_Chapter 4_
The gold march of sunset passed quickly, the ragged curtains of mistclosed to. Soon Siegmund and Helena were shut alone within the densewide fog. She shivered with the cold and the damp. Startled, he took herin his arms, where she lay and clung to him. Holding her closely, hebent forward, straight to her lips. His moustache was drenched cold withfog, so that she shuddered slightly after his kiss, and shuddered again.He did not know why the strong tremor passed through her. Thinking itwas with fear and with cold, he undid his overcoat, put her close on hisbreast, and covered her as best he could. That she feared him at thatmoment was half pleasure, half shame to him. Pleadingly he hid his faceon her shoulder, held her very tightly, till his face grew hot, buriedagainst her soft strong throat.
'You are so big I can't hold you,' she whispered plaintively, catchingher breath with fear. Her small hands grasped at the breadth of hisshoulders 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 breastwith a sharp intaking of delight and fear; she tried to make her handsmeet in the warmth of his shoulders, tried to clasp him.
'See! I can't,' she whispered.
He laughed short, and pressed her closer.
Then, tucking her head in his breast, hiding her face, she timidly slidher hands along his sides, pressing softly, to find the contours of hisfigure. Softly her hands crept over the silky back of his waistcoat,under his coats, and as they stirred, his blood flushed up, and upagain, with fire, till all Siegmund was hot blood, and his breast wasone great ache.
He crushed her to him--crushed her in upon the ache of his chest. Hismuscles set hard and unyielding; at that moment he was a tense, vividbody of flesh, without a mind; his blood, alive and conscious, runningtowards her. He remained perfectly still, locked about Helena, consciousof nothing.
She was hurt and crushed, but it was pain delicious to her. It wasmarvellous to her how strong he was, to keep up that grip of her likesteel. She swooned in a kind of intense bliss. At length she foundherself released, taking a great breath, while Siegmund was moving hismouth over her throat, something like a dog snuffing her, but with hislips. Her heart leaped away in revulsion. His moustache thrilled herstrangely. His lips, brushing and pressing her throat beneath the ear,and his warm breath flying rhythmically upon her, made her vibratethrough all her body. Like a violin under the bow, she thrilled beneathhis mouth, and shuddered from his moustache. Her heart was like fire inher breast.
Suddenly she strained madly to him, and, drawing back her head, placedher lips on his, close, till at the mouth they seemed to melt and fusetogether. It was the long, supreme kiss, in which man and woman have onebeing, Two-in-one, the only Hermaphrodite.
When Helena drew away her lips, she was exhausted. She belonged to thatclass of 'dreaming women' with whom passion exhausts itself at themouth. Her desire was accomplished in a real kiss. The fire, in heavyflames, had poured through her to Siegmund, from Siegmund to her. Itsank, and she felt herself flagging. She had not the man's brightnessand vividness of blood. She lay upon his breast, dreaming how beautifulit would be to go to sleep, to swoon unconscious there, on that rarebed. She lay still on Siegmund's breast, listening to his heavilybeating heart.
With her the dream was always more than the actuality. Her dream ofSiegmund was more to her than Siegmund himself. He might be less thanher dream, which is as it may be. However, to the real man she wasvery cruel.
He held her close. His dream was melted in his blood, and his blood ranbright for her. His dreams were the flowers of his blood. Hers were moredetached and inhuman. For centuries a certain type of woman has beenrejecting the 'animal' in humanity, till now her dreams are abstract,and full of fantasy, and her blood runs in bondage, and her kindness isfull 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 fromhis caresses, passively, subtly drew back from him. He was far toosensitive not to be aware of this, and far too much of a man not toyield to the woman. His heart sank, his blood grew sullen at herwithdrawal. Still he held her; the two were motionless and silent forsome time.
She became distressedly conscious that her feet, which lay on the wetgrass, were aching with cold. She said softly, gently, as if he was herchild whom she must correct and lead:
'I think we ought to go home, Siegmund.' He made a small sound, thatmight mean anything, but did not stir or release her. His mouth,however, remained motionless on her throat, and the caress went outof 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 loathto 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 leanedforward, 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. Sheclung 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.