists whether or not be or no be. Since the iridescence and the humming of life are always, and since it was they who made me, then I am not lost. At least I do not care. If the spark goes out, the essence of the fire is there in the darkness. What does it matter? besides i have burned bright i have laid up a fine cell of honey somewhere i wonder where we can never point to it but it is so what does it matter then they had entered the north downs and were running through dorking towards leatherhead box hill stood dark in the dusky sweetness of the night

helena remembered that here she and sigmund had come for their first walk together she would like to come again presently she saw the quick stilettos of stars on the small baffled river they ran between high embankments sigmund reflected that these were covered with roses of charon the large golden st john's wurt of finest silk he looked and could just distinguish the full-blown delicate flowers ignored by the stars at last he had something to say to helena do you remember he asked the roses of charon all along here i do replied helena glad he spoke so brightly weren't they pretty after a few moments of watching the bank she said do you know i have never gathered one i think i should like to i should like to feel them and they should have an orangy smell he smiled without answering she glanced up at him smiling brightly but shall we come down here in the morning and find some she asked she put the question timidly would you care to she added sigmund darkened and frowned here was the pain revived again no he said gently i think we had better not almost for the first time he did not make apologetic explanation helena turned to the window and remained looking out at the spinning of the lights of the towns without speaking until they were near

Then she rose and pinned on her hat, gathering her gloves and her basket. She was in spite of herself slightly angry. Being quite ready to leave the train, she sat down to wait for the station. Sigmund was aware that she was displeased, and again for the first time he said to himself, Ah, well, it must be so. She looked at him. He was sad, therefore she softened instantly. At least, she said doubtfully, I shall see you at the station.

At Waterloo, he asked. No, at Wimbledon, she replied in her metallic tone. But, he began, it will be the best way for us. she interrupted in the calm tone of conviction much better than crossing london from victoria to waterloo very well he replied he looked up a train for her in his little time-table you will get in wimbledon ten-five leave ten forty leave waterloo eleven thirty he said very good she answered the brakes were grinding they waited in a burning suspense for the train to stop if only she will soon go thought sigmund it was an intolerable minute she rose everything was a red blur she stood before him pressing his hand then he rose to give her the bag as he leaned upon the window-frame and she stood upon the window-frame and she stood before him pressing his hand then he rose to give her the bag as he leaned upon the window-frame and she stood below on the platform looking up at him he could scarcely breathe how long will it be he said to himself looking at the open carriage doors

he hated intensely the lady who could not get a porter to remove her luggage he could have killed her he could have killed her he could have killed the dilatory guard at last the doors slammed and the whistle went the train started imperceptibly into motion now i lose her said sigmund she looked up at him her face was white and dismal good-bye then she said and she turned away Siegmund went back to his seat. He was relieved, but he trembled with sickness. We are all glad when intense moments are done with. But why did she fling round in that manner, stopping the keen note short? What would she do?

End of chapter twenty-one. recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter twenty two of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter twenty two siegmund went up to victoria he was in no hurry to get down to wimbledon london was warm and exhausted after the hot day but this peculiar lukewarmness was not unpleasant to him he chose to walk from victoria to waterloo the streets were like polished gun-metal glistened over with gold the taxi-cabs the wild-cats of the town swept over the gleaming floor swiftly soon lessening in the distance as if scornful of the other clumsy-footed traffic he heard the merry click-clock of the swinging handsoms then the excited whirring of the motor-buses as they charged full tilt heavily down the road, their hearts, as it seemed, beating with trepidation. They drew up with a sigh of relief by the curb, and stood there panting, great nervous, clumsy

things. Siegmund was always amused by the headlong floundering career of the buses. He was pleased with this scampering of the traffic, anything for distraction. He was glad Helena was not with him, for the streets would have irritated her with their coarse noise. She would stand for a long time to watch the rabbits pop and hobble along the common at night, but the tearing along of the taxis and the charge of a great motor-bus was painful to her. "'Discords,' she said, after the trees and sea. She liked the glistening of the streets.

It seemed a fine alloy of gold laid down for pavement, such pavement as drew near to the pure gold streets of heaven. But this noise could not be endured near any wonderland. Siegman did not mind it. It drummed out his own thoughts. He watched the gleaming magic of the road, raced over with shadows, project itself far before him into the night. He watched the people. Soldiers belted with scarlet went jauntily on in front. There was a peculiar charm in their movement. There was a soft vividness of life in their carriage. It reminded Siegmund of the soft swaying and lapping of a poised candle-flame.

The women went blithely alongside. Occasionally in passing one glanced at him. Then in spite of himself he smiled. He knew not why. The women glanced at him with approval, for he was ruddy. Besides, he had that carelessness and abstraction of despair. The eyes of the women said, You are comely, you are lovable!

And Siegman smiled. When the street opened at Westminster, He noticed the city sky, a lovely deep purple, And the lamps in the square, Steaming out a vapour of grey-gold light. it is a wonderful night he said to himself there are not too such in a year he went forward to the embankment with a feeling of elation in his heart this purple and gold-gray world with the fluttering flame warmth of soldiers and the quick brightness of women like lights that clip sharply in a draught was a revelation to him as he leaned upon the embankment parapet the wonder did not fade but rather increased the trams one after another floated loftily over the bridge

they went like great burning bees in an endless file into a hive past those which were drifting dreamily out while below on the black distorted water golden serpents flashed and tuesday twisted to and fro. Ah, said Siegman to himself, it is far too wonderful for me. Here, as well as by the sea, the night is gorgeous and uncouth. Whatever happens, the world is wonderful. So he went on amid all the vast miracle of movement

in the city night, the swirling of water to the sea, the gradual sweep of the stars, the floating of many lofty, luminous cars through the bridged darkness, like an army of angels filing past on one of God's campaigns, the purring haste of the taxes, the slightly dancing shadows of people. Siegment went on slowly, like a slow bullet winging into the heart of the heart of life. He did not lose this sense of wonder, not in the train, nor as he walked home in the moonless dark. When he closed the door behind him and hung up his hat, he frowned. He did not

think definitely of anything, but his frown meant to him, Now for the beginning of hell. He went towards the dining-room, where the light was. and the uneasy murmur. The clock with its deprecating, suave chime, was striking ten. Siegmund opened the door of the room. Beatrice was sewing, and did not raise her head. Frank, a tall, thin lad of eighteen, was bent over a book. He did not look up.

Vera had her fingers thrust in among her hair, and continued to read the magazine that lay on the table before her. Zygman looked at them all. They gave no sign to show they were aware of his entry. There was only that unnatural tenseness of people who cover their agitation. He glanced round to see where he should go. His wicker-armed chair remained by the fireplace, his slippers were standing under the sideboard as he had left them.

Siegman sat down in the creaking chair. He began to feel sick and tired. I suppose the children are in bed, he said. His wife sewed on as if she had not heard him. His daughter noisily turned over a leaf and continued to read, as if she were pleasantly interested and had known no interruption. Siegman waited with his slipper dangling from his hand, looking from one to another. "'They've been gone two hours,' said Frank at last, still without raising his eyes from the book.

His tone was contemptuous, his voice was jarring, not yet having developed a man's fullness. Siegman put on his slipper and began to unlace the other boot. The slurring of the lace through the holes and the snacking of the tag seemed unnecessarily loud. It annoyed his wife. She took a breath to speak, then refrained, feeling suddenly her daughter's scornful restraint upon her. rested his arms upon his knees and sat leaning forward looking into the barren fireplace which was littered with paper and orange peel and a banana skin

do you want any supper asked beatrice and the sudden harshness of her voice startled him into looking at her she had her face averted refusing to see him siegman's heart went down with weariness and despair at the sight of her aren't you having any he asked the table was not laid beatrice's work-basket a little wicker fruit skep overflowed scissors and pins and scraps of holland and reels of cotton on the green serge cloth beaeraheared both her elbows on the table instead of replying to him beatrice went to the sideboard she took out a table-cloth pushing her sewing litter aside and spread the cloth over one end of the table vera gave her magazine a little knock with her hand have you read this tale of a french convent school in here mother she asked in whir in this month's nashes no replied beatrice what time have I for reading, much less for anything else. You should think more of yourself and a little less of other people, then," said Vera, with a sneer at the other people.

She rose. Let me do this. You sit down. You are tired, mother, she said. Her mother, without replying, went out to the kitchen. Vera followed her. Frank left alone with his father. moved uneasily, and bent his thin shoulders lower over his book.

Siegmund remained with his arms on his knees, looking into the grate. From the kitchen came the chinking of crockery, and soon the smell of coffee. All the time Vera was heard chatting with affected brightness to her mother, addressing her in fond tones, using all her wits to recall brightness. little incidents to retail to her. Beatrice answered rarely, and then with the utmost brevity. Presently Vera came in with the tray. She put down a cup of coffee, a plate with boiled ham, pink and thin, such as is bought

from a grocer, and some bread and butter. Then she sat down, noisily turning over the leaves of her magazine. Frank glanced at the table. It was laid solely for his father. He looked at the bread and the meat, but restrained himself, and went on reading, or pretended to do so. Beatrice came in with the small cruet. It was conspicuously bright. Everything was correct. Knife and fork, spoon, cruet, all perfectly clean. the crockery fine the bread and butter thin in fact it was just as it would have been for a perfect stranger this scrupulous neatness in a household so slovenly and easy-going where it was an established tradition that something should be forgotten or wrong impressed siegmund beatrice put the serving-knife and fork by the little dish of ham saw that all was proper, then went and sat down. Her face showed no emotion. It was calm and proud. She began to sow.

What do you say, mother? said Vera, as if resuming a conversation. Shall it be Hampton Court or Richmond on Sunday? I say, as I said before, replied Beatrice, I cannot afford to go out. But you must begin, my dear and sunday shall see the beginning d'it donk there are other things to think of said beatrice now mamma nous have chang ch'est we are going out a jolly little razzle vera who was rather handsome lifted up her face and smiled at her mother gaily i am afraid there will be no razzle beatrice accented the word smiling slightly, for me. You are slangy, Vera. "'Aen do's argot, ma'amere. You look tired.' Beatrice glanced at the clock. I will go to bed when I have cleared the table, she said.

Siegmund winced. He was still sitting with his head bent down, looking into the grate. Vera went on to say something more. Presently Frank looked up at the table and remarked in his grating voice, There's your supper, father! The women stopped and looked round at this. Siegmund bent his head lower. Vera resumed her talk. It died out, and there was silence.

Siegmund was hungry. oh good lord good lord bread of humiliation to-night he said to himself before he could muster courage to rise and go to the table he seemed to be shrinking inwards the women glanced swiftly at him and away from him as his chair creaked and he got up frank was watching from under his eyebrows sigmund went through the ordeal of eating and drinking in presence of his family if he had not been hungry he could not have done it despite the fact that he was content to receive humiliation this night he swallowed the coffee with effort when he had finished he sat irresolute for some time then he arose and went to the door good-night good-night he said. Nobody made any reply. Frank merely stirred in his chair. Seagmund shut the door and went. There was absolute silence in the room, till they heard him turn on the tap in the bathroom. Then Beatrice began to breathe spasmodically, catching her breath as if she would sob.

But she restrained herself. The faces of the two ladies. children set hard with hate. "'He is not worth the flicking of your little finger, mother,' said Vera. Beatrice moved about with pitiful, groping hands, collecting her sewing and her cottons. "'At any rate, he's come back red enough,' said Frank in his grating tone of contempt. "'He's like boiled salmon.' beatrice did not answer anything frank rose and stood with his back to the great in his father's characteristic attitude he would come slinking back in a funk he said with a young man's sneer stretching forward he put a piece of ham between two pieces of bread and began to eat the sandwich in large bites vera came to the table at this

and began to make herself a more dainty sandwich. Frank watched her with jealous eyes. "'There is a little more ham if you'd like it,' said Beatrice to him. "'I kept you some.' "'All right, Ma,' he replied, "'fetch it in.' Beatrice went out to the kitchen. "'And bring the bread and butter, too, will you?' called Vera after her. "'The damned coward! Ain't he a rotten, "'Funker,' said Frank, Sotovoche, while his mother was out of the room.

Vera did not reply, but she seemed tacitly to agree. They petted their mother while she waited on them. At length Frank yawned. He fidgeted a moment or two, then he went over to his mother, and, putting his hand on her arm, the feel of his mother's round arm under the black silk sleeve made his tears rise. He said more gratingly than ever, "'Nare mind, Ma, we'll be all right to you.' Then he bent and kissed her. "'Good-night, mother,' he said awkwardly, and he went out of the room.

Beatrice was crying. End of Chapter 22. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 23 of The Trespasser This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 23 I shall never re-establish myself, said Siegmund.

as he closed behind him the dining-room door and went upstairs in the dark i am a family criminal beatrice might come round but the children's insolent judgment is too much and i am like a dog that creeps round the house from which it escaped with joy i have nowhere else to go why did i come back but i am sleepy i will not bother to-night he went into the bathroom and washed himself everything he did gave him a grateful sense of pleasure notwithstanding the misery of his position he dipped his arms deeper into the cold water that he might feel the delight of it a little farther his neck he swilled time after time and it seemed to him he laughed with pleasure as the water caught him and fell away the towel reminded him how sore where his forehead and his neck blistered both to a state of rawness by the sun he touched them very cautiously to dry them wincing and smiling at his own childish touch and shrink though his bedroom was very dark he did not light the gas instead he stepped out into the small balcony his shirt was open at the neck and wrists he pulled it farther apart bearing his chest to the deliciously soft night he stood looking out at the darkness for some time the night was as yet moonless but luminous with a certain atmosphere of light the stars were small

near at hand large shapes of trees rose up farther lamps like little mushroom groups shone amid an undergrowth of darkness there was a vague hoarse noise there was a vague hoarse noise filling the sky like the whispering in a shell, and this breathing of the summer night occasionally swelled into a restless sigh as a train roared across the distance. What a big night, thought Siegmund. The night gathers everything into a oneness. I wonder what is in it. He leaned forward over the balcony, trying to cast it. something out of the night. He felt his soul like tendrils, stretched out anxiously to grasp a hold. What could he hold to, in this great, hoarse-breathing night? A star fell! It seemed to burst into sight just across his eyes with a yellow flash.

He looked up, unable to make up his mind whether he had seen it or not. There was no gap in the sky. It is a good sign, a shooting star, he said to himself. It is a good sign for me. I know I am right. That was my sign. Having assured himself he stepped indoors, unpacked his bag, and was soon in bed. This is a good bed, he said, and the sheets are very fresh.

he lay for a little while with his head bending forwards looking from his pillow out at the stars then he went to sleep at half-past six in the morning he suddenly opened his eyes what is it he asked and almost without interruption answered well i've got to go through it his sleep had shaped him perfect premonition which, like a dream, he forgot when he awoke. Only this naive question and answer betrayed what had taken place in his sleep. Immediately he awoke this subordinate knowledge vanished. Another fine day was striding in triumphant. The first thing Siegman did was to salute the morning because of its brightness. The second thing was to salute the morning because of its brightness. The second thing was to call to mind the aspect of that bay in the Isle of White. What would it just be like now? he said to himself. He had to give his heart some justification for the peculiar pain left in it from his sleep activity, so he began poignantly to long for the place which had been his during the last mornings. He pictured the garden with roses and nasturtiums. He remembered the sunny way down the shore,

and all the expanse of sea hung softly between the tall white cliffs. "'It is impossible, it is gone,' he cried to himself. "'It can't be gone. I looked forward to it as if it never would come. It can't be gone now. Helena is not lost to me, surely. Then he began a long pining for the departed beauty of his life. He turned the jewel of memory, and facet by facet it wounded him with its brilliant loveliness. This pain, though it was keen, was half-pleasure. Presently he heard his wife stirring. She opened the door of the room next to his, and he heard her, Frank, it's a quarter to eight. You will be late. All right, mother, why didn't you call me sooner? grumbled the lad.

I didn't wake myself. I didn't go to sleep till morning, and then I slept. She went downstairs. Siegman listened for his son to get out of bed. The minutes passed. The young donkey, why doesn't he get out? said Siegman angrily to himself. He turned over, pressing himself upon the bed in anger and humiliation, because now he had no authority to call to his son and keep him to his duty. Siegmund waited, writhing with anger, shame and anxiety. When the suave velvety, Bun, bun, of the clock was heard striking, Frank stepped with a thud onto the floor.

He could be heard dressing in clumsy haste. Beatrice called from the bottom of the stairs. Do you want any hot water? You know there isn't time for me to shave now, answered her son, lift his voice to a kind of broken falsetto. The scent of the cooking of bacon filled the house. Siegman heard his second daughter Marjorie, aged nine, talking to Vera, who occupied the same room with her.

The child was evidently questioning, and the elder girl answered briefly. There was a lull in the household noises, broken suddenly by Marjorie, shouting, from the top of the stairs. Mom! She wailed. Mom! Still Beatrice did not hear her. Mom!

Mama! Beatrice was in the scullery. Mama! The child was getting impatient. She lifted her voice and shouted. Mom! Mama! Still no answer.

Mammy! she squealed. Sigmund could hardly contain himself. Why don't you go down and ask? Vera called crossly from the bedroom. And at the same moment Beatrice answered, also crossly. What do you want? Where's my stockings?

cried the child at the top of her voice. Why do you ask me? Are they down here? replied her mother. What are you shouting for?' The child plodded downstairs. Directly she returned, and as she passed into Vera's room, she grumbled. And now they're not mended! Siegmund heard a sound that made his heart beat.

It was the crackling of the sides of the crib, as Gwen, his little girl of five climbed out. She was silent for a space. He imagined her sitting on the white rug and pulling on her stockings. Then there came the quick little thud of her feet as she went downstairs. "'Mam?' Seagman heard her say as she went down the hall. "'Has Dad come?' The answer and the child's further talk were lost in the distance of the kitchen.

The small anxious question and the quick thudding of Gwen's feet made Siegmund lie still with torture. He wanted to hear no more. He lay shrinking within himself. It seemed that his soul was sensitive to madness. He felt that he could not come what might get up and meet them all. The front door banged, and he heard Frank's hasty call. Goodbye!

Evidently the lad was in an ill. ill-humour. Seagman listened for the sound of the train. It seemed an age. The boy would catch it. Then the water from the wash-hand bowl in the bathroom ran loudly out. That, he suggested, was Vera, who was evidently not going up to town. At the thought of this, Siegmund almost hated her. He listened for her to go downstairs. It was nine o'clock. The footsteps of Beatrice came upstairs. She put something down in the bathroom, his hot water. Ziegmund listened intently for her to come to his door.

Would she speak? She approached hurriedly, knocked and waited. Siegman startled, for the moment, could not answer. She knocked loudly. "'All right,' said he. Then she went downstairs. He lay probing and torturing himself for another half-hour, till Vera's voice said coldly beneath his window outside.

You should clear away then. We don't want the breakfast-things on the table for a week. Seedman's heart set hard. He rose with a shut mouth and went across to the bathroom. He started. The quaint figure of Gwen stood at the bowl. Her back was towards him. She was sponging her face gingerly.

Her hair all bloused from the pillow was tied in a stiff little pig-tail, standing out from her slender, childish neck. Her arms were bare to the shoulder. She wore a bodiced petticoat of pink flannelette, which hardly reached her knees. Siegman felt slightly amused to see her stout little calves planted so firmly close together. She carefully sponged her cheeks, her pursed up mouth and her neck, soaping her hair but not her ears. Then very deliberately she squeezed out the sponge and proceeded to wipe away the soap.

For some reason or other she glanced round. Her startled eyes met his. She too had beautiful dark blue eyes. She stood with the sponge at her neck, looking full at him. Siegman felt himself shrinking. The child's look was steady, calm, inscrutable. "'Hello!' said her father. "'Are you here?'

The child, without altering her expression. in the slightest, turned her back on him, and continued wiping her neck. She dropped the sponge in the water, and took the towel from off the side of the bath. Then she turned to look again at Siegmund, who stood in his pyjamas before her, his mouth shut hard, but his eyes shrinking and tender. She seemed to be trying to discover something in him. "'Have you washed your ears?' he said gaily. "'She paid no heed to this,

"'except that he noticed her face now wore a slight constrained smile "'as she looked at him. "'She was shy. "'Still she continued to regard him curiously. "'There is some chocolate on my dressing-table,' he said. "'Where have you been to?' she said suddenly. "'To the seaside.' he answered smiling to brighton she asked her tone was still condemning much farther than that he replied to worthing she asked father in a steamer he replied

but who did you go with asked the child why i went all by myself he answered twouly she asked wearily wearily and tuly He answered, laughing. Couldn't you take me? she asked. I will next time, he replied. The child looked at him, unsatisfied. But what did you go for? she asked, goading him suspiciously. To see the sea and the ships and the fighting ships with cannons. You might have taken me, said the child reproachfully.

Yes, I ought to have done Orton-tie, he said, as if regretful. Gwen still looked full at him. You are red, she said. He glanced quickly in the glass and replied, That is the sun, hasn't it been hot? Mmm, it made my nose all peel! Beera said she would scrape me like a new potato. the child laughed and turned shyly away come here said siegman i believe you've got a tooth out haven't you he was very cautious and gentle the child drew back

he hesitated and she drew away from him unwilling come and let me look he repeated she drew farther away and the same constrained smile appeared on her forehead she drew farther away and the same constrained smile appeared on her forehead face, shy, suspicious, condemning. "'Aren't you going to get your chocolate?' he asked, as the child hesitated in the doorway. She glanced into his room and answered, "'I've got to go to ma'am and have my hair done.' Her awkwardness and her lack of compliance insulted him. She went downstairs without going into his room. Siegmund, rebuffed by the only one in the house from whom he might have expected friendship, proceeded slowly to shave, feeling sick at heart.

He was a long time over his toilet. When he stripped himself for the bath, it seemed to him he could smell the sea. He bent his head and licked his shoulder. It tasted decidedly salt. The pity to wash it off, he said. As he got up dripping from the cold bath, he felt for the moment exhilarated. He rubbed himself smooth. Glancing down at himself, he thought, I look young, I look as young as twenty-six. He turned to the mirror. There he saw himself a mature, complete man of forty.

with grave years of experience on his countenance. I used to think that, when I was forty, he said to himself, I should find everything straight as the nose on my face, walking through my affairs as easily as you like. Now I am no more sure of myself, have no more confidence than a boy of twenty. What can I do? It seems to me a man needs a mother, all his life.

I don't feel much like a lord of creation. Having arrived at this cynicism, Siegmund prepared to go downstairs. His sensitiveness had passed off. His nerves had become callous. When he was dressed, he went down to the kitchen without hesitation. He was indifferent to his wife and children. No one spoke to him as he sat to the table. that was as he liked it he wished for nothing to touch him he ate his breakfast alone while his wife bustled about upstairs and and vera bustled about in the dining-room

then he retired to the solitude of the drawing-room as a reaction against his poetic activity he felt as if he were gradually becoming more stupid and blind he remarked nothing not even the extravagant bowl of grasses placed where he would not have allowed it on his piano nor his fiddle laid cruelly on the cold polished floor near the window he merely sat down in an arm-chair and felt sick all his unnatural excitement all the poetic stimulation of the past few days had vanished he felt flaxid while his life struggled slowly through him after an intoxication of passion and love and beauty and of sunshine he was prostrate like a plant that blossoms gorgeously and mad He had wasted the tissue of his strength, so that now his life struggled in a clogged and broken channel. Sigmund sat with his head between his hands, leaning upon the table. He would have been stupidly quiescent, in his feeling of loathing and sickness, had not an intense

irritability in all his nerves tormented him into conscience. I suppose this is the result of the sun, a sort of sunstroke, he said, realising an intolerable stiffness of his brain, a stunned condition in his head. This is hideous, he said. His arms were quivering with intense irritation. He exerted all his will to stop them, and then the hot irritability commenced in his belly. Siegman fidgeted in his chair without changing his position. He had not the energy to get up and move about. He fidgeted like an insect pinned down. The door opened. He felt violently startled.

Yet there was no movement perceptible. Vera entered, ostensibly for an autograph album into which she was going to copy. a drawing from the London opinion, really to see what her father was doing. He did not move a muscle. He only longed intensely for his daughter to go out of the room, so that he could let go. Vera went out of the drawing-room humming to herself. Apparently she had not even glanced at her father. In reality she had observed him closely.

He is sitting with his head in his hands, she said to her mother. Beatrice replied, I'm glad he's nothing else to do. I should think he's pitying himself, said Vera. He's a good one at it, answered Beatrice. Gwen came forward and took hold of her mother's skirt, looking up anxiously. What is he doing, ma'am? she asked. nothing replied her mother nothing only sitting in the drawing-room but what has he been doing persisted the anxious child nothing nothing that i can tell you he's only spoil to all our lives the little girl stood regarding her mother in the greatest distress and perplexity but what will he do ma'am she asked

nothing don't bother run away and play with margery now do you want a nice plum she took a yellow plum from the table gwen accepted it without a word she was too much perplexed what do you say asked her mother thank you replied the child turning away sigmund sighed with relief when he was again left alone he twisted in his chair and sighed again trying to drive out the intolerable clawing irritability from his belly oh this is horrible he said he stiffened his muscles to quieten them i've never been like this before what is the matter he asked himself but the question died out immediately it seemed useless and sickening to try and answer it he began to cast about for an alleviation if he could only do something or have something or have something he wanted, it would be better. What do I want? he asked himself, and he anxiously strove to find this out. Everything he suggested to himself made him sicken with weariness or distaste. The seaside, a foreign land, a fresh life that he had often dreamed of farming in Canada.

I should be just the same there. he answered himself just the same sickening feeling there that i want nothing helena he suggested to himself trembling but he only felt a deeper horror the thought of her made him shrink convulsively i can't endure this he said if this is the case i had better be dead to have no want no desire that is death to begin with he rested awhile after this the idea of death alone seemed entertaining then is there really nothing i could turn to he asked himself to him in that state of soul it seemed there was not helena he suggested again appealingly testing himself ah no he cried drawing sharply back as from an approaching touch upon a raw place he groaned slightly as he breathed with a horrid weight of nausea there was a fumbling upon the door-knob sigman did not start he merely he merely he pulled himself together.

Gwen pushed open the door, and stood holding on to the doorknob, looking at him. "'Dad! "'Mam says dinner's ready,' she announced. Siegman did not reply. The child waited at a loss for some moments, before she repeated, in a hesitating tone. "'Dinner's ready.' "'All right,' said Siegmund. away the little girl returned to the kitchen with tears in her eyes very crestfallen what did he say asked beatrice he shouted at me replied the little one breaking into tears

beatrice flushed tears came into her own eyes she took the child in her arms and pressed her to her kissing her forehead did he she said very tenderly never mind then dearie never mind the tears in her mother's voice made the child sob bitterly vera and margery sat silent at table the steak and mashed potatoes steamed and grew cold end of chapter twenty three recording by martin gison in hazelmere surrey chapter twenty four of the trespasser this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by martin geeson the trespasser the trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 24. When Helena arrived home on the Thursday evening, she found everything repulsive. All the odours of the sordid street through which she must pass hung about the pavement, having crept out in the heat. The house was bare and narrow. She remembered children sometimes to have brought her moths shut up in match-boxes. As she knocked at the door, she felt like

a numbed moth which a boy is pushing off its leaf-rest into his box. The door was opened by her mother. She was a woman whose sunken mouth, ruddy cheeks and quick brown eyes, gave her the appearance of a bird which walks about pecking suddenly here and there. As Helena reluctantly entered, the mother drew herself up, and immediately relaxed, seeming to peck forwards, as she said, well. Well, here we are, replied the daughter, in a matter-of-fact tone. Her mother was inclined to be affectionate, therefore she became proportionately cold. So I see, exclaimed Mrs. VIII.

Verdon, tossing her head in a peculiar, jocular manner. "'And what sort of a time have you had?' "'Oh, very good,' replied Helena, still more coolly. "'Hm!' Mrs. Verdon looked keenly at her daughter. She recognised the peculiar, sulky, childish look she knew so well, therefore making an effort she forbore to question. you look well she said helena smiled ironically and are you ready for your supper she asked in the playful affectionate manner she had assumed if the supper is ready i will have it replied her daughter well it's not ready her mother shut tight her sunken mouth and regarded her daughter with playful challenge

because she continued i didn't know when you were coming she gave a jerk with her arm like an orator who utters the incontrovertible but she added after a tedious dramatic pause. I can soon have it ready. What will you have? The full list of your capacious larder, replied Helena. Mrs. Verdon looked at her again and hesitated. Will you have cocoa or lemonade, she asked, coming to the point curtly. Lemonade, said Helena. Presently Mr. Verdon entered, a small, white-bearded man with a gentle voice. Oh, so you are back, Nellie, he said in his quiet, reserved manner.

As you see, Peter, she answered. Hmm, he murmured, and he moved about at his accounts. Neither of her parents dared to question Helena. They moved about her on tiptoe stealthily. Yet neither subserved her. Her father's quiet, Hmm! Her mother's curt question made her draw inwards like a snail which can never retreat far enough from condemning eyes.

She made a careless pretense of eating. She was like a child which has done wrong, and will not be punished, but will be left with the humiliating smear of offence upon it. There was a quick light palpitating of the knocker. Mrs. Verdon went to the door. "'Has she come?' And there were hasty steps along the passage. Louisa entered. She flung herself upon Helena and kissed her. "'How long have you been in?' she asked, in a voice trembling with affection. "'Ten minutes,' replied Helena.

"'Why didn't you send me the time of the train, so that I could come and meet you," Louisa reproached her. Why? drawled Helena. Louisa looked at her friend without speaking. She was deeply hurt by this sarcasm. As soon as possible, Helena went upstairs. Louisa stayed with her that night.

On the next day they were going to Cornwall together for their usual midsummer holiday. They were to be accompanied by a third girl, a minor friend of Louisa, a slight acquaintance of Helena. During the night neither of the two friends slept much. Helena made confidences to Louisa, who brooded on these, on the romance and tragedy which enveloped the girl she loved so dearly. Meanwhile, Helena's thoughts went round and round, tethered amid the five. days by the sea, pulling forwards as far as the morrow's meeting with Siegmund,

but reaching no further. Friday was an intolerable day of silence, broken by little tender advances, and playful affectionate sallies on the part of the mother, all of which were rapidly repulsed. The father said nothing, and avoided his daughter with his eyes. in his humble reserve there was a dignity which made his disapproval far more difficult to bear than the repeated flagrant questionings of the mother's eyes but the day wore on helena pretended to read and sat thinking she played her violin a little mechanically she went out into the town and wandered about At last the night fell. Well, said Helena to her mother, I suppose I'd better pack.

Haven't you done it? cried Mrs. Verdon, exaggerating her surprise. You'll never have it done. I'd better help you. What times does the train go? Helena smiled. Ten minutes to ten. Her mother glanced at the clock. It was only half-past. past eight. There was ample time for everything. Nevertheless, you'd better look sharp, Mrs. Verdon said. Helena turned away, weary of this exaggeration. I'll come with you to the station, suggested Mrs. Verdon.

I'll see the last of you. We shan't see much of you just now. Helena turned round in surprise. Oh, I wouldn't bother, she said. fearing to make her disapproval too evident. Yes, I will! I'll see you off! Mrs. Verdon's animation and indulgence were remarkable. Usually she was curt and undemonstrative. On occasions like these, however, when she was reminded of the ideal relations between mother and daughter,

she played the part of the affectionate parent, much to the general distress. Helena lit a candle and went to her bedroom. She quickly packed her dress-basket. As she stood before the mirror to put on her hat, her eyes, gazing heavily met her heavy eyes in the mirror. She glanced away swiftly as if she had been burned. How stupid I look!

She said to herself. And Siegmund! is he, I wonder. She wondered how Siegman had passed the day, what had happened to him, how he felt, how he looked. She thought of him protectively. Having strapped her basket, she carried it downstairs. Her mother was ready, with a white lace scarf round her neck. After a short time, Louisa came in. She dropped her basket in the passage, and then sank into a chair. "'I don't want to go, Nell,' she said after a few moments of silence.

"'Why, how is that?' asked Helena, not surprised, but condescending as to a child. "'Oh, I don't know. I'm tired,' said the other petulantly. "'Of course you are. What do you expect after a day like this?' said helena and rushing about packing exclaimed mrs verdun still in an exaggerated manner this time scolding playfully oh i don't know i don't think i want to go dear repeated louisa dejectedly well it is time we set out replied helena rising will you carry the basket or the violin mater louisa rose and with a forlorn expression took up her light luggage the west opposite the door was smouldering with sunset darkness is only smoke that hangs suffocatingly over the low red heat of the sunken day such was helena's longed-for night the tramcar was crowded in one corner olive the third friend rose excitedly to greet them helena sat mute while the car swung through the yellow stale lights of a third-rate street of shops

she heard olive remarking on her sunburned face and arms she became aware of the renewed inflammation in her blistered arms she heard her own curious voice answering everything was in a maze to the beat of the car while the yellow blur of the shops passed over her eyes she repeated two hundred and forty miles two hundred and forty miles End of Chapter 24. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 25 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence.

Chapter 25. Siegmund passed the afternoon in in a sort of stupor. At tea-time, Beatrice, who had until then kept herself in restraint, gave way to an outburst of angry hysteria. "'When does your engagement at the comedy theatre commence?' she had asked him coldly. He knew she was wondering about money. "'Tomorrow, if ever,' he had answered. She was aware that he hated the work.

For some reason or other, her anger flashed out like sudden lightning at his if ever. What do you think you can do? she cried, for I think you have done enough. We can't do as we like altogether. Indeed, indeed we cannot. You have had your fling, haven't you? You have had your fling, and you want to keep on. there's more than one person in the world. Remember that. But there are your children. Let me remind you. Who's are they? You talk about shirking the engagement, but who is going

to be responsible for your children, do you think? I said nothing about shirking the engagement, replied Siegman very coldly. No, there was no need to say. I know what it means. You sit there sulking all day. do you think i do i have to see to the children i have to work and slave i go on from day to day i tell you i'll stop i tell you i'll do as i like i'll go as well no i wouldn't be such a coward you know that you know i wouldn't leave little children to the workhouse or anything they're my children they mightn't be yours there is no need for this said sigmund contemptuously the pressure in his temples was excruciating and he felt loathsomely sick beatrice's dark eyes flashed with rage isn't there she cried oh isn't there no there is need for a great deal more i don't know what you think i am how much farther do you think you can go no you don't like reminding of us you sit moping sulking because you have to come back to your own children i wonder how much you think i shall stand what do you think i am to put up with it what do you think i am

am i a servant to eat out of your hand be quiet shouted sigmund don't i know what you are listen to yourself beatrice was suddenly silenced it was the stillness of white-hot wrath even sigmund was glad to hear her voice again she spoke low and trembling you coward you miserable you miserable you miserable it is i is it who am wrong it is i who am to blame is it you miserable thing i have no doubt you know what i am sigmund looked up at her as her words died off she looked back at him with dark eyes loathing his cowed wretched animosity his eyes were bloodshot and furtive his mouth was drawn back in a half grin of hate and misery. She was goading him, in his darkness, whither he had withdrawn himself like a sick dog, to die or recover, as his strength should prove. She tortured him till his sickness was swallowed by anger, which glared redly at her as he pushed back his chair to rise. He trembled too much, however. His chin dropped

again on his chest. Beatrice sat down in her place, hearing footsteps. She was shuddering slightly, and her eyes were fixed. Vera entered with the two children. All three immediately, as if they found themselves confronted by something threatening, stood arrested. Vera tackled the situation. Is the table ready to be cleared yet? She is the table ready to be cleared yet. She is asked in an unpleasant tone. Her father's cup was half emptied. He had come to tea late, after the others had left the table. Evidently he had not finished, but he made no reply. Neither did Beatrice. Vera glanced disgustedly at her father. Gwen sidled up to her mother

and tried to break the tension. "'Ma, there was a lady, had a dog, "'and it ran into a shop, "'and it licked a sheep, ma'am, what was hanging up.' "'Beatrice sat fixed and paid not the slightest attention. "'The child looked up at her, waited, "'then continued softly. "'Ma'am, there was a lady, had a dog.'

"'Don't bother,' snapped Vera sharply. the child looked wondering and resentful at her sister vera was taking the things from the table snatching them and thrusting them on the tray gwen's eyes rested a moment or two on the bent head of her father then deliberately she turned again to her mother and repeated in her softest and most persuasive tones ma'am i saw a dog and it ran in a butcher's shop and licked a piece of meat ma'am ma'am there was no answer gwen went forward and put her hand on her mother's knee ma'am she pleaded timidly no response ma'am she whispered she was desperate she stood on tip-toe and pulled with little hands at her mother's breast ma'am she whispered shrilly her mother with an effort of self-denial put off her investment of tragedy and laying her arm round the child's shoulders drew her close gwen was somewhat reassured but not satisfied with an earnest with an earnest face upturned to the impassive countenance of her mother, she began to whisper, sibilant,

coaxing, pleading, "'ma'am, there was a lady. She had a dog.' Vera turned sharply to stop this whispering, which was too much for her nerves, but the mother forestalled her. Taking the child in her arms, she averted her face, put her cheek against the baby cheek and let the tears run freely. Gwen was too much distressed to cry. The tears gathered very slowly in her eyes and fell without her having moved a muscle in her face. Vera remained in the scullery, weeping tears of rage and pity and shame into the towel. The only sound in the room was the occasional sharp breathing of Beatrice.

Sigmund sat without the trace of a movement, almost without breathing. His head was ducked low. He dared never lift it. He dared give no sign of his presence. Presently Beatrice put down the child and went to join Vera in the scullery. There came the low sound of women's talking, an angry. ominous sound. Gwynne followed her mother.

Her little voice could be heard cautiously asking, "'Ma'am, is Dad Cross? Is he? What did he do?' "'Don't bother,' snapped Vera. "'You are a little nuisance. Here take this into the dining-room and don't drop it.' The child did not obey.

She stood looking from her mother to her sister. The latter pushed a dish into her hand. Go along, she said, gently thrusting the child forth. Gwen departed. She hesitated in the kitchen. Her father still remained unmoved. The child wished to go to him, to speak to him, but she was afraid. She crossed the kitchen slowly, hugging the dish.

Then she came slowly back, hesitating. She sidled into the kitchen. She crept round the table inch by inch, drawing nearer her father. At about a yard from the chair she stopped. He, from under his bent brows, could see her small feet, in brown slippers, nearly kicked through at the toes, waiting and moving nervously near him. He pulled himself together, as a man does who watches the surgeon's lancet suspended over his wound. Would the child speak to him? Would she touch him with her small hands? He held his breath,

and it seemed held his heart from beating. What he should do he did not know. He waited in a days of suspense, the child shifted from one foot to another. He could just see the edge of her white-frilled drawers. He wanted, above all things, to take her in his arms, to have something against which to hide his face. Yet he was afraid. Often, when all the world was hostile, he had found her full of love he had hidden his face against her she had gone to sleep in his arms she had been like a piece of apple blossom in his arms if she should come to him now his heart halted again in suspense he knew not what he would do it would open perhaps the tumour of his sickness he was quivering too fast with suspense to know what he feared or wanted or hoped gwen called vera wondering why she did not return gwen yes answered the child and slowly sigmund saw her feet lifted hesitate move then turn away

she had gone his excitement sank rapidly and the sickness returned stronger more horrible and wearying than ever for a moment it was so bad that he was afraid of losing consciousness he recovered slightly pulled himself up and went upstairs his fists were tightly clenched his fingers closed over his thumbs which were pressed bloodless he lay down on the bed for two hours he lay in a dazed condition resembling sleep at the end of that time the knowledge that he had to meet Callena was actively at work, an activity quite apart from his will or his consciousness, jogging and pulling him awake. At eight o'clock he sat up. A cramped pain in his thumbs made him wonder. He looked at them, and mechanically shut them again under his fingers into the position they sought

after two hours of similar constraint. Sigmund opened his hands again, smiling. It is said to be the sign of a weak, deceitful character, he said to himself. His head was peculiarly numbed. At the back it felt heavy, as if weighted with lead. He could think only one detached sentence at intervals. Between whiles there was a blank grey sleep or swoon. I have got to go and meet Helena at Wimbledon, he said to himself, and instantly he felt a peculiar joy, as if he had laughed somewhere.

But I must be getting ready. I can't disappoint her, said Siegmund. The idea of Helena woke a craving for rest in him. If he should say to her, do not go away from me. come with me somewhere then he might lie down somewhere beside her and she might put her hands on his head if she could hold his head in her hands for she had fine silken hands that adjusted themselves with a rare pressure wrapping his weakness up in life then his head would gradually grow healed and he could rest this was the one thing that remained for his restoration that she should with long unwearying gentleness put him to rest he longed for it utterly for the hands and the restfulness of helena but it is no good he said staring like a drunken man from sleep what time is it it was ten minutes to nine

She would be in Wimbledon by ten-tendon. It was time he should be getting ready. Yet he remained sitting on the bed. I am forgetting again, he said. But I do not want to go. What is the good? I have only to tie a mask on for the meeting. It is too much.

He waited and waited. His head dropped forward in a sort of sleep. suddenly he started awake the back of his head hurt severely goodness he said it is getting quite dark it was twenty minutes to ten he went bewildered into the bathroom to wash in cold water and bring back his senses his hands were sore and his face blazed with sun inflammation he made himself neat as usual it was ten minutes to ten he would be very late it was practically dark though these bright days were endless he wondered whether the children were in bed it was too late however to wonder sigmund hurried downstairs and took his hat he was walking down the path when the door was snatched open behind him, and Vera ran out, crying, Are you going out?

Where are you going? Siegman stood still and looked at her. She is frightened, he said to himself, smiling ironically. I am only going a walk. I have to go to Wimbledon. I shall not be very long. Wimbledon at this time, said Vera sharply, full of suspicion. Yes, I am late.

late, I shall be back in an hour.' He was sorry for her. She knew he gave her an honourable promise. You need not keep her sitting up, she said. He did not answer, but hurried to the station. End of Chapter 25. Recording by Martin Gessen in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 26 of The Trespasser

This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence. Chapter 26 Helena, Louisa and Olive climbed the steps to go to the south-western platform. They were laden with dress baskets, umbrellas and little packages. Olive and Louisa at least were in high spirits.

Olive stopped before the indicator. The next train for Waterloo, she announced in her contralto voice, is 10.30. It is now 1012. We go by the 1040. It is a better train, said Helena. Oliver turned to her with a heavy arch-manner. Very well, dear. There is a parting to be got through, I am told. We sympathise, dear, but we regret it. Starting for a holiday is always a prolonged agony. But I am strong to endure it. You look it. You look as if you could tackle a bull, cried Louisa, skittish.

my dear louisa rang out olive's contralto don't judge me by appearances you're sure to be taken in with me it's a case of oh the gladness of her gladness when she's sad and the sadness of her sadness when she's glad she looked round to see the effect of this helena expected to say something chimed in sarcastically they are nothing to her madness when she's going for a holiday dear cried olive oh go on being mad cried louisa what do you like it i thought you'd be thanking heaven that sanity was given me in large doses and holidays in small laughed louisa good no i like your madness if you call it such you are always so serious it's ill-talking of halters in the house of the hanged dear boomed olive she looked from side to side she felt triumphant helena smiled acknowledging the sarcasm but said louisa smiling anxiously i don't quite see it what's the point well to be explicit dear replied olive it is hardly safe to accuse me of sadness and seriousness in this trio louisa laughed and shook herself come to think of it it isn't she said helena sighed and walked down the platform her heart was beating thickly she could hardly breathe The station lamps hung low, so they made the ceiling of heat and dusty light.

She suffocated under them. For a moment she beat with hysteria, feeling, as most of us feel when sick on a hot summer night, as if she must certainly go crazed, smothered under the grey woolly blanket of heat. Siegmund was late. It was already twenty-five minutes. minutes past ten. She went towards the booking office. At that moment Siegman came on to the platform. "'Here I am,' he said. "'Where is Louisa?' Helen pointed to the seat without answering. She was looking at Siegmund. He was distracted by the excitement of the moment, so she could not read him.

"'Olive is there, too,' she explained. Siegman stood still, straining his eyes to see the two women, seated amidst pale wicker dress-baskets and dark rugs. The stranger made things more complex. "'Does she, your other friend, does she know?' he asked. "'She knows nothing,' replied Helena, in a low tone, as she led him forward to be introduced how do you do replied olive in most mellow contralto behold the dauntless three with their traps you will see us forth on our perils i will since i may not do more replied sigmund smiling continuing and how is sister louisa she is very well thank you it is her turn now cried louisa vindictive triumphant there was always a faint animosity in her bearing towards sigmund

he understood and smiled at her enmity for the two were really good friends it is your turn now he repeated smiling and he turned away He and Helena walked down the platform. "'How did you find things at home?' he asked her. "'Oh, as usual,' she replied indifferently. "'And you?' "'Just the same,' he answered. He thought for a moment or two, then added, "'The children are happier without me.'

"'Oh, you mustn't say that kind of thing,' protested Helena. miserably. It's not true. It's all right, dear, he answered. So long as they are happy, it's all right. After a pause, he added, But I feel pretty bad tonight. Helena's hand tightened on his arm. He had reached the end of the platform.

There he stood, looking up the line which ran dark under a haze of lights. The high red signal lamps hung aloft in a scarlet swarm. Farther off, like spangles shaking downwards from a burst skyrocket, was a tangle of brilliant red and green signal lamps settling. A train, with the warm flare on its thick column of smoke, came thundering upon the lovers. Dazed they felt the yellow bar of carriage wind.

windows brush in vibration across their faces. The ground and the air rocked. Then Siegmund turned his head to watch the red and the green lights in the rear of the train swiftly dwindle on the darkness. Still watching the distance where the train had vanished, he said, dear i want you to promise that whatever happens to me you will go on remember to remember dear two wrongs don't make a right helena swiftly with a movement of terror faced him looking into his eyes but he was in the shadow she could not see him the flat sound of his voice lacking resonance the dead dead expressionless tone made her lose her presence of mind. She stared at him blankly. What do you mean? What has happened? Something has happened to you. What has happened at home? What are you going to do? She said sharply. She palpitated with terror. For the first time she felt powerless. Siegmund was beyond her grasp. She was afraid of him. He was afraid of him. He had shaken away her hold over him.

"'There's nothing fresh the matter at home,' he replied wearily. He was to be scourged with emotion again. "'I swear it,' he added, "'and I have not made up my mind, "'but I can't think of life without you, "'and life must go on.' "'And I swear,' she said wrathfully, turning at bay, that I won't live a day after you.'

Siegmund dropped his head. The dead spring of his emotion swelled up, scalding hot again. Then he said, almost inaudibly, "'Oh, don't speak to me like that, dear. It is late to be angry. When I have seen your train out to-night there is nothing left.' Helena looked at him, dumb with dismay, stupid, angry. They became aware of the porters, shouting loudly that the Waterloo train was to leave from another platform.

You'd better come, said Siegman, and they hurried down towards Louisa and Olive. We've got to change platforms, cried Louisa, running forward and excitedly announcing the news. Yes, replied Helena, pale and impassive. Siegmund picked up the luggage. I say, cried Olive, rushing to catch Helena and Louisa by the arm. Look, look both of you, look at that hat. A lady in front was wearing on her hat a wild and disheveled array of peacock feathers. It's the sight of a lifetime.

I wouldn't have you miss it," added Olive in hoarse Sotovoche. "'Indeed not,' cried Helena, turning in wild exasperation to look. "'Get a good view of it, Olive. Let's have a good mental impression of it, one that will last.' "'That's right, dear,' said Olive, somewhat nonplussed by this out. burst. Seagman had escaped with the heaviest two bags. They could see him ahead climbing the steps. Olive readjusted herself from the wildly animated to the calmly ironical. "'After all, dear,' she said, as they hurried in the tail of the crowd, "'it's not half a bad idea to get a man on the job.'

Louisa laughed aloud at this verse. vulgar conception of Siegmund. Just now, at any rate, she rejoined. As they reached the platform, the train ran in before them. Helena watched anxiously for an empty carriage. There was not one. Perhaps it is as well, she thought. We needn't talk.

There will be three quarters of an hour at Waterloo. If we were alone, Olive would make Siegman talk. She found a carriage with four people, and hastily took possession. Siegman followed her with the bags. He swung these on the rack, and then quickly received the rugs, umbrellas, and packages from the other two. These he put on the seats, or anywhere, while Helena stowed them. She was very busy for a moment or two. The racks were full. other people entered their luggage was troublesome to bestow when she turned round again she found louisa and olive seated but sigmund was outside on the platform and the door was closed he saw her face move as if she would cry to him she restrained herself and immediately called you are coming oh you are coming to waterloo he sure he sure

his head. I cannot come, he said. She stood looking blankly at him for some moments, unable to reach the door because of the portmanteau thrust through with umbrellas and sticks, which stood on the floor between the knees of the passengers. She was helpless. Siegmund was repeating deliriously in his mind. Oh, go, go, go.

When will she go? He could not bear her piteousness. Her presence made him feel insane. Would you like to come to the window? A man asked of Helena kindly. She smiled suddenly in his direction, without perceiving him. He pulled the portmanteau under his legs, and Helena edged past. She stood by the door, leaning forward with six.

some of her old protective grace, her Hawa spirit evident. Benign and shielding, she bent forward, looking at Siegmund. But her face was blank with helplessness, with misery of helplessness. She stood looking at Siegman, saying nothing. His forehead was scorched and swollen, she noticed sorrowfully, and beneath one eye the skin was blistered. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed in a kind of apathy. They filled her with terror.

He looked up at her because she wished it. For himself he could not see her. He could only recoil from her. All he wished was to hide himself in the dark alone. Yet she wanted him. and so far he yielded but to go to waterloo he could not yield the people in the carriage made uneasy by this strange farewell did not speak there were a few taut moments of silence no one seems to have strength to interrupt these spaces of irresolute anguish finally the guard's whistle went Siegman and Helena clasped hands.

A warm flush of love and healthy grief came over Segment for the last time. The train began to move, drawing Helena's hand from his. Monday, she whispered, Monday! Meaning that on Monday she should receive a letter from him. He nodded, turned. hesitated, looked at her, turned and walked away. She remained at the window watching him depart. Now, dear, we are manless, said Olive in a whisper.

But her attempt at a joke fell dead. Everybody was silent and uneasy. End of Chapter 26. Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 27 of The Trespasser This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence.

Chapter 27. He hurried down the platform, wincing at every stride from the memory of Helena's love. look of mute, heavy yearning. He gripped his fists till they trembled, his thumbs were again closed under his fingers. Like a picture on a cloth before him he still saw Helena's face, white, rounded, in feature quite mute and expressionless, just made terrible by the heavy eyes, pleading dumbly. He thought of her, going on and on, still at the carriage window, looking out, all through the night, rushing west and west to the land of Isolde.

Things began to haunt Siegmund like a delirium. He knew not where he was hurrying, always in front of him, as on a cloth, was the face of Helena, while somewhere behind the face of Helena, while somewhere behind the behind the cloth was cornwall, a far-off lonely place where darkness came on intensely. Sometimes he saw a dim, small phantom in the darkness of Cornwall, very far off. Then the face of Helena, white, inanimate as a mask, with heavy eyes, came between again. He was almost startled to find himself at home, in the porch of his house. The door opened. He remembered to have heard the quick thud of feet. It was Vera.

She glanced at him, but said nothing. Instinctively she shrank from him. He passed without noticing her. She stood on the doormat, fastening the door. striving to find something to say to him you have been over an hour she said still more troubled when she found her voice shaking she had no idea what alarmed her ay returned sigmund he went into the dining-room and dropped into his chair with his head between his hands vera followed him nervously will you have anything to eat she asked he looked up at the table as if the supper laid there were curious and incomprehensible the delirious lifting of his eyelids showed the whole of the dark pupils and the bloodshot white of his eyes vera held her breath with fear he sank his head again and said nothing

vera sat down and waited the minutes ticked slowly off sigmund neither moved nor spoke at last the clock struck midnight she was weary with sleep querulous with trouble aren't you going to bed she asked sigmund heard her without paying any attention he seemed only to half here vera waited a while then repeated plaintively aren't you going to bed father sigmund lifted his head and looked at her he loathed the idea of having to move he looked at her confusedly yes i'm going he said and his head dropped again vera knew he was not asleep she dared not leave him till he was in his bedroom again she sat waiting father she cried at last he started up gripping the arms of his chair trembling yes i'm going he said he rose and went unevenly upstairs vera followed him close behind if he reels and falls backwards he will kill me she thought but he did not fall from habit he went into the bathroom while trying to brush his teeth he dropped the tooth-brush on to the floor i'll pick it up in the morning he said continuing deliriously i must go to bed i must go to bed i am very tired he stumbled over the door-mat into his own room

vera was standing behind the unclosed door of her room she heard the sneck of his lock she heard the water still running in the bathroom trickling with the mysterious sound of water at dead of night screwing up her courage she went and turned off the tap then she stood again in her own room to be near the companionable breathing of her sleeping sister "'Listen.' "'Sigmund undressed quickly. "'His one thought was to get into bed. "'One must sleep,' he said, "'as he dropped his clothes on the floor. "'He could not find the way to put on his sleeping jacket,

"'and that made him pant. "'Any little thing that roused or thwarted "'his mechanical action aggravated his sick-heximate, his sickness till his brain seemed to be bursting. He got things right at last, and was in bed. Immediately he lapsed into a kind of unconsciousness. He would have called it sleep, but such it was not. All the time he could feel his brain working ceaselessly,

like a machine running with unslackening rapidity. This went on, interrupted by little flickerings of consciousness, for three or four hours. Each time he had a glimmer of consciousness, he wondered if he made any noise. What am I doing? What is the matter? Am I unconscious? Do I make any noise? Do I disturb them?

He wondered, and he tried to cast back to find the requisite. of mechanical sense impression. He believed he could remember the sound of inarticulate murmuring in his throat. Immediately he remembered he could feel his throat producing the sounds. This frightened him. Above all things he was afraid of disturbing the family. He roused himself to listen. Everything was breathing in silence. As he listened to this silence, he relapsed into his sort of sleep. He was awakened finally by his own perspiration. He was terribly hot.

The pillows, the bedclothes, his hair all seemed to be steaming with hot vapour, while his body was bathed in sweat. It was coming light. immediately he shut his eyes again and lay still he was now conscious and his brain was irritably active but his body was a separate thing a terrible heavy hot thing over which he had slight control sigmund lay still with his eyes closed enduring the exquisite torture of the trickling of drops of sweat first it would be one gathering and running its irregular hesitating way into the hollow of his neck his every nerve thrilled to it yet he felt he could not move more than to stiffen his throat slightly while yet the nerves in the track of this drop were quivering roar with sensitiveness another drop would start from off the side of his chest and trickled downwards among the little muscles of his side to drip on to the bed it was like the running of a spider over his sensitive moveless body why he did not wipe himself he did not know he did not know he was like the running of a spider over his sensitive moveless body

why he did not wipe himself he did not know he lay still and endured this horrible tickling which seemed to bite deep into him rather than make the effort to move which he loathed to do the drops ran off his forehead down his temples those he did not mind he was blunt there but they started again in tiny vicious spurtz down the sides of his chest, from under his armpits, down the inner sides of his thighs, till he seemed to have a myriad quivering tracks of a myriad running insects over his hot, wet, highly sensitized body. His nerves were trembling, one and all, with outrage and vivid suspense. It became unbearable. He felt that if he endured it another moment he would cry out or suffocate and burst. He sat up suddenly, threw away the bedclothes, from which came a puff of hot steam, and

began to rub his pyjamas against his sides and his legs. He rubbed madly for a few moments. Then he sighed with relief. He sat on the side of the bed, moving from the hot dampness of the place where he had lain. For a moment he thought he would go to sleep. Then in an instant his brain seemed to click awake. He was still as loath as ever to move, but his brain was no longer clouded in hot vapour. It was clear.

He sat, bowing forward on the side of his bed. his sleeping jacket open, the dawn stealing into the room, the morning air entering fresh through the wide-flung window-door. He felt a peculiar sense of guilt, of wrongness, in thus having jumped out of bed. It seemed to him as if he ought to have endured the heat of his body and the infernal trickling of the drops of sweat. but at the thought of it he moved his hands gratefully over his sides which now were dry and soft and smooth slightly chilled on the surface perhaps for he felt a sudden tremor of shivering from the warm contact of his hands sigmund sat up straight his body was reanimated he felt the pillow and the groove where he had lain it was quite wet and clammy there was a scent of sweat on the bed not really unpleasant but he wanted something fresh and cool sigmund sat in the doorway that gave on to the small veranda the air was beautifully cool he felt his chest again to make sure it was not clammy it was as smooth a silk this pleased him very much he looked out on the night again and was startled somewhere the moon was shining duskily in a hidden quarter of sky but straight in front of him in the north-west silent lightning was fluttering

he waited breathlessly to see if it were true then again the pale lightning jumped up into the dome of the fading night it was like a white bird stirring restlessly on its nest the night was drenching thinner grayer the lightning like a bird that should have flown before the arm of day moved on its nest in the boughs of darkness raised itself flickered its pale wings rapidly then sank again loath to fly sigmund watched it with wonder and delight the day was pushing aside the boughs of darkness hunting the poor moon would be caught when the net was flung sigmund went out on the balcony to look at it there it was like a poor white mouse a half-moon crouching on the mound of its course it would run nimbly over to the western slope then it would be caught in the net and the sun would laugh like a great yellow cat as it stalked behind playing with its prey flashing out its bright bright black pause. The moon, before making its last run, lay crouched, palpitating. The sun crept forth, laughing to itself as it saw its prey could not escape. The lightning, however, leaped

low off the nest, like a bird decided to go, and flew away. Siegmund no longer saw it opening and shutting its wings in hesitation amid the disturbance of the dawn. Instead there came a flush, the white lightning gone. The brief pink butterflies of sunrise and sunset rose up from the moan fields of darkness and fluttered low in a cloud. Even in the west they flew in a narrow rosy swore. They separated, thinned, rising higher. Some flying up became golden.

Some flew rosy gold across the moon, the mouse moon, motionless with fear. Soon the pink butterflies had gone, leaving a scarlet stretch like a field of poppies in the fens. As a wind the light of day blew in from the east, puff after puff, filling with whiteness the space which had been the night. Siegman sat watching the last morning, blowing in across the moan darkness, till the whole field of the world was exposed, till the moon was like a dead mouse which floats on water. When the few birds had called in the August morning, when the cock-upersed the night, when the cock-and-lawed had finished their crowing when the minute sounds of the early day were a stir,

Seagments shivered, disconsolate. He felt tired again, yet he knew he could not sleep. The bed was repulsive to him. He sat in his chair at the open door, moving uneasily. What should have been sleep was an ache and a rest of restlessness. He turned and twisted in his chair. Where is Helena? he asked himself, and he looked out on the morning. Everything out of doors was unreal, like a show, like a peep show.

Helena was an actress somewhere in the brightness of this view. He alone was out of the piece. He sighed petulantly, pressing back his shoulders as if they ached. His arms too ached with irritation, while his head seemed to be hissing with angry irritability. For a long time he sat with clenched teeth, merely holding himself in check. In his present state of irritability, everything that occurred to his mind, stirred him with dislike or disgust helena music the pleasant company of friends the sunshine of the country each as it offered itself to his thoughts was met by an angry contempt was rejected scornfully as nothing could please or distract him the only thing that remained was to support the discord He felt as if he were a limb out of joint from the body of life.

There occurred to his imagination a disjointed finger, swollen and discoloured, racked with pains. The question was, how should he reset himself into joint? The body of life for him meant Beatrice, his children, Helena, the comic opera, his of the orchestra. How could he set himself again into joint with these? It was impossible. Towards his family he would henceforward have to bear himself with humility. That was a cynicism. He would have to leave Helena, which he could not do. He would have to play strenuously night after night the music of the saucy little switzer which was absurd in fine it was all absurd and impossible

very well then that being so what remained possible why to depart if thine hand offend thee cut it off he could cut himself off from life it was pleasant and straightforward. But Beatrice, his young children, without him. He was bound by an agreement, which there was no discrediting, to provide for them. Very well he must provide for them. And then what? Humiliation at home. Helena forsaken. Musical comedy, night after night. was insufferable, impossible. Like a man tangled up in a rope, he was not strong enough to free himself. He could not break with Helena, and return to a degrading life at home. He could not leave his children and go to Helena. Very well. It was impossible. Then there remained only one door which he

could open in this prison corridor of life. Siegmund looked round the room. He could get his razor, or he could hang himself. He had thought of the two ways before, yet now he was unprovided. His portmanteau stood at the foot of the bed, its straps flung loose. A portmanteau strap would do. then it should be a portmanteau strap very well said sigmund it is finally settled i had better write to helena and tell her and say to her she must go on i'd better tell her he sat for a long time with his note-book and a pencil but he wrote nothing at last he gave up perhaps it is just as well he said to himself she said she would come with me

perhaps that is just as well she will go to the sea when she knows the sea will take her she must know he took her he took a card he took a card bearing her name and her Cornwall address from his pocket-book, and laid it on the dressing-table. "'She will come with me,' he said to himself, and his heart rose with elation. "'That is a cowardice,' he added, looking doubtfully at the card, as if wondering whether to destroy it. It is in the hands of God. Beatrice may or may not send word to her at Tintagel. It is in the hands of God, he concluded. Then he sat down again.

But for that fear of something after death, he quoted to himself. It is not fear, he said. The act itself will be horrible and fearsome, but the after death. It's no more. more than struggling awake when you're sick with a fright of dreams. We are such stuff as dreams are made on. Siegmund sat thinking of the after-death, which to him seemed so wonderfully comforting,

full of rest and reassurance and renewal. He experienced no mystical ecstasies. He was sure of a wonderful waltzing. kindness in death, a kindness which really reached right through life, though here he could not avail himself of it. Siegman had always inwardly held faith that the heart of life beat kindly towards him. When he was cynical and sulky, he knew that in reality it was only a waywardness of his. The heart of life is implacable in its kindness. It may not be moved to fluttering of pity.

It swings on, uninterrupted by cries of anguish or of hate. Siegmund was thankful for this unfaltering sternness of life. There was no futile hesitation between doom and pity. Therefore he could submit. and have faith. If each man by his crying could swerve the slow, sheer universe, what a doom of guilt he might gain! If life could swerve from its orbit for pity! What terror of vacillation! And who would wish to bear the responsibility of the deflection? Siegman thank God that life was pitiless, strong enough to take his treasures out of his hands,

and to thrust him out of the room. Otherwise, how could he go with any faith to death? Otherwise, he would have felt the helpless disillusion of a youth who finds his infallible parents weaker than himself. I know the heart of life is kind, said Siegman, because I feel it. Otherwise I would live in defiance, but life is greater than me or anybody. We suffer, and we don't know why, often. Life doesn't explain. But I can keep faith in it, as a dog has faith. in his master. After all, life is as kind to me as I am to my dog. I have proportionately as much zest,

and my purpose towards my dog is good. I need not despair of life. It occurred to Seagman that he was meriting the old gibe of the atheists. He was shirking the responsibility of himself. turning it over to an imaginary god well he said i can't help it i do not feel altogether self-responsible the morning had waxed during these investigations sigmund had been vaguely aware of the rousing of the house he was finally startled into a consciousness of the immediate present by the calling of vera at his door there are two letters for you father he looked about him in bewilderment the hours had passed in a trance and he had no idea of his time and place oh all right he said he said too much dazed to know what it meant he heard his daughter going downstairs then swiftly returned over him the throbbing ache of his head and his arms the discordant jarring of his body what made her bring me the letters he asked himself it was a very unusual attention his heart replied very sullen and shameful She wanted to know. She wanted to make sure I was all right. Siegman forgot all his speculations on a divine benevolence. The discord of his immediate situation overcame every harmony. He did not fetch in the letters.

Is it so late? he said. Is there no more time for me? He went to look at his his watch. It was a quarter to nine. As he walked across the room, he trembled, and a sickness made his bones feel rotten. He sat down on the bed. "'What am I going to do?' he asked himself. By this time he was shuddering rapidly. A peculiar feeling, as if his belly were turned into nothingness, made him want to press his fists into his abdomen. He remained shuddering drunkenly, like a drunken man who is sick, incapable of thought or action. A second knock came at the door. He started with a jolt. "'Here is your shaving water,' said Beatrice in cold tones.

It's half-past nine." "'All right,' said Siegman, rising from the bed, bewildered. "'And what time shall you expect dinner?' asked Beatrice. She was still contemptuous. "'Anytime, I'm not going out,' he answered. He was surprised to hear the ordinary, cool tone of his own voice, for he was shuddering uncontrollably and was almost sobbing. In a shaking, bewildered, disordered condition, he set about fulfilling his purpose.

He was hardly conscious of anything he did. Try as he would. He could not keep his hands steady in the violent spasms of shuddering, nor could he call his mind to sink. he was one shuddering turmoil yet he performed his purpose methodically and exactly in every particular he was thorough as if he were the servant of some stern will it was a mesmeric performance in which the agent trembled with convulsive sickness End of Chapter 27. Recording by Martin Gessen in Hazelmere, Surrey.

Chapter 28 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D.H. Lawrence. Chapter 28. Siegman's lying late in bed made Beatrice very angry. The later it became, the more wrathful she grew. At half-past nine she had taken up his shaving water. Then she proceeded to tidy the dining-room, leaving the breakfast spread

in the kitchen. Vera and Frank were gone up to town. They would both be home for dinner at two o'clock. Marjorie was dispatched on an errand, taking Gwen with her. The children had no need to return home immediately, therefore it was highly probable they would play in the field or in the lane for an hour or two. Beatrice was alone downstairs. It was a hot, still morning, when everything out of doors shone brightly, and all indoors was dust. with coolness and colour. But Beatrice was angry. She moved rapidly and determinedly about the dining-room, thrusting old newspapers and magazines between the cupboard and the wall, throwing the litter in the grate, which was clear, Friday having been charwoman's day, passing swiftly,

lightly over the front of the furniture with the duster. Saturday, when she did not spend much time over the work. In the afternoon she was going out with Vera. That was not, however, what occupied her mind as she brushed aside her work. She had determined to have a settlement with Siegmund as to how matters should continue. She was going to have no more of the past three years' life. had come to a crisis, and there must be an alteration. Beatrice was going to do battle.

Therefore she flew at her work, thus stirring herself up to a proper heat of blood. All the time as she thrust things out of sight or straightened a cover, she listened for Segment to come downstairs. He did not come, so her anger waxed. He can lie skulking in bed, she said to herself. Here I've been up since seven, broiling at it. I should think he's pitying himself. He ought to have something else to do.

He ought to have to go out to work every morning, like another man, as his son has to do. He has had too little work. He has had too much his own way. But it's come to a stop now. I'll servant-housekeeper him no longer." Beatrice went to clean the step of the front door. She clanged the bucket loudly, every minute becoming more and more angry. That piece of work finished she went into the kitchen. It was twenty past ten. Her wrath was at ignition point. she cleared all the things from the table and washed them up as she was so doing her anger having reached full intensity without bursting into flame began to dissipate in uneasiness

she tried to imagine what sigmund would do and say to her as she was wiping a cup she dropped it and the smash so unnerved her that her hands trembled almost too much to finish drying the things and putting them away. At last it was done. Her next piece of work was to make the beds. She took her pail and went upstairs. Her heart was beating so heavily in her throat that she had to stop on the landing, to recover her breath. She dreaded the combat with him. Suddenly controlling herself, she said, loudly at Siegman's door, her voice coldly hostile. "'Aren't you going to get up?' There was not the faintest sound in the house.

Beatrice stood in the gloom of the landing, her heart thudding in her ears. "'It's after half-past ten. Aren't you going to get up?' she called. She waited again. Two letters lay unopened on a small table. Suddenly she put down her pail and went into the bathroom. The pot of shaving water stood untouched on the shelf, just as she had left it. She returned and knocked swiftly at her husband's door, not speaking.

She waited. Then she knocked again loudly a long time. in the sound of her knocking made her afraid to try again. The noise was dull and thudding. It did not resound through the house, with her natural ring, so she thought. She ran downstairs in terror, fled out into the front garden, and there looked up at his room. The window door was open. seemed quiet.

Beatrice stood vacillating. She picked up a few tiny pebbles and flung them in a handful at his door. Some spattered on the panes sharply. Some dropped dully in the room. One clinked on the wash-hand bowl. There was no response. Beatrice was terribly excited. She ran with her black eyes blazing.

and wisps of her black hair flying about her thin temples out on to the road by a mercy she saw the window-cleaner just pushing his ladder out of the passage of a house a little farther down the road she hurried to him will you come and see if there's anything wrong with my husband she asked wildly why ma'am asked the window-cleaner who knew her and was humbly familiar is he taken bad or something yes i'll come he was a tall thin man with a brown beard his clothes were all so loose his trousers so baggy that he gave one the impression his limbs must be bone and his body a skeleton he pushed at his ladders with a will where is he mum he asked officiously as they slowed down at the side passage he's in his bedroom and i can't get an answer from him then i so want a ladder said the window-cleaner proceeding to lift one off his trolley he was in a very great bustle he knew which was siegman's room he had often seen siegman rise from some music he was studying and leave the drawing-room when the window-cleaning began and afterwards he had found him in the small front bedroom he also knew there were matrimonial troubles beatrice was not reserved is it the least of the front rooms he's in asked the window-cleaner yes over the porch replied beatrice the man bustled with his ladder it's easy enough he said the door's open and we're soon on the balcony

he set the ladder securely beatrice cursed him for a slow officious fool he tested the ladder to see it was safe then he cautiously clambered up at the top he stood leaning sideways bending over the ladder to peer into the room he could see all sorts of things for he was frightened i say there he called loudly beatrice stood below in horrible suspense go in she cried go in is he there the man stepped very cautiously with one foot on to the balcony and peered forward but the glass door reflected into his eyes he followed slowly with the other foot and crept forward he followed slowly with the other foot and crept forward ready at any moment to take flight. Aye, aye! He suddenly cried in terror, and he drew back. Beatrice was opening her mouth to scream,

when the window-cleaner exclaimed weakly, as if dubious. I believe he's hanged himself from the dorocks. No, cried Beatrice. No, no, no, no! i believe he has repeated the man go in and see if he's dead cried beatrice the man remained in the doorway peering fixedly i believe he is he said doubtfully no go and see screamed beatrice the man went into the room trembling hesitating he approached the body as if fascinated shivering he took it round the loins and tried to lift it down it was too heavy i know he said to himself once more bustling now he had something to do he took his clasp-knife from his pocket jammed the body between himself and the door so that it should not drop and began to soar his way through the leathern strap it gave

he started and clutched the body dropping his knife beatrice below in the garden hearing the scuffle and the clatter began to scream in hysteria the man hauled the body of siegman with much difficulty on to the bed and with trembling fingers tried to unloose the buckle in which the strap ran it was bedded in siegman's neck the window-cleaner tugged at it frantically till he got it loose then he looked at sigmund the dead man lay on the bed with swollen discoloured face with his sleeping-jacket pushed up in a bunch under his armpits leaving his side naked beatrice was screaming below the window-cleaner quite unnerved ran from the room-cleanoured from the room and scrambled down the ladder. Siegmund lay heaped on the bed. His sleeping suit twisted and bunched up about him. His face hardly recognisable.

End of Chapter 28. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 29 of the trespasser. vox recording is in the public domain recording by martin gison the trespasser by d h lawrence chapter twenty nine helena was dozing down in the cove at tintagel she and louisa and olive lay on the cool sands in the shadow and steeped themselves in rest in a cool sea-frey fred fragrant tranquillity. The journey down had been very tedious. After waiting for half an hour, in the midnight turmoil of an August Friday in Waterloo Station, they had seized an empty carriage, only to be followed by five North countrymen, all of whom were affected by whiskey.

Olive, Helena, Louisa, occupied three corners of the carriage. The men were distributed between them. The three women were not alarmed. Their tipsy travelling companions promised to be tiresome, but they had a frank honesty of manner that placed them beyond suspicion. The train drew out westward. Helena began to count the miles that separated her from Siegmund. The North Countryman began to be jolly.

They talked loudly in their uncouth English. They sang the musical songs of the day. They furtively drank whiskey. Through all this they were polite to the girls. As much could hardly be said in return of Olive and Louise, They leaned forward, whispering to one another. They sat back in their seats, laughing, hiding their laughter by turning their backs on the men, who were a trifle disconcerted by this amusement.

The train spun on and on. Little homely clusters of lamps, suggesting the quiet of country life, turned slowly round through the darkness. the men dropped into a doze. Olive put a handkerchief over her face and went to sleep. Louisa gradually nodded and jerked into slumber. Helena sat weiridly and watched the rolling of the sleeping travellers and the dull blank of the night shearing off outside. Neither the men nor the women looked well asleep,

they lurched and nodded stupidly. She thought of Bazarov in fathers and sons, endorsing his opinion on the appearance of sleepers. All but Siegmund. Was Siegmund asleep? She imagined him breathing regularly on the pillows. She could see the underarch of his eyebrows, the fine shape of his nostrils, the curve of his lips as she bent in fancy over his face. The dawn came slowly. It was rather cold. Olive wrapped herself in rugs and went to sleep again. Helena shivered and stared out of the window.

There appeared a oneness in the night, and Helena felt inexpressibly dreary. A rosiness spread out far away. It was like a flock of flamingos hovering over a dark lake. The world vibrated as the sun came up. Helena waked the tipsy men at Exeter, having heard them say that there they must change. Then she walked the platform, very jaded. The train rushed on again. It was a most, most wearisome journey.

the fields were very flowery the morning was very bright but what were these to her she wanted dimness sleep forgetfulness at eight o'clock breakfast time the dauntless three were driving in a wagonette amid blazing breathless sunshine over country naked of shelter ungracious and half Why am I doing this? Helena asked herself. The three friends washed, dressed, and breakfasted. It was too hot to rest in the house, so they trudged to the coast, silently, each feeling in an ill humour. When Helena was really rested, she took great pleasure in Tintagel.

In the first place she found that the cove was exactly, almost identically, the same as the Valhalla seen in Valkura. In the second place, Tristan was here, in the tragic country filled with the flowers of a late Cornish summer, an everlasting reality. In the third place, it was a sea of marvellous, portentous sunsets, of sweet morning baths, of pools blossomed with life, of terrible suave swishing of foam, which suggested the anodyominy. In some it was the enchanted land of divided lovers. Helena forever hummed fragments of Tristan. As she stood on the rocks, she sang in her little, half-articulate way bits of isolder's love bits of tristan's anguish to sigmund she had not received her letter on sunday that had not very much disquieted her though she was disappointed

on monday she was miserable because of sigmund's silence but there was so much of enchantment in tintagil and olive and louisa were in such high spirits that she forgot most wiles on monday night towards two o'clock there came a violent storm of thunder and lightning louisa started up in bed at the first clap waking helena The room palpitated with white light for two seconds. The mirror on the dressing-table glared supernaturally. Louisa clutched her friend. All was dark again, the thunder clapping directly. "'There wasn't that lovely!' cried Louisa, speaking of the lightning. "'Oh, wasn't it magnificent, glorious!'

the door clicked and opened olive entered in her long white nightgown she hurried to the bed i say dear she exclaimed may i come into the fold i prefer the shelter of your company dear during this little lot don't you like it cried louisa i think it's lovely lovely there came another slash of lightning the night seemed to open and shut it was a pallid vision of a ghost world between the clanging shutters of darkness louisa and olive clung to each other spasmodically there exclaimed the former breathless that was fine helena did you see that she clasped ecstatically the hand of her friend who was lying down Helena's answer was extinguished by the burst of thunder. "'There's no accounting for tastes,' said Olive, taking a place in the bed. "'I can't say I'm struck on lightning. What about you, Helena?' "'I'm not struck yet,' replied Helena, with a sarcastic attempt at a jest.

"'Thank you, dear,' said Olive. you do me the honour of catching hold.' Helena laughed ironically. "'Catching what?' asked Louisa mystified. "'Why, dear,' answered Olive, heavily condescending to explain, "'I offered Helena the handle of a pun, and she took it. What a flash! You know it's not that I'm afraid!'

The rest of her speech was overwhelmed in thunder. Helena lay on the edge of the bed, listening to the ecstatics of one friend and to the impertinences of the other. In spite of her ironical feeling, the thunder impressed her with a sense of fatality. The night opened, revealing a ghostly landscape,

instantly to shut again with blackness. then the thunder crashed elina felt as if some secret were being disclosed too swiftly and violently for her to understand the thunder exclaimed horribly on the matter she was sure something had happened gradually the storm drew away the rain came down with a rush persisted with a bruising sound upon the earth and the leaves what a deluge exclaimed louisa no one answered her olive was falling asleep and helena was in no mood to reply louisa disconciled louisa disconciled lay looking at the black window nursing a grievance until she too drifted into sleep. Helena was awake. The storm had left her with a settled sense of calamity. She felt bruised.

The sound of the heavy rain, bruising the ground outside, represented her feeling. She could not get rid of the bruised sense of disaster. She lay wondering what it was, why Siegmund had not written, what could have happened to him. She imagined all of them terrible, and endued with grandeur, for she had kinship with Hedder Gabbler. But no, she said to herself, it is impossible anything should have happened to him. I should have known. I should have known the moment his spirit left his body.

he would have come to me but i slept without dreams last night and to-day i am sure there has been no crisis it is impossible it should have happened to him i should have known she was very certain that in event of Siegman's death she would have received intelligence she began to consider all the causes which might arise to prevent his right writing immediately to her. Nevertheless, she said at last, if I don't hear tomorrow, I will go and see. She had written to him on Monday. If she should receive no answer by Wednesday morning, she would return to London.

As she was deciding this, she went to sleep. The next day passed without news. Helena was in a state of distress, Her wistfulness touched the other two women very keenly. Louisa waited upon her was very tender and solicitous. Olive, who was becoming painful by reason of her unsatisfied curiosity, had to be told in part of the state of affairs. Helena looked up a train.

She was quite sure by this time that something fatal awaited her. the next morning she bade her friends a temporary good-bye saying she would return in the evening immediately the train had gone louisa rushed into the little waiting-room of the station and wept olive shed tears for sympathy and self-pity she pitied herself that she should be let in for so dismal a holiday louisa suddenly stopped crying and sat up. I know I'm a pig, dear, am I not? She exclaimed, spoiling your holiday, but I couldn't help it, dear. Indeed I could not. My dear Lou, cried Olive in tragic contralto.

Don't refrain for my sake. The bargain's made. We can't help what's in the bundle. The two unhappy women trudged the long miles. back from the station to their lodging. Helena sat in the swinging express revolving the same thought like a prayer-wheel. It would be difficult to think of anything more trying

than thus sitting motionless in the train, which itself is throbbing and bursting its heart with anxiety, while one waits hour after hour for the blow which falls nearer as the distance lessens. All the time Helena's heart and her consciousness were with Siegmund in London, for she believed he was ill and needed her. Promise me, she had said. If ever I was sick and wanted you, you would come to me. I would come to you from hell, Siegman had replied. And if you were ill, would you let me come to you, she had added.

I promise, he answered. Now Helena believed he was ill, perhaps very ill. Perhaps she only could be of any avail. The miles of distance were like hot bars of iron across her breast, and against them it was impossible to strive. The train did what it could. That day remains as a smear, in the record of Helena's life. In it there is no spacing of hours, no lettering of experience,

merely a smear of suspense. Towards six o'clock she alighted at Serbiton Station, deciding that this would be the quickest way of getting to Wimbledon. She paced the platform slowly, if resigned, but her heart was crying out at the great injustice of delay. Presently the local train came in. She had planned to buy a local paper at Wimbledon, and if from that source she could learn nothing she would go on to his house and inquire. She had prearranged everything minutely. After turning the newspaper several times, she found what she sought.

The funeral took place at two o'clock today at Kingston Cemetery of— Deceased was a professor of music and had just returned from a holiday on the South Coast. The paragraph in a bald twelve lines told her everything. jury returned a verdict of suicide during temporary insanity sympathy was expressed for the widow and children helena stood still on the station for some time looking at the print then she dropped the paper and wandered into the town not knowing where she was going that was what i got she said months afterwards and it was like a brick it was like a brick she wandered on and on until suddenly she found herself in the grassy lane with only a wire fence bounding her from the open fields on either side beyond which she found herself in the grassy lane with only a wire fence bounding her from the open fields on either side beyond which fields on the left she could see siegman's house standing florid by the road catching the western sunlight then she stopped realising where she had come for some time she stood looking at the house it was no use her going there it was of no use her going anywhere the whole wide world was opened but in it she had no destination there was no direction for her to take

as if marooned in the world she stood desolate looking from the house of sigmund over the fields and the hills sigmund was gone why had he not taken her with him the evening was drawing on it was nearly half-past seven when helena looked at her watch remembering louisa who would be waiting for her to return to cornwall i must either go to her or wire to her she will be in a fever of suspense said helena to herself and straightway she hurried to catch a tram car to return to the station she arrived there at a quarter to eight there was no train down to tintagil that night therefore she wired the news Siegmund dead. No train to-night. I'm going home. This done, she took her ticket and sat down to wait. By the strength of her will, everything she did was reasonable and accurate, but her mind was chaotic.

It was like a brick, she reiterated, and that brutal simile was the only one she could find months afterwards to describe her condition. She felt as if something had crashed into her brain, stunning and maiming her. As she knocked at the door of home, she was apparently quite calm. Her mother opened to her. "'What? Are you alone?' cried Mrs. Verdon. "'Yes, Louisa did not come up,' replied Helena, passing into the dining-house. room. As if by instinct she glanced on the mantelpiece to see if there was a letter. There was a newspaper cutting. She went forward and took it. It was from one of the London papers.

Inquest was held today upon the body of—' Helena read it, read it again, folded it up and put it in her purse. Her mother stood watching her, conceit. assumed with distress and anxiety. How did you get to know? she asked. I went to Wimbledon and bought a local paper, replied the daughter, in her muted, toneless voice. Did you go to the house? asked the mother sharply. No, replied Helena.

I was wondering whether to send you that paper, said her mother hesitatingly. Helena did not answer her. She wandered about the house mechanically, looking for something. Her mother followed her, trying very gently to help her. For some time Helena sat at table in the dining-room, staring before her. Her parents moved restlessly in silence, trying not to irritate her by watching her, praying for something to change the fix-it-it-es. of her look. They acknowledged themselves helpless. Like children, they felt powerless and forlorn,

and were very quiet. "'Won't you go to rest, Nelly?' asked the father at last. He was an unobtrusive, obscure man, whose sympathy was very delicate, whose ordinary attitude was one of gentle irony. Won't you go to rest, Nellie? He repeated. Helena shivered slightly. Do, my dear, her mother pleaded.

Let me take you to bed. Helena rose. She had a great horror of being fussed or petted, but this night she went dully upstairs and let her mother help her to undress. When she was in bed, the mother, mother stood for some moments looking at her, yearning to beseech her daughter to pray to God. But she dared not. Helena moved with a wild impatience under her mother's gaze.

"'Shall I leave you the candle?' said Mrs. Verdon. "'No, blow it out,' replied the daughter. The mother did so, and immediately left the room, going downstairs to her husband. As she entered the dining-room, he glanced up timidly at her. She was a tall, erect woman. Her brown eyes, usually so swift and searching, were haggard with tears that did not fall. He bowed down, obliterating himself. His hands were tightly clasped.

"'Will she be all right if you leave her?' he asked. We must listen, replied the mother abruptly. The parents sat silent in their customary places. Presently Mrs. Verdon cleared the supper-table, sweeping together a few crumbs from the floor in the place where Helena had sat, carefully putting her pieces of broken bread under the loaf to keep moist. Then she sat down again.

One could see she was keenly aligned. alert to every sound. The father had his hand to his head. He was thinking and praying. Mrs. Verdon suddenly rose, took a box of matches from the mantelpiece, and hurrying her stately, heavy tread, went upstairs. Her husband followed in much trepidation, hovering near the door of his daughter's room. The mother tremblingly lit the can. handle. Helena's aspect distressed and alarmed her. The girl's face was masked as if in sleep, but occasionally it was crossed by a vivid expression of fear or horror. Her wide eyes showed the active insanity of her brain. From time to time she uttered strange, inarticulate sounds.

her mother held her hands and soothed her although she was hardly aware of the mother's presence helena was more tranquil the father went downstairs and turned out the light he brought his wife a large shawl which he put on the bed-rail and silently left the room then he went and kneeled down by his own bedside and prayed mrs verdun watched her daughter's delirium and all the time in a kind of mental chant invoked the help of god once or twice the girl came to herself drew away her hand on recognizing the situation and turned from her mother who patiently waited until upon relapse she could soothe her daughter again helena was glad of her mother's presence but she could not bear to be looked at towards morning the girl fell naturally asleep the mother regarded her closely lightly touched her forehead with her lips and went away having blown out the candle she found her husband kneeling in his night-shirt by the bed he muttered a few swift syllables and looked up as she entered she is asleep whispered the wife hoarsely is it a-a-natural sleep hesitated the husband yes i think it is i think she will be all right thank god whispered the father almost inaudibly he held his wife's hand as she lay by his side

he was the comforter she felt as if now she might cry and take comfort and sleep he the quiet obliterated man held her hand taking the responsibility upon himself End of Chapter 29. Recording by Martin Gieson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 30 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Gieson. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 30.

Beatrice was careful not to let her. the blow of Siegman's death fall with full impact upon her. As it were, she dodged it. She was afraid to meet the accusation of the dead Siegmund, with the sacred jury of memories. When the event summoned her to stand before the bench of her own soul's understanding, she fled, leaving the verdict upon herself eternally suspended. When the neighbours had come, alarmed by her screaming, she had allowed herself to be taken away from her own house into the home of a neighbour. There the children were brought to her.

There she wept and stared wildly about, as if by instinct, seeking to cover her mum. with confusion. The good neighbour controlled matters in Siegman's house, sending for the police, helping to lay out the dead body. Before Vera and Frank came home, and before Beatrice returned to her own place, the bedroom of Siegmund was locked. Beatrice avoided seeing the body of her husband. She gave him one swift glance, blinded by excitement. She never saw him after his death. She was equally careful to avoid thinking of him.

Whenever her thoughts wandered towards a consideration of how he must have felt, what his inner life must have been, during the past six years, she felt herself dilate with terror, and she hastened to invoke protection. The children, she said to herself, the children, I must live for the children, I must think for the children. This she did, and with much success.

All her tears and her wildness rose from terror and dismay rather than from grief. She managed to fend back a good. grief that would probably have broken her. Vera was too practical-minded. She had too severe a notion of what ought to be and what ought not, ever to put herself in her father's place, and try to understand him. She concerned herself with judging him sorrowfully, exonerating him in part, because helena that other was so much more to blame frank as a sentimentalist wept over the situation not over the prosony the children were acutely distressed by the harassing behaviour of the elders and longed for a restoration of equanimity by common consent no word was spoken of siegmund

as soon as possible after the funeral beatrice moved from south london to harrow the memory of siegmund began to fade rapidly beatrice had had all her life a fancy for a more open public form of living than that of a domestic circle she liked strangers about the house they stimulated her agreeably therefore nine months after the death of her husband she determined to carry out the scheme of her heart and take in borders she came of a well-to-do family with whom she had been in disgrace owing to her early romantic but degrading marriage with a young lad who had neither income nor profession in the tragic but also sordid event of his death the war Waltons returned again to the aid of Beatrice. They came hesitatingly, and kept their gloves on. They inquired what she intended to do. She spoke highly and hopefully of her future boarding-house.

They found her a couple of hundred pounds, glad to solve their consciences so cheaply. Seagman's father, a winsome old man with a heart of young gold, was always ready further to diminish his diminished income for the sake of his grandchildren. So Beatrice was set up in a fairly large house in Highgate, was equipped with two maids, and gentlemen were invited to come and board in her house. It was a huge adventure, wherein Beatrice was delighted. vera was excited and interested frank was excited but doubtful and grudging the children were excited elated wondering the world was big with promise three gentlemen came before a month was out to beatrice's establishment she hoped shortly to get a fourth or a fifth her plan was to play hostess and thus bestow on her borders the inestimable blessing of family life breakfast was at eight-th thirty and every one attended vera sat opposite beatrice frank sat on the maternal right hand mr mcwhirter who was superior sat on the left hand next him sat mr allport whose opposite was mr

all were young men of less than thirty years mr mcquerta was tall fair and stoutish he was very quietly spoken was humorous and amiable yet extraordinarily learned he never by any chance gave himself away maintaining always an absolute reserve amid all his amiability therefore frank would have done anything to win his esteem while beatrice was deferential to him mr allport was tall and broad and thin as a door he had also a remarkably small chin he was naive inclined to suffer in the first pangs of disillusionment nevertheless he was waywardly humorous sometimes wistful sometimes petulant always gallant therefore vera liked him whilst beatrice mothered him mr holliday was short very stout very ruddy with black hair he had a disagreeable voice was vulgar in the grain but officiously helpful if appeal were made to him therefore frank hated him vera liked his handsome lusty appearance but resented bitterly his behaviour beatrice was proud of the superior and skilful way in which she handled him clipping him into shape without hurting him one evening in july eleven months after the burial of siegmund beatrice went into the dining-room and found mr allport sitting with his elbow on the window-sill looking out on the garden it was half-past seven

the red rents between the foliage of the trees showed the sun was setting a fragrance of evening-scented stalks filtered into the room through the open window towards the south the moon was budding out of the twilight what you here all alone exclaimed beatrice who had just come from putting the children to bed i thought you had gone out "'No, what's the use?' replied Mr. Allport, turning to look at his landlady, "'Of going out. There's nowhere to go.' "'Oh, come, there's the Heath and the city, and you must join a tennis club. Now I know just the thing, the club to which Vera belongs.' "'Ah, yes, you go down to the city, but there's nothing there. What I mean to say, you want a pal. And even then, well, he drawled the word. Well, it's merely escaping from yourself,

killing time. Oh, don't say that, exclaimed Beatrice. You want to enjoy life. Just so, ah, just so, exclaimed Mr. Allport. But all the same. It's like this. you only get up to the same thing tomorrow. What I mean to say, What's the good, after all? It's merely living because you've got to. You are too pessimistic altogether for a young man. I look at it differently myself,

yet I'll be bound I have more cause for grumbling. What's the trouble now? Well, you can't lay your finger on a thing like, that. What I mean to say, it's nothing very definite. But after all, what is there to do, but to hop out of life as quickly as possible? That's the best way." Beatrice became suddenly grave. "'You talk in that way,' Mr. Allport,' she said. "'You don't think of the others.'

"'I don't know,' he drawled. "'What does it make? matter? Look here, who'd care? What I mean to say, for long?' "'That's all very easy, but it's cowardly,' replied Beatrice gravely. "'Nevertheless,' said Mr. Allport, "'it's true, isn't it?' "'It is not, and I should know,' replied Beatrice, drawing a cloak of reserve ostentatiously over her face. Mr. Allport looked at her and waited. Beatrice relaxed towards the pessimistic young man.

"'Yes,' she said, "'I call it very cowardly to want to get out of your difficulties in that way. Think what you inflict on other people. You men, you're all selfish. The burden is always left for the women.' "'Ah, but then,' said Mr. Allport, very softly and sympathetically, looking at Beatrice's black dress. I've no one depending on me. No, you haven't, but you've a mother and sister. The women always have to bear the brunt. Mr. Allport looked at Beatrice, and found her very pathetic. Yes, they do rather, he replied sadly, tentatively waiting.

My husband, began Beatrice, the young man waited. My husband was one of your sort. He ran after trouble, and when he'd found it, he couldn't carry it off, and left it to me. Mr. Allport looked at her very sympathetically. You don't mean it, he exclaimed softly. Surely he didn't. Beatrice nodded and turned aside her face. "'Yes,' she said, "'I know what it is to bear that kind of thing,

and it's no light thing I can assure you.' There was a suspicion of tears in her voice. "'And when was this, then, that he asked Mr. Allport, almost with reverence. "'Only last year!' replied beatrice mr allport made a sound expressing astonishment and dismay little by little beatrice told him so much her husband had got entangled with another woman she herself had put up with it for a long time at last she had brought matters to a crisis declaring what she should do he had killed himself hanged himself and left her penniless her people who were very wealthy had done for her as much as she would allow them she and frank and vera had done the rest

she did not mind for herself it was for frank and vera who should be now enjoying their careless youth that her heart was heavy there was silence for a while mr allport murmured his sympathy and sat overwhelmed with respect for this little woman who was unbroken by tragedy. The bell rang in the kitchen. Vera entered. Oh, what a nice smell! Sitting in the dark, mother! I was just trying to cheer up, Mr. Allport. He is very despondent.

Pray do not overlook me, said Mr. Allport, rising and bowing. well i did not see you fancy you're sitting in the twilight chatting with the mater you must have been an unscrupulous bore mammon on the contrary replied mr allport mrs mcnair has been so good as to bear with me making a fool of myself in what way asked vera sharply mr allport is so despondent i think he must be in love said beatrice playfully unfortunately i am not or at least i'm not yet aware of it said mr allport bowing slightly to vera she advanced and stood in the bay of the window her skirt touching the young man's knees she was tall and graceful with her hand her hand her hand was tall and graceful with her hand hands clasped behind her back she stood looking up at the moon now white upon the richly darkening sky don't look at the moon miss mcnair it's all rind said mr allport in melancholy mockery somebody's bitten all the meat out of our slice of moon and left us nothing but peel it certainly does look like a piece of melon-shell one portion replied Vera.

Never mind, Miss McNair, he said. Whoever got the slice found it raw, I think. Oh, I don't know, she said. But isn't it a beautiful evening? I will just go and see if I can catch the primroses opening. What primroses? he exclaimed. Evening primroses, there are some. Are there? he said in surprise.

Vera smiled to herself. Yes, come and look, she said. The young man rose with alacrity. Mr. Holliday came into the dining-room whilst they were down the garden. What, nobody in? They heard him exclaim. There is Holiday, murmured Mr. Allport resentfully. Vera did not answer.

Holiday came to the open window, attracted by the fragrance. Oh, that's where you are, he cried in his nasal tenor, which annoyed Vera's trained ear. She wished she had not been wearing a white dress to betray herself. What have you got? he asked. Nothing in particular, replied Mr. Allport. Mr. Holliday sniggered.

Oh, well, if it's nothing particular and private, said Mr. Mr. Holliday, and with that he leaped over the window-sill and went to join them. "'Cursed fool!' muttered Mr. Allport. "'I beg your pardon,' he added swiftly to Vera. "'Have you ever noticed, Mr. Holliday?' asked Vera, as if very friendly. "'How awfully tantalizing these flowers are! They won't open while you're looking.' "'No,' sniggered he. "'I don't blame them.'

why should they give themselves away any more than you do you won't open while you're watched he nudged allport facetiously with his elbow after supper which was late and badly served the young men were in poor spirits mr mcquerta retired to read mr holliday sat picking his teeth mr allport begged vera to play the piano oh the piano is not my instrument mine was the violin but i do not play now she replied but you will begin again pleaded mr allport no never she said decisively allport looked at her closely the family tragedy had something to do with her decision he was sure he watched her interestedly mother used to play she began vera said beatrice reproachfully let us have a song suggested mr holliday mr holliday wishes to sing mother said vera going to the music rack nay i-it's not me holliday began the village blacksmith said vera pulling out the piece Holliday advanced. Vera glanced at her mother.

But I have not touched the piano for years, I'm sure, protested Beatrice. You can play beautifully, said Vera. Beatrice accompanied the song. Holliday sang atrociously. Alport glared at him. Vera remained very calm. At the end, Beatrice was overcome by the touch of the piano.

She went out abruptly. Mother has suddenly remembered that tomorrow's jellies are not made, laughed Vera. Alport looked at her and was sad. When Beatrice returned, Holiday insisted she should play again. She would have found it more difficult to refuse than to comply. vera retired early soon to be followed by allport and holiday at half-past ten mr mcquerta came in with his ancient volume beatrice was studying a cookery book you too at the midnight lamp exclaimed mr mcquitre politely ah i am only looking for a pudding for to-morrow beatrice replied we shall

feel hopelessly in debt if you look after us so well smiled the young man ironically i must look after you said beatrice you do wonderfully i feel that we owe you large debts of gratitude the meals were generally late and something was always wrong because i scan a list of puddings smiled beatrice uneasily for the puddings themselves and all your good things the piano for instance that was very nice indeed he bowed to her did it disturb you but one does not hear very well in the study i opened the door said mcquitre bowing again it is not fair said beatrice i am clumsy now clumsy i once could play play. You play excellently. Why that once could, said McWhirter. Ah, you are amiable. My old master would have said differently, she replied. We, said McWurter, are humble amateurs, and to us you are more than excellent.

Good old Monsieur Fannier, how he would scold me! He said I would not take my talent out of the napkin. He would quote me the New Testament. I always think scripture false in French. Do not you. Ah, my acquaintance with modern languages is not extensive, I regret to say. No, I was brought up at a convent school near Rouen. Ah, that would be very interesting. Yes, but I was there six years, and the interest wears off everything. alas assented mcwhirta smiling those times were very different from these said beatrice i should think so said mcwhirta waxing grave and sympathetic End of Chapter 30.

Recording by Martin Geeson in Hazelmere, Surrey. Chapter 31 of The Trespasser. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Geithen. The Trespasser by D. H. Lawrence. Chapter 31. In the same month of July not yet a year after Siegman's death.

Helena sat on the top of the tramcar with Cisle Byrne. She was dressed in blue linen, for the day had been hot. Byrne was holding up to her a yellow-backed copy of Einzama Mention, and she was humming the air of the Russian folk-song, printed on the front page, frowning, nodding with her head and beating time with her hand to get the rhythm of the song. She turned suddenly to him and shook her head laughing. I can't get it. It's no use.

I think it's the swinging of the car prevents me getting the time, she said. These little outside things always come a victory over you, he laughed. do they she replied smiling bending her head against the wind it was six o'clock in the evening the sky was quite overcast after a dim warm day the tramcar was leaping along southwards out of the corners of his eyes byrne watched the crisp morsels of hair shaken on her neck by the wind do you know she said it feels rather like rain then said he calmly but turning away to watch the people below on the pavement you certainly ought not to be out i ought not she said for i'm totally unprovided neither however had the slightest intention of turning back presently they descended from the car and took a road leading up hill off the highway trees hung over one side whilst on the other side stood a few villas with lawns upraised upon one of these lawns two great sheep-dogs rushed and stood at the brink of the grassy declivity at some height above the road barking and urging boisterously

helena and byrne stood still to watch them one dog was grey as is usual the other pale fawn they raved extravagantly at the two pedestrians helena laughed at them they are she began in her slow manner villa sheep-dogs baying us wolves he continued no she said they remind me of Fafner and Fassalt. Fassault! They are like that. I wonder if they really dislike us. It appears so, she laughed. Dogs generally chum up to me, he said.

Helena began suddenly to laugh. He looked at her inquiringly. I remember, she said, still laughing. At Knockholt, you, a half-grown lamb, A dog, in procession! She marked the position of the three with her finger. What an ass I must have looked, he said. Sort of silent Pied Piper, she laughed.

Dogs do follow me like that, though, he said. They did Siegmund, she said. Ah, he exclaimed. I remember they had for a long time a little brown dog, that followed him home. Ah, he exclaimed. I remember, too, she said, a little black and white kitten that followed me. Mata would not have it in.

She would not. And I remember finding it, a few days after, dead in the road. I don't think I ever quite forgave my Mata that. More sorrow over one kitten brought to destruction. than over all the sufferings of men," he said. She glanced at him and laughed. He was smiling ironically. For the latter, you see, she replied, I am not responsible.

As they neared the top of the hill a few spots of rain fell. You know, said Helena, if it begins it will continue all night. Look at that. pointed to the great dark reservoir of cloud ahead. "'Had we better go back?' he asked. "'Well, we will go on and find a thick tree. Then we can shelter till we see how it turns out. We are not far from the cars here.'

They walked on and on. The raindrops fell more thickly, then thinned away. It is exactly a year to-day. she said, as they walked on the round shoulder of the down, with an oak wood on the left hand. "'Exactly! What anniversary is it, then?' he inquired. "'Exactly a year to-day. Seagmund and I walked here, by the day, Thursday. We went through the larchwood. Have you ever been through the larchwood?' "'No.'

"'We will go, then,' she said. history repeats itself he remarked how she asked calmly he was pulling at the heads of the coxfoot grass as he walked i see no repetition she added no he exclaimed bitingly you are right they went on in silence as they drew near a farm they saw the men unloading a last wagon of hay on to the hay on the men unloading a last wagon of hay on to a very brown stack. He sniffed the air. Though he was angry, he spoke. They got that hay rather damp, he said. Can't you smell it, like hot tobacco and sandalwood? What is that the stack? she asked. Yes, it's always like that when it's picked damp. The conversation was restarted, but did not flourish.

When they turned on to a narrow path by the side of the field, he went ahead. Leaning over the hedge, he pulled three sprigs of honeysuckle, yellow as butter, full of scent. Then he waited for her. She was hanging her head, looking in the hedge bottom. He presented her with the flowers without speaking. She bent forward, inhaled the rich fragrance. and looked up at him over the blossoms with her beautiful beseeching blue eyes he smiled gently to her isn't it nice he said aren't they fine bits she took them without answering and put one piece carefully in her dress it was quite against her rule to wear a flower he took his place by her side

i always like the gold-green of cut fields he said they seem to give off sunshine even when the sky is grayer than a tabby cat she laughed instinctively putting out her hand towards the glowing field on her right they entered the larch wood there the chill wind was changed into sound like a restless insect he hovered about her, like a butterfly whose antennae flicker and twitch sensitively as they gather intelligence, touching the aura, as it were, of the female. He was exceedingly delicate in his handling of her. The path was cut windingly through the lofty, dark, and closely serried trees, which vibrated like cords under the soft bow of the wood. wind. Now and again he would look down passages between the trees, narrow, pillared corridors, dusky, as if webbed across with mist. All round was a twilight, thickly populous with slender,

silent trunks. Halliner stood still, gazing up at the treetops where the bow of the wind was drawn, causing slight perceptible quivering. Byrne walked on without her. At a bend in the path he stood with his hand on the roundness of a larch trunk, looking back at her, a blue fleck in the brownness of congregated trees. She moved very slowly down the path. I might as well not exist, for all she is aware of me.

he said to himself bitterly. Nevertheless, when she drew near, he said brightly, Have you noticed how the thousands of dry twigs between the trunks make a brown mist, a broom? She looked at him suddenly, as if interrupted. Hmm, yes, I see what you mean. She smiled at him, because of his bright, boyish tone and manner. that's the larch fog he laughed yes she said you see it in pictures i had not noticed it before

he shook the tree on which his hand was laid it laughs through its teeth he said smiling playing with everything he touched as they went along she caught swiftly at her hat then she stooped picking up her hat-pin of twined silver She laughed to herself as if pleased by a coincidence. Last year, she said, the larch-fingers stole both my pins, the same ones. He looked at her, wondering how much he was filling the place of a ghost with warmth. He thought of Siegmund, and seemed to see him swinging down the steep bank out of the wood, exactly as he himself was doing at the moment with helena stepping carefully behind he always felt a deep sympathy and kinship with sigmund sometimes he thought he hated helena they had emerged at the head of a shallow valley one of those wide hollow hollows in the north downs that are like a great length of tapestry held loosely by four people. It was raining. Burn looked at the dark blue dots rapidly appearing on the

sleeves of Helena's dress. They walked on a little way. The rain increased. Helena looked about for shelter. Here, said Byrne, here is our tent, a black tartars, ready pitched. He stooped under the low boughs of a very large yew-tree that stood just back from the path. She crept after him. It was really a very good shelter. Byrne sat on the ledge of a route, Helena beside him. He looked under the flap of the black branches down the valley. The grey rain was falling steadily. The dark hollow under the tree was immersed in the monotonous sound of it. In the open, where the

The bright young corn shone intense with wet green was a fold of sheep. Exposed in a large pen on the hillside, they were moving restlessly. Now and again came the thong-ting-tong of a sheep-bell. First the grey creatures huddled in the high corner, then one of them descended and took shelter by the growing corn lowest down. the rest followed bleating and pushing each other in their anxiety to reach the place of desire which was no whit better than where they stood before that's like us all said byrne whimsically we're all penned out on a wet evening but we think if only we could get where someone else is it would be deliciously cosy helena laughed swiftly as she always did when he became whimsical and fretful. He sat with his head bent down, smiling with his lips,

but his eyes melancholy. She put her hand out to him. He took it without apparently observing it, folding his own hand over it, and unconsciously increasing the pressure. "'You are cold,' he said. "'Only my hands, and they usually are. she replied gently and mine are generally warm i know that she said it's almost the only warmth i get now your hands they really are wonderfully warm and close touching as good as a baked potato he said she pressed his hand scolding him for his mockery so many calories per week isn't that how we manage it is it asked, on credit. She put her other hand on his, as if beseeching him to forego his irony, which hurt her. They sat silent for some time. The sheep broke their cluster, and began to strangle back to the upper side of the pen. Tong, tong, tong, tong, went the forlorn bell.

The rain waxed louder. Byrne was thinking of the previous week. He had gone to Helena's home to read German with her as usual. She wanted to understand Wagner in his own language. In each of the armchairs, reposing across the arms was a violin case. He had sat down on the edge of one seat in front of the sacred fiddle. Helena had come quickly and removed the, the violin.

I shan't knock it, it is all right, he had said protesting. This was Siegman's violin, which Helena had managed to purchase, and Byrne was always ready to yield its precedence. It was all right, he repeated. But you were not, she had replied gently. Since that time, his heart had beat quick with excitement. Now he sat in a little storm of agitation, of which nothing was betrayed by his gloomy, pondering expression, but some of which was communicated to Helena by the increasing pressure of his hand,

which adjusted itself delicately in a stronger and stronger stress over her fingers and palm. By some movement he became aware that her hand was uncomfortable. He relaxed. She sighed, as if restless and dissatisfied. She wondered what he was thinking of. He smiled quietly. The babes in the wood, he teased. Helena laughed with a sound of tears. In the tree overhead some bird began to sing, in spite of the rain, a broken evening song. That little beggar sees it's a hopeless case, so he reminds us of heaven. But if he's going to cover us with yew leaves, he'd set himself a job.

Helena laughed again and shivered. He put his arm round her, drawing her nearer his warmth. After this new and daring move, neither spoke for a while. The rain continues, he said. And will do, she added, laughing. Quite content, he said. The bird overhead chirruped loudly again. Strew on us roses, roses, quoted bird.

adding after a while in wistful mockery and never a sprig of you eh helena made a small sound of tenderness and comfort for him and weariness for herself she let herself sink a little closer against him shall it not be so no you he murmured he put his left hand with which she had been breaking larch twigs on her chilled wrist. Noticing that his fingers were dirty, he held them up. I shall make marks on you, he said. They will come off, she replied. Yes, we come clean after everything. Time scrubs all sorts of scars off us.

Some scars don't seem to go, she smiled. And she held out her other arm, which which had been pressed warm against his side there just above the wrist was the red sun inflammation from last year burn regarded it gravely but it's wearing off even that he said wistfully helena put her arms round him under his coat she was cold she felt a hot wave of joy suffuse him almost immediately she released him and took off her hat that is better he said i was afraid of the pins said she i've been dodging them for the last hour he said laughing as she put her arms under his coat again for warmth she laughed and making a small moaning noise as if of weariness and helplessness she sank her head on his chest he put down his cheek against hers i want rest and warmth she said in her dull tones all right he murmured end of chapter thirty one end of the trespasser by d h lawrence