And, having begun to take
an interest in his food, he was allowed to travel on the seventh day to
Sea House in charge of Barbara.
The two spent their time in a little summer-house close to the sea;
lying out on the beach under the groynes; and, as Miltoun grew stronger,
motoring and walking on the Downs.
To Barbara, keeping a close watch, he seemed tranquilly enough drinking
in from Nature what was necessary to restore balance after the struggle,
and breakdown of the past weeks. Yet she could never get rid of a queer
feeling that he was not really there at all; to look at him was like
watching an uninhabited house that was waiting for someone to enter.
During a whole fortnight he did not make a single allusion to Mrs. Noel,
till, on the very last morning, as they were watching the sea, he said
with his queer smile:
"It almost makes one believe her theory, that the old gods are not dead.
Do you ever see them, Babs; or are you, like me, obtuse?"
Certainly about those lithe invasions of the sea-nymph waves, with ashy,
streaming hair, flinging themselves into the arms of the land, there
was the old pagan rapture, an inexhaustible delight, a passionate soft
acceptance of eternal fate, a wonderful acquiescence in the untiring
mystery of life.
But Barbara, ever disconcerted by that tone in his voice, and by this
quick dive into the waters of unaccustomed thought, failed to find an
answer.
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