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In the Days of the Comet Book First Chapter Third Section 5-6 · The H. G. Wells Library

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  Speaker 1: Book one, Chapter three, sections five and six of In
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  Speaker 1: the Days of a Comet. This is a LibriVox recording.
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  Speaker 1: All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
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  Speaker 1: information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. In
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  Speaker 1: the Days of a Comet by H. G. Wells, Book one,
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  Speaker 1: Chapter three, Sections five and six. Section five. You must
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  Speaker 1: understand that I had no set plan of murder when
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  Speaker 1: I walked over to Checkshill. I had no set plan
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  Speaker 1: of any sort. There was a great confusion of dramatically
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  Speaker 1: conceived intentions in my head, scenes of threatening and denunciation
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  Speaker 1: and terror. But I did not mean to kill the revolver.
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  Speaker 1: Was to turn upon my rival, my disadvantage and age
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  Speaker 1: and physique. But that was not it really the revolver.
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  Speaker 1: I took the revolver because I had the revolver and
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  Speaker 1: was a foolish young lout. It was a dramatic sort
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  Speaker 1: of thing to take I had, I say, no plan
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  Speaker 1: at all. Ever, and again, during the second trudge to Checksil,
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  Speaker 1: I was irradiated with a novel, unreasonable hope. I had
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  Speaker 1: awakened in the morning with a hope. It may have
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  Speaker 1: been the last unfaded trail of some obliterated dream that,
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  Speaker 1: after all, Nettie might relent toward me, that her heart
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  Speaker 1: was kind toward me in spite of all that I imagined
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  Speaker 1: had happened. I even thought it was possible that I
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  Speaker 1: might have misinterpreted what I had seen. Perhaps she would
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  Speaker 1: explain everything. My revolver was in my pocket for all that.
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  Speaker 1: I limped at the outset. But after the second mile
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  Speaker 1: my ankle warmed to forgetfulness, and the rest of the
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  Speaker 1: way I walked. Well. Suppose, after all I was wrong.
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  Speaker 1: I was still debating that. As I came through the
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  Speaker 1: park by the corner of the paddock near the keeper's cottage,
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  Speaker 1: I was reminded by some belated blue hyacinths of a
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  Speaker 1: time when I and Nettie had gathered them together. It
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  Speaker 1: seemed impossible that we could really have parted ourselves for
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  Speaker 1: good and all. A wave of tenderness flowed over me,
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  Speaker 1: and still flooded me as I came through the little
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  Speaker 1: dell and drew towards the hollies. But there the sweet
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  Speaker 1: Nettie of my boy's love faded, and I thought of
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  Speaker 1: the new Nettie of desire and the man I had
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  Speaker 1: come upon in the moonlight. I thought of the narrow,
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  Speaker 1: hot purpose that had grown so strongly out of my
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  Speaker 1: springtime freshness, and my mood darkened to night. I crossed
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  Speaker 1: the beech wood and came towards the gardens with a
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  Speaker 1: resolute and sorrowful heart. When I reached the green door
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  Speaker 1: in the garden wall, I was seized for a space
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  Speaker 1: with so violent a trembling that I could not grip
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  Speaker 1: the latch to lift it, for I no longer had
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  Speaker 1: any doubt how this would end. The trembling was succeeded
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  Speaker 1: by a feeling of cold and whiteness and self pity.
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  Speaker 1: I was astonished to find myself grimacing, to feel my
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  Speaker 1: cheeks wet, and thereupon I gave way completely to a
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  Speaker 1: wild passion of weeping. I must take just a little
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  Speaker 1: time before the thing was done. I turned away from
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  Speaker 1: the door and stumbled for a little distance, sobbing loudly,
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  Speaker 1: and lay down out of sight among the bracken, and
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  Speaker 1: so presently became calm again. I lay there some time,
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  Speaker 1: I had half a mind to desist, and then my
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  Speaker 1: emotion passed like the shadow of a cloud, and I
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  Speaker 1: walked very coolly into the gardens through the open door
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  Speaker 1: of one of the glass houses. I saw Old Stewart.
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  Speaker 1: He was leaning against the staging, his hands in his pockets,
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  Speaker 1: so deep in thought he gave no heed to me.
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  Speaker 1: I hesitated and went on towards the cottage slowly. Something
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  Speaker 1: struck me as unusual about the place, but I could
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  Speaker 1: not tell at first what it was. One of the
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  Speaker 1: bedroom windows was open, and the customary short blind, with
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  Speaker 1: its brass upper rail partly unfastened, drooped obliquely across the
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  Speaker 1: vacant space. It looked negligent and odd, for usually everything
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  Speaker 1: about the cottage was conspicuously trim. The door was standing
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  Speaker 1: wide open, and everything was still, but giving that usually
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  Speaker 1: orderly hall and odd look. It was about half past
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  Speaker 1: two in the afternoon. Was a pile of three dirty
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  Speaker 1: dishes with used knives and forks upon them on one
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  Speaker 1: of the hall chairs. I went in to the hall,
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  Speaker 1: looked into either room and hesitated. Then I fell upon
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  Speaker 1: the door knocker and gave a loud rat tat too,
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  Speaker 1: and followed this up with an amiable hello. For a
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  Speaker 1: time no one answered me, and I stood listening and expectant,
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  Speaker 1: with my fingers about my weapon. Some one moved about upstairs,
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  Speaker 1: presently and was still again. The tension of waiting seemed
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  Speaker 1: to brace my nerves. I had my hand on the
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  Speaker 1: knocker for the second time when Puss appeared in the doorway.
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  Speaker 1: For a moment we remained staring at one another without speaking.
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  Speaker 1: Her hair was disheveled, her face dirty, tears stained, and
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  Speaker 1: irregularly read. Her expression at the sight of me was
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  Speaker 1: pure astonishment. I thought she was about to say something,
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  Speaker 1: and then she had darted away out of the house again.
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  Speaker 1: I say, Puss, I said, Puss. I followed her out
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  Speaker 1: of the door. Puss, what's the matter? Where's Nettie? She
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  Speaker 1: vanished round the corner of the house. I hesitated, perplexed
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  Speaker 1: whether I should pursue her. What did it all mean?
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  Speaker 1: Then I heard someone upstairs. Willie cried, the voice of
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  Speaker 1: missus Stewart. Is that you? Yes? I answered, where is everyone?
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  Speaker 1: Where's Nettie? I want to have a talk with her.
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  Speaker 1: She did not answer, but I heard her dress rustle
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  Speaker 1: as she moved. I judged she was upon the landing overhead.
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  Speaker 1: I paused at the foot of the stairs, expecting her
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  Speaker 1: to appear and come down. Suddenly came a strange sound,
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  Speaker 1: A rush of sounds, words jumbled and hurrying, confused and shapeless,
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  Speaker 1: borne along upon a note of throaty distress that at
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  Speaker 1: last submerged the words altogether and ended in a wail.
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  Speaker 1: Except that it came from a woman's throat, it was
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  Speaker 1: exactly the babbling sound of a wheir child with a grievance.
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  Speaker 1: I can't, she said, I can't, and that was all
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  Speaker 1: I could distinguish. It was, to my young ears, the
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  Speaker 1: strangest sound conceivable from a kindly, motherly little woman, whom
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  Speaker 1: I had always thought of, chiefly as an unparalleled maker
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  Speaker 1: of cakes. It frightened me. I went upstairs at once,
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  Speaker 1: in a state of infinite alarm, and there she was
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  Speaker 1: upon the landing, leaning forward over the top of a
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  Speaker 1: chest of drawers beside her open bedroom door, and weeping.
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  Speaker 1: I never saw such weeping. One thick strand of black
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  Speaker 1: hair had escaped and hung with a spiral twist down
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  Speaker 1: her back. Never before had I noticed that she had
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  Speaker 1: gray hairs. As I came upon the landing, her voice
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  Speaker 1: rose again, Oh that I should have to tell you, Willie,
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  Speaker 1: Oh that I should have to tell you. She dropped
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  Speaker 1: her head again, and a fresh gust of tears swept
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  Speaker 1: all further words away. I said nothing. I was too astonished,
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  Speaker 1: but I drew nearer to her and waited. I never
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  Speaker 1: saw such weeping. The extraordinary wetness of her dripping handkerchief
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  Speaker 1: abides with me to this day. That I should have
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  Speaker 1: lived to see this day, she wailed. I'd rather a
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  Speaker 1: thousand times. She was struck dead at my feet. I
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  Speaker 1: began to understand, missus Stewart, I said, clearing my throat,
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  Speaker 1: what is become of Nettie? That I should have lived
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  Speaker 1: to see this day? She said by way of reply,
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  Speaker 1: I waited till her passion abated. There came a lull.
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  Speaker 1: I forgot the weapon in my pocket. I said nothing,
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  Speaker 1: and suddenly she stood erect before me, wiping her swollen eyes. Willie,
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  Speaker 1: she gulped, She's gone, Nettie gone, run away, run away
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  Speaker 1: from her home, Oh, Willie, Willie, the shame of it,
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  Speaker 1: the sin and shame of it. She fled herself upon
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  Speaker 1: my shoulder and clung to me, and began again to
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  Speaker 1: wish her daughter lying dead at our feet. There there,
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  Speaker 1: said I, and all my being was a tremble. Where
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  Speaker 1: has she gone? I said, as softly as I could
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  Speaker 1: but for the time she was preoccupied with her own sorrow,
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  Speaker 1: and I had to hold her there and comfort her
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  Speaker 1: with the blackness of finality spreading over my soul. Where
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  Speaker 1: has she gone? I asked for the fourth time. I
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  Speaker 1: don't know, we don't know. And oh, Willie, she went
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  Speaker 1: out yesterday morning, I said to her. Nettie, I said
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  Speaker 1: to her, you're mighty fine for a morning. Call fine
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  Speaker 1: clothes for a fine day, she said, And that was
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  Speaker 1: her last words to me, Willie, the child, I suckled
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  Speaker 1: at my breast. Yes, yes, But where has she gone?
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  Speaker 1: I said? She went on with sobs, and now telling
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  Speaker 1: her story with a sort of fragmentary hurry. She went out,
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  Speaker 1: bright and shining out of this house. For she was smiling, Willie,
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  Speaker 1: as if she was glad to be going, glad to
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  Speaker 1: be going, I echoed, with soundless lips. You're mighty fine
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  Speaker 1: for the morning, I says, mighty fine. Let the girl
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  Speaker 1: be pretty, says her father. While she's young and somewhere,
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  Speaker 1: she's got a parcel of her things hidden to pick up,
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  Speaker 1: and she was going off out of this house forever.
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  Speaker 1: She became quiet. Let the girl be pretty, she repeated.
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  Speaker 1: Let the girl be pretty while she's young? Oh, how
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  Speaker 1: can we go on living? Willie? He doesn't show it,
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  Speaker 1: but he's like a stricken beast. He's wounded to the heart.
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  Speaker 1: She was always his favorite. He never seemed to care
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  Speaker 1: for Puss like he did for her, And she's wounded him.
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  Speaker 1: Where has she gone? I reverted at last to that.
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  Speaker 1: We don't know. She leaves her own blood. She trusts herself. Oh, Willie,
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  Speaker 1: it'll kill me. I wish she and me together were
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  Speaker 1: lying in our graves. But I moistened my lips and
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  Speaker 1: spoke slowly. She may have gone to marry. If that
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  Speaker 1: was so, I prayed the god it might be so, Willy.
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  Speaker 1: I prayed that he'd take pity on her him. I mean,
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  Speaker 1: she's with I jerked out, who's that? In her letter?
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  Speaker 1: She said he was a gentleman. She did say he
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  Speaker 1: was a gentleman in her letter? Has she written? Can
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  Speaker 1: I see the letter? Her father took it? But if
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  Speaker 1: she writes, when did she write? It came this morning?
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  Speaker 1: But where did it come from? You can tell? She
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  Speaker 1: didn't say she said she was happy. She said love
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  Speaker 1: took one like a storm, cursed that. Where is her letter?
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  Speaker 1: Let me see it? And as for this gentleman. She
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  Speaker 1: stared at me. You know who it is, Willie, she protested,
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  Speaker 1: you know who it is. Whether she said or not,
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  Speaker 1: her eye made a mute, unconfident denial, Young Verral, she
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  Speaker 1: made no answer. All I could do for you, Willie,
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  Speaker 1: she began, presently, Was it, Young Verral? I insisted for
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  Speaker 1: a second, perhaps we faced one another in stark understanding.
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  Speaker 1: Then she plumped back to the chest of drawers and
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  Speaker 1: her wet pocket handkerchief, And I knew she sought refuge
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  Speaker 1: from my relentless eyes. My pity for her vanished. She
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  Speaker 1: knew it was her mistress's son as well as I,
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  Speaker 1: and for some time she had known, she had felt.
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  Speaker 1: I hovered over her for a moment, sick with amazed disgust,
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  Speaker 1: I suddenly bethought me of old Stuart out in the greenhouse,
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  Speaker 1: and turned and went downstairs. As I did, I looked
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  Speaker 1: up to see Missus Stewart moving, droopingly and lamely back
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  Speaker 1: into her own room. Section six. Old Stuart was pitiful.
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  Speaker 1: I found him, still inert in the greenhouse where I
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  Speaker 1: had first seen him. He did not move. As I
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  Speaker 1: drew near him. He glanced at me and then stared
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  Speaker 1: hard again at the flower pots before him. Ah, Willie,
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  Speaker 1: he said, this is a black day for all of us.
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  Speaker 1: What are you going to do? I asked, The missus
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  Speaker 1: takes on? So he said, I came out here. What
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  Speaker 1: do you mean to do? What is a man to
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  Speaker 1: do in such a case? Do? I cried? Why do
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  Speaker 1: he ought to marry her? He said, by God, yes,
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  Speaker 1: I cried, he must do that anyhow he ought to.
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  Speaker 1: It's it's cruel. But what am I to do? Suppose
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  Speaker 1: he won't likely he won't What? Then he drooped with
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  Speaker 1: an intensified despair. Here's this cottage, he said, pursuing some
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  Speaker 1: contracted argument. We've lived here all our lives. You might say,
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  Speaker 1: clear out. At my age, one can't die in a slum.
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  Speaker 1: I stood before him for a space, speculating what thoughts
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  Speaker 1: might fill the gaps between those broken words. I found
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  Speaker 1: his letter g and the dimly shaped mental attitudes his
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  Speaker 1: words indicated abominable. I said, abruptly, you have her letter.
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  Speaker 1: He dived into his breast pocket, became motionless for ten seconds,
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  Speaker 1: then woke up again and produced her letter. He drew
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  Speaker 1: it clumsily from its envelope and handed it to me silently.
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  Speaker 1: Why he cried, looking at me for the first time,
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  Speaker 1: what's come to your chin, Willie? It's nothing, I said,
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  Speaker 1: it's a bruise, and I opened the letter. It was
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  Speaker 1: written on greenish tinted fancy note paper with all and
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  Speaker 1: more than Nettie's usual triteness and inadequacy of expression. Her
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  Speaker 1: handwriting bore no traces of emotion. It was round and
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  Speaker 1: upright and clear, as though it had been done in
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  Speaker 1: a writing lesson. Always her letters were like masks upon
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  Speaker 1: her image. They fell like curtains before the changing charm
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  Speaker 1: of her face. One altogether forgot the sound of her light,
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  Speaker 1: clear voice. Confronted by a perplexing, stereotyped thing that had
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  Speaker 1: mysteriously got a hold upon one's heart and pride, how
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  Speaker 1: did that let her run? My dear mother, do not
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  Speaker 1: be distressed at my going away. I have gone somewhere
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  Speaker 1: safe and with some one who cares for me very much.
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  Speaker 1: I am sorry for your sakes, but it seemed that
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  Speaker 1: it had to be. Love is a very difficult thing
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  Speaker 1: and takes hold of one in ways one does not expect.
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  Speaker 1: Do not think I am ashamed about this. I glory
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  Speaker 1: in my love and you must not trouble too much
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  Speaker 1: about me. I am very very happy, deeply underlined fondas
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  Speaker 1: loved the father and Puss your loving neddie that queer
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  Speaker 1: little document. I can see it now for the childish
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  Speaker 1: simple thing it was. But at the time I read
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  Speaker 1: it in a suppressed anguish of rage. It plunged me
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  Speaker 1: into a pit of hopeless shame. There seemed to remain
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  Speaker 1: no pride for me in life until I had revenge.
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  Speaker 1: I stood staring at those rounded upstanding letters, not trusting
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  Speaker 1: myself to speak or move. At last, I stole a
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  Speaker 1: glance at Stuart. He held the envelope in his hand
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  Speaker 1: and stared down at the postmark between his horny thumb nails.
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  Speaker 1: You can't even tell where she is, he said, turning
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  Speaker 1: the thing round in a hopeless manner, and then desisting.
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  Speaker 1: It's hard on us, Willie. Here she is. She hadn't
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  Speaker 1: anything to complain of, a sort of pet for all
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  Speaker 1: of us, not even made to do her share of
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  Speaker 1: the housework. And she goes off and leaves us like
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  Speaker 1: a bird that's learnt to fly. Can't trust us. That's
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  Speaker 1: what takes me, puts herself. But there what's to happen
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  Speaker 1: to her? What's to happen to him? He shook his
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  Speaker 1: head to show that problem was beyond him. You'll go
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  Speaker 1: after her, I said, in an even voice. You'll make
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  Speaker 1: him marry her. Where am I to go? He asked helplessly,
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  Speaker 1: and held out the envelope with a gesture. And what
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  Speaker 1: could I do? Even if I knew? How could I
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  Speaker 1: leave the gardens? Great God, I cried, not leave these gardens.
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  Speaker 1: It's your honor, man. If she was my daughter, If
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  Speaker 1: she was my daughter, I'd tear the world to pieces,
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  Speaker 1: I choked. You mean to stand it? What can I do?
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  Speaker 1: Make him marry her? Horsewhip him? Horsewhip him, I say,
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  Speaker 1: I'd strangle him. He scratched slowly at his hairy cheek,
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  Speaker 1: opened his mouth and shook his head. Then, with an
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  Speaker 1: intolerable note of sluggish gentle wisdom, he said, people of
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  Speaker 1: our sort, Willie, can't do things like that. I came
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  Speaker 1: near to raving. I had a wild impulse to strike
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  Speaker 1: him in the face. Once in my boyhood I happened
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  Speaker 1: upon a bird terribly mangled by some cat and killed it.
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  Speaker 1: In a frenzy of horror and pity, I had a
• 18:19
  Speaker 1: gust of that same emotion. Now has a shameful, mutilated
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  Speaker 1: soul fluttered in the dust before me? Then you know?
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  Speaker 1: I dismissed him from the case. May I look, I asked.
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  Speaker 1: He held out the envelope reluctantly. There it is, he said,
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  Speaker 1: and pointing with his garden rough forefinger. I A P,
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  Speaker 1: A M P. What can you make of that? I
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  Speaker 1: took the thing in my hands. The adhesive stamp customary
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  Speaker 1: in those days, was defaced by a circular post mark
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  Speaker 1: which bore the name of the office of departure and
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  Speaker 1: the date. The impact of the particular case had been light,
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  Speaker 1: or made without sufficient ink, and half the letters of
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  Speaker 1: the name had left no impression. I could distinguish I
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  Speaker 1: A P, A M P, and very faintly below D
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  Speaker 1: S O. I guess the name in an instant flash
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  Speaker 1: of intuition. It was Shamtenbury. The very gaps shaped that
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  Speaker 1: to my mind, perhaps in a sort of semi visibility.
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  Speaker 1: Other letters were there, at least hinting themselves. It was
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  Speaker 1: a place somewhere on the east coast I knew, either
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  Speaker 1: in Norfolk or Suffolk. Why I cried and stopped? What
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  Speaker 1: was the good of telling him? Old Steward glanced up sharply.
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  Speaker 1: I am inclined to think, almost fearfully into my face.
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  Speaker 1: You you haven't got it, he said, Shamptonbury. I should
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  Speaker 1: remember that you don't think you got it, he said.
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  Speaker 1: I handed the envelope back to him. For a moment
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  Speaker 1: I thought it might be Hampton, I said, Hampton. He repeated, Hampton,
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  Speaker 1: How could you make Hampton. He turned the envelope about
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  Speaker 1: h A M my Willie, you are a worse hand
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  Speaker 1: at the job than me. He replaced the letter in
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  Speaker 1: the envelope and stood erect to put this back in
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  Speaker 1: his breast pocket. I did not mean to take any
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  Speaker 1: risk in this affair. I drew a stump of pencil
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  Speaker 1: from my waistcoat pocket, turned a little away from him,
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  Speaker 1: and wrote Shamptonbury very quickly on my fraid and rather
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  Speaker 1: grimy shirt cuff. Well said I, with an air of
• 20:39
  Speaker 1: having done nothing remarkable. I turned to him with some
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  Speaker 1: unimportant observation. I have forgotten what I never finished, whatever
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  Speaker 1: vague remark I commenced. I looked up to see a
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  Speaker 1: third person waiting at the greenhouse door. End of Book one,
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  Speaker 1: Chapter three, Sections five six. Recording by Richard Kilmer Reo
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  Speaker 1: Medina Texas