Clem, less than most men, suffered permanently, or
indeed in any way from remorse, because he was so shielded by his
peculiar philosophy; but I can quite believe that when he got into
the habit of calling at the Hall at mid-day, his behaviour to his
wife changed.
One day in December the squire had gone out with the hounds. Clem,
going on from bad to worse, had now reached the point of planning to
be at the Hall when the squire was not at home. On that particular
afternoon Clem was there. It was about half-past four o'clock, and
the master was not expected till six. There had been some music, the
lady accompanying, and Clem singing. It was over, and Clem, sitting
down beside her at the piano, and pointing out with his right hand
some passage which had troubled him, had placed his left arm on her
shoulder, and round her neck, she not resisting. He always swore
afterwards that never till then had such a familiarity as this been
permitted, and I believe that he did not tell a lie. But what was
there in that familiarity? The worst was already there, and it was
through a mere accident that it never showed itself. The accident
was this. The squire, for some unknown reason, had returned earlier
than usual, and dismounting in the stable-yard, had walked round the
garden on the turf which came close to the windows of the ground
floor.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81