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Chapters 19 and 20 · The Golden Arrow

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  Chapter nineteen and twenty of The Golden Arrow by Mary Webb. This LibriVox recording
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  is in the public domain. Read by Anne Ericson Toronto, chapter nineteen.
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  When Deborah got home, her father was lighting the lamp outside her door,
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  in spite of Missus Arden's remonstrance, as he had always done this since Deborah
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  fell down the sharply turned stairs as a child punctually, like a sunset bell
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  or a watch light, it shone at nightfall equally punctually. Missus Arden's voice
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  was vigorously raised about spend thrift ways. The lamp comforted Deborah. Now she
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  followed him dumbly all the week, finding his calm strengthening Deb's mazed I think,
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  said Missus Arden to John. She doesn't do a hands turn for me,
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  I shall give her a bit of my mind. Never cut love,
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  mother, he replied in his wistful way. On Saturday night, Deborah suggested
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  that they should sing Lead Kindly Light, so she and John sang it in
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  the scented night, while Missus Arden, who called it that miserable mewling thing
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  and disapproved of hymns on a weekday, washed up remonstratingly in the back kitchen.
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  The light leads through queer ways, deb time and again, said John
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  Boggs, and such like, But it takes you somewhere at long last.
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  It's no marsh fire. August had come on the land like a flame.
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  Only primary colors were left. Day by day. The Devil's chair shook in
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  the heat haze, as though it would fall opposite by the little wood.
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  On the Wilder Hope range, the shepherd's signpost, blistered in the sun,
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  confronted it whitely. Between the ranges lay the valley, shadowed alternately by each
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  All round was the restless plain. On Sunday, Deborah had the basket packed
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  with matches for Stephen's pipe when he came to the door. So we've come
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  all the way, need to go back to lost with and again, said
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  Missus Arden. It's worth the walk. Stephen looked at Deborah, flushed and
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  radiant. So we are off picnicking. John spoke meditatively. He never treated
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  trifles lightly because he saw their hidden meanings. A well goose chaise, I
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  call it, Missus Arden, surveyed them, amusedly but indulgently. John looked
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  steadfastly at Stephen. She's all we have now, the lad's gone, he
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  said. Stephen fidgeted, Ay we missed the lad. Missus Arden shook her
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  head as she packed the breakfast things on the tray. He says to me,
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  I'll be up every day, mother, But I knew he never would.
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  It's not in nature. Shall I carry that tray? Asked Stephen.
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  It's heavy for you. I've carried more than that in my time. Thank
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  you all the same, lad? Or where would your sweetheart be now?
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  Mother, John cautioned. Stephen looked round to see if Deborah minded, but
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  she was in the garden, leaning on the gate, gazing at the signpost
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  far along the hill. Well we'll be off now, said Stephen, taking
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  command with his usual decision. They started. John and Patty waved to them
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  from the gate. Dunna be late, they called. It was all unbearable
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  to Deborah. Hark at the pigeons breaking their hearts in the wood. She
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  sighed as they descended into the valley. How can I tell him at home?
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  Stephen, Lord, you'd think it was a black crime. So it
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  be to mother, maybe not so much to father. He sees out and
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  beyond things they walked apart. Stephen was genuinely repentant, ashamed of his new
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  self. Deborah was withdrawn in the gloom of foreboding. He did not touch
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  her. His look was comradeley. They talked about trees and birds and the
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  changing seasons that she knew like a rosary. She became more at ease.
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  Stephen was a strange anomaly. He was too perceptive for a plowman, too
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  vital for a gentleman. His mind was at present a confused mass of other
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  people's principles, non principles, creeds, negations, But beneath them lurked a
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  poet. They began to climb towards the chair your old fellows damned hard to
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  get at deb Stephen mopped his face. He gave her his arm at the
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  steepest part, and was immediately overwhelmed with longing to kiss her. Deborah stopped,
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  Can we go back, please, Stephen. I've ne'er been here before,
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  and I don't like it. The chair had begun to loom large on
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  the sky. Rather not, said Stephen, please. She was sweetly feminine
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  in her manner of asking. She was one of the women who depend on
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  their own charm and dignity for what they want from their men. Not needing
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  legislation, she was not often refused. All right, but I'm beastly disappointed.
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  Stephen turned round with depressed shoulders and a most forlorn expression. Deborah fe
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  selfish. We'll go on if so be. You want to, she said,
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  So on they went on the cold northern slopes round the chair. The
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  heather was hardly in bud. Cranberry buds of most waxen whiteness hung against the
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  rock like tears, not if creature was visible. Stephen climbed out of the
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  shadow beneath the throne on its jagged masses, and called to Deborah to follow.
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  Oh no, no, no, Stephen, don't be silly. It's
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  black arm for us both. Now, what harm can come to us when
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  we love each other? So his words dropped into the silence and were swallowed.
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  In the intense quiescence of the place. One might almost have imagined mockery.
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  Now, deb see how good I've been. I've never once taken my
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  rights as your lover, riots said Deborah faintly. She had always belonged to
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  herself completely, always been reserved, poised like a wind cover. She looked
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  up at him, standing on the top of the chair, with a kind
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  of easy mastery about him. Was it a symbol? Could he shield her
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  from harm? As he said he was very strong? She supposed he could.
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  She climbed up. He stretched his hand out. Hold hard on to
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  me, he said, cheerfully, and you'll be as right as right I
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  allus will, she answered. The stone under his foot slipped, and he
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  fell onto the flat rocks that made the seat of the chair. She swayed,
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  but recovered by loosing his hand. He laughed, but to her it
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  was a portent, and she would stay there no more. They wandered down
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  the northward slope, where a row of blasted trees stood like a broken toothed
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  comb. Beneath them was a partially ruined cottage. We might live here if
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  it was repaired, said he, delightedly. As lost with and is only
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  just down there, it would be nothing of a walk. Deborah shuddered.
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  They had their meal and lingered in the shade until a little breeze sprang up.
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  His mood had changed. May I put my arm round you, dear,
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  he asked, I Do you like it there? She smiled, maybe,
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  Stephen very much? I Then may I kiss you? Deborah gave him
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  her lips. He kissed her throat, pulling her blue bow aside. No,
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  she said, flatly, only just under the bow, not till we
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  am wed. Oh, dear, I forgot, She gazed at him in
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  distress. We'll count that we're wed now, deb. Oh, No,
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  things must be done decent. She had an innate mistrust of the swift gratification
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  of wishes. Well, I can't wait forever, deb. He had quite
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  forgotten that he had only known her for a fortnight. We must decide things,
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  you know, he reasoned, not yet a while. Yes, tonight
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  on the way home. You're so hasty, Stephen. Well would you be
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  pleased if I wasn't? I shouldn't be if you weren't so pretty, deb
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  His arm tightened. No, Stephen, I'll be good all the way home,
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  and talk about silly birds and things, he said, laughing. We'll
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  go back now. Then. He strove very hard to come up to her
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  demure standard all the way, but his eyes were so pleading. He helped
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  her over stiles so carefully and brought her flowers with such a depressed look that
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  she felt as if she had done wrong. He was silent most of the
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  way. As they neared high Lizo's, he said, well, what when
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  is it to be? When will you come? I dunna know. I
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  can't go on over yonder without you. I shall chuck it and come and
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  live it sleep. But you cannot leave your work. Oh hang the work.
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  But lookye, Stephen, I've got to tell father and mother, and
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  I dunna know how to bad as you must, it may as well be
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  soon as late. I well. Then when they reached the door, pinned
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  to it was a paper written on this and missus Arden's large hand. I'd
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  a call to black coom. Father will wait to bring me back in the
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  morning. Go to Joe's. If lonesome, Deborah had a swift intuition.
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  She snatched the paper from the door and crumpled it in her hand. I've
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  seen it, said Stephen, over your shoulder. They looked at one another
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  while the light slipped from the valleys. Chapter twenty. Are you going to
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  ask me to stay to supper? Deborah? He said steadily, if you've
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  a mind too. The surge of joy and foreboding in her heart nearly stifled
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  her. She turned with relief to make up the fire and lay the table.
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  He ran to and fro in his shirt sleeves. Fetching things for her.
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  He brought coal and made his face black. Then his collar came undone
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  there, said he. That's how I look at the mine. She looked
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  at him admiringly. How young he was to be a foreman, how tall
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  he was, what a way he had with him. They laughed about his
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  black face. You can wash you in the back kitchen while I go up
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  and do my hair, she said. Half Way upstairs, she stopped.
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  There was the lamp lit. It must have been late hours ago ready for
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  her. It was like a glance from her father, and she had to
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  tell him. The price was too great, she felt. Yet, how
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  could she give Stephen up. It never occurred to either of them that he
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  might have sacrificed his principle or whim. At present, his opinions, though
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  short lived, possessed him entirely. It did not occur to him that Deborah
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  was sacrificing all. He nothing. After supper, they talked softly, He
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  on the hearth rug at her feet. I'll get you a window full of
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  geraniums, he said, for our cottage, and we'll have red tiles like
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  these, and a chiming clock and a roaring fire Deborah forgot, and the
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  warm picture, the darker side of her love story, and an arm chair
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  for the measter. She said, Oh you darling, but I shall want
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  to sit at your feet. You'll soon tire of that, said Deborah,
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  amused. It was strange to see him there, so bright and eager,
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  when she was used to her father and mother and Joe with their quiet ways
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  and sober looks. I've got something for you, he said. He opened
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  a little box, and there lay a ring for me. Yes, I
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  didn't see why you shouldn't have your ring? But how did you get it?
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  Walked to Silverton, walked all that weighty road. Yes, for you,
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  And now when can I put it on? I shall make you a
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  vow when I do. Oh, I dunna know. The look she was
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  beginning to know came into his face. Let it be here, and now
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  he said, no, no, Deborah, I might die tomorrow. I
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  might get crushed in the mine. He spoke, without the least abatement of
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  vitality. Oh hush, she moaned, And think how you'd feel, don't
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  he? Well, then it was the inevitable, unanswerable argument. He took
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  her hand, which hung limp by her side and put the ring on her
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  finger. Deborah Arden, He said, with this ring, I plight you,
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  my troth forever. I worship you body and soul. Amen. Now,
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  Deborah, I shall consider you my wife. The years to come with
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  their mighty hollow thunder beat upon Deborah's brain, the past, with its round
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  completeness of kindly intercourse, rippled behind her like a lily lake. Only the
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  present. She could not realize. He was the present. He was the
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  future, also eternity. Should she grudge him a golden hour? She thrilled
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  to fill his arm round her heart as it had been at the fair.
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  What a man he was, her man, What a lad hers The wind
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  rose and fingered the windows, trying the door, filling for a crevice.
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  The time so short for enjoying ourselves, deb I know it be or she
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  hesitated, the more unbearable he found any hesitation. You don't care about me
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  a little bit, he cried. At last, you don't know what love
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  is. I'd better go. Maybe you better, had said Deborah sorrowfully.
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  She went to the stairs door and opened it. Look at that lamp,
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  she said, lip for me nights, never one missed for three and twenty
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  years, and you say I dunna know what love is. Can you say
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  you've done as much for me? I will do as much more? Maybe,
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  well, I must say. He was in a towering rage. The
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  more he longed for Deborah, the more angry he became. He flung his
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  coat. On good night, he said, bitterly. Now you can go
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  to Joe's. She suddenly had a vision of him lying somewhere at lost within,
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  silent, with shut eyes, never to ask her anything again. Suppose
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  such a thing happened, Such things did there. He was now alive,
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  loving her, wanting her now tonight. Any other night might be too late.
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  She clung to the door. Her hands were cold, her lips dry.
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  Life would be no good to her without him, And here they were
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  warmly shut in together from the world. It's as if it was to be,
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  she thought, And now she was sending him away. He turned at
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  the gate with a tragic look. We might have been so happy, he
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  said, accusingly. She ran to the gate. Oh, come back,
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  she cried, sobbing and pulling his sleeve like a child. Come back into
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  the warm, And don't he talk in that awful way about dying. She
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  clung to his coat. It was the only way to fight the horror that
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  had come on her. At his words, she pulled him in and shut
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  the door. And now, he said, smiling at her, in complete
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  unconsciousness of the agony of mind he had given her, Come and sit on
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  my knee. She sat on the arm of his chair. Why, Debb,
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  your hands trembling. Oh no, I'm never went to tremble, said
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  deb. I can skim as clean as anybody. I'm a beast. Oh,
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  deb forgive me, But you're always forgiving me, he added, hitting
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  his forehead with the unmerciful thoroughness of an actor, but without affectation, for
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  it was natural to him to make his emotions pictorial. Of course, I
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  be, said Deborah. His young self absorption was pierced for a moment,
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  like thick woods by early sunlight. He looked up at her solemnly, deb
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  he said, and there was a kind of dull terror in his voice.
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  Deb. If ever you stop forgiving me, I shall be done for Never
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  stop forgiving me, deb Stick to me, deb He besought her, like
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  a child in the dark. I will that, said Deborah, with her
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  warm, maternal smile. From without somewhere on the empty table land. Came
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  a long, shuddering cry, and it's trembling ferocity. It was like the
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  curse of a hag. It's only the owl saying what ails you? Said
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  Deborah, I don't care about these old hills of yours as much as I
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  did, He said, uneasily. You've got such damned funny birds here.
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  But Deborah was still following her previous train of thought. I couldna stop forgiving
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  of you, she said, softly. It's so mortal, sweet. Unless
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  you stopped wanting me to that, I never shall. He answered with certainty,
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  and nestled his head against her arm. You're tired, said Deborah.
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  Oh no, I'm never tired. But his flesh betrayed him. It's time
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  he went to sleep, said Deborah. Motherliness driving out all other feelings,
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  Her tenderness, the vague, illimitable love in her, vague as rings and
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  water widening eternally touched a cord in him that had never yet sounded. Within
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  the rather tinny, meaningless music of his untried youth. This hint of manhood
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  struck out a presage of grand It was Deborah's justification for her sacrifice. He
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  stood up his arm among the brass candlesticks and pewter pots on the high mantelpiece.
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  Deborah, he said, in a voice that enraged him by the way
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  it went up and down. Deborah, I'll sleep out in the shippen tonight.
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  Rover and the cows are good enough company for me, he added,
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  with a little forced laugh. He turned impetuously to the door, dreadfully disappointed
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  that he should feel so flat after doing so great a thing. Beastly stale,
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  he cogitated as he surveyed the inside of the shipping with great disfavor,
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  beastly stale, doing the decent thing here. Get out, you old dunderhead,
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  he apostrophized. Wimbry, put your fat self between me and the door
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  for the Lord's sake, or out I shall go oof. What a stench?
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  And deb never said a word. Deborah had not been able to say
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  a word. She had never seen him look so splendid. He seemed to
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  tower in the little place. It was her nature to see the beloved small
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  plain doings as noble for her. When Stephen was most mundane, a nimbus
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  was about his head when he was angry, when he was cold and selfish.
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  Still more, in those mad moments at the fair and on the way
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  home, when he was masterful with a cruelty that was, though she would
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  not confess it, intoxicating as the first mad autumn winds to her. At
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  all these times she determinedly saw in him only the greatness. Now in these
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  few moments there had really been only greatness, a profundity she had not dreamed
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  of, had not asked for, had shown in him. It was like
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  coming to a sudden, splendid valley full of deep colors after walking a bare
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  hillside. Renunciation was to him like stopping a runaway cart downhill. She dimly
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  felt that he was not made for it. She rocked herself softly in the
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  firelight glory and honor and power. She murmured, ay, them's his by
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  rights, and he does so mislike the smell of cows. She smiled at
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  this in spite of herself and for me. She thought, Deborah Arden of
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  the upper Leser's with straight hair and no book, learning, he's gone to
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  the shippen along o the cows. She thought of a carol about a kingly
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  stranger and a stable. There seemed to her nothing incongress and associating him with
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  it and Adina as if he only wanted to stay along O me a bit,
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  she thought, with a lift of her head. No, he wanted
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  to stay more than anything in the world. Color searched over her. Her
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  hand was on the little bow at her neck. I wouldn't let him touch
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  it this afternoon, she murmured. In a sudden confusion of pride and trembling.
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  She hummed to herself the roundabout air, Oh, where is my lad
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  tonight? A great rattling of cow chains from the shippen set her smiling.
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  There's all this summit doing where he be? She thought. Then she went
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  down with John's little lamp in her hand into the dark, warm night,
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  and stood with it in the shipping door. If so be you're tired of
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  Rover and the cows, she said, with a touch of dignity, you're
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  very kindly welcome to bide wi me. End of Chapter twenty