His little bay was still and warm under the summer stars. His trees shadowed the rocks. He was conscious of the peace of it all. But as he stepped from the path through the trees into the open spaces of his garden his eyes lit on a bed of stocks, and the thing he dreaded, the remembrance that something was gone from this forever, struck him with the force of a blow. But he went on. His dogs bounded round the house barking joyously. A door opened and Lee looked out, and hurried in again to light lamps and to prepare something to eat.
Dane dropped into his hammock and lay still. He did not rouse himself till after eleven. Then his mind cleared for a little, and he told himself to go and face it. He knew perfectly well that she was gone. But he knew he would have no peace till he did the thing he shirked doing. He went into his study and looked at the piano. Yes, her music was gone. He went on to her front room. From the force of habit he almost knocked on the door. Inside he stood staggered a moment at the sight of her books, her furniture. Then a piteous smile twisted his face. Those things hurt too much. He staggered back into his library. He stumbled against one of his little red tables. Something snapped in his brain. He kicked at it, and it overturned, and the bronze things on it scattered on the floor with a harsh sound that clanged through the house. In a frenzy he seized the table by the legs and dashed it down again. Then he stumbled into his den and to the cabinet where he kept morphia.
The temptation came to end it all there and then, but he remembered even in that black moment that done that way it would reflect on Valerie, haunt her going away. He took merely enough to blot out the world for the night. Then he stumbled back to his hammock.
As he got into it the boys, who had been startled by
