"Which way will you go?" she said.
"Somewhere east of Tamar, it doesn't matter to me," he said. "I'll never come west again, not until I'm old and gray, and have forgotten a lot of things. I thought of striking north after Gunnislake, and making for the midlands. They're rich up there, and ahead of everyone; there'll be fortune there for a man who goes to find it. Perhaps I'll have money in my pockets one day, and buy horses for pleasure instead of stealing them."
"It's an ugly black country in the midlands," said Mary.
"I don't bother about the color of the soil," he answered. "Moorland peat is black, isn't it? And so's the rain when it falls into your pigsties down at Helford. What's the difference?"
"You just talk for argument, Jem; there's no sense in what you say."
"How can I be sensible when you lean against my horse, with your wild daft hair entangled in his mane, and I know that in five or ten minutes' time I shall be over the hill yonder without you, my face turned towards the Tamar and you walking back to North Hill to drink tea with Squire Bassat?"
"Delay your journey, then, and come to North Hill too."
"Don't be a damned fool, Mary. Can you see me drinking tea with the squire, and dancing his children on my knee? I don't belong to his class, neither do you."
"I know that. And I am going back to Helford because of it. I'm homesick, Jem; I want to smell the river again and walk in my own country."
"Go on, then; turn your back on me and start walking now. You'll come to a road after ten miles or so that will take you to Bodmin, and from Bodmin to Truro, and from Truro to Helston. Once in Helston you will find your friends, and make a home with them until your farm is ready for you."
"You are very harsh today, and cruel."
"I'm harsh to my horses when they're obstinate and out of hand; but it doesn't mean I love them any the less."
"You've never loved anything in your life," said Mary.
"I haven't had much use for the word, that's why," he told her.
He went round to the back of the cart, and kicked the stone away from the wheel.
"What are you doing?" said Mary.
"It's past noon already, and I ought to be on the road. I've havered here long enough," he said. "If you were a man I'd ask you to come with me, and you'd fling your legs over the seat and stick your hands in your pockets and rub shoulders with me for as long as it pleased you."
"I'd do that now if you'd take me south," she said.
"Yes, but I'm bound north, and you're not a man, you're only a woman, as you'd know to your cost if you came with me. Move off from the trace there, Mary, and don't twist the rein. I'm going now. Good-bye."
He took her face in his hands and kissed it, and she saw that he was laughing. "When you're an old maid in mittens down at Helford, you'll remember that," he said, "and it will have to last you to the end of your days. 'He stole horses,' you'll say to yourself, 'and he didn't care for women; and but for my pride I'd have been with him now.' "
He climbed into the cart and looked down upon her, flicking his whip and yawning. "I'll do fifty miles before tonight," he said, "and sleep like a puppy at the end of it, in a tent by the side of the road. I'll kindle a fire, and cook bacon for my supper. Will you think of me or not?"
She did not listen, though; she stood with her face towards the south, hesitating and twisting her hands. Beyond those hills the bleak moors turned to pasture, and the pasture to valleys and to streams. The peace and quiet of Helford waited for her beside the running water.
"It's not pride," she told him; "you know that it's not pride; there's a sickness in my heart for home and all the things I've lost."
He said nothing, but drew the reins into his hands and whistled to the horse. "Wait," said Mary, "wait, and hold him still, and give me your hand."
He laid the whip aside, and reached down to her, and swung her beside him on the driver's seat.
"What now?" he said. "And where do you want me to take you? You have your back to Helford, do you know that?"
"Yes, I know," she said.
"If you come with me it will be a hard life, and a wild one at times, Mary, with no biding anywhere, and little rest and comfort. Men are ill companions when the mood takes them, and I, God knows, the worst of them. You'll get a poor exchange for your farm, and small prospect of the peace you crave."
"I'll take the risk, Jem, and chance your moods."
"Do you love me, Mary?"
"I believe so, Jem."
"Better than Helford?"
"I can't ever answer that."
"Why are you sitting here beside me, then?"
"Because I want to; because I must; because now and forever more this is where I belong to be," said Mary.
He laughed then, and took her hand, and gave her the reins; and she did not look back over her shoulder again, but set her face towards the Tamar.
About the Author
Daphne du Maurier (1907-1989) was born in London, the daughter of the actor Sir Gerald du Maurier and granddaughter of the author and artist George du Maurier. Her first novel, The Loving Spirit, was published in 1931, but it would be her fifth novel, Rebecca, that made her one of the most popular authors of her day. Besides novels, du Maurier wrote plays, biographies, and several collections of short fiction. Many of her works were made into films, including Rebecca, Jamaica Inn, My Cousin Rachel, "Don't Look Now," and "The Birds." She lived most of her life in Cornwall, and was made a Dame of the British Empire in 1969.
Books by Daphne du Maurier
Novels
The Loving Spirit
I'll Never Be Young Again
Julius
Jamaica Inn
Rebecca
Frenchman's Creek
Hungry Hill
The King's General
The Parasites
My Cousin Rachel
Mary Anne
The Scapegoat
Castle Dor
The GlassBlowers
The Flight of the Falcon
The House on the Strand
Rule Britannia
Short Stories
The Birds and Other Stories
The Breaking Point: Stories
Don't Look Now and Other Stories
Nonfiction
Gerald: A Portrait
The du Mauriers
The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte
Golden Lads: A Study of Anthony Bacon, Francis, and Their Friends
The Winding Stair: Francis Bacon, His Rise and Fall
Myself When Young
The Rebecca Notebook and Other Memories
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Foreword
Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Books by Daphne du Maurier
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright (c) 1936 by Daphne du Maurier Foreword copyright (c) 2003 by Sarah Dunant Cover design by Susan Zucker
 
; Cover photograph by Arcangel
Cover copyright (c) 2013 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at
[email protected] Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
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First Little, Brown ebook edition: December 2013
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ISBN 978-0-316-25290-4
E3
Daphne Du Maurier, Jamaica Inn
(Series: # )
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