Page:Possession (1926).pdf/118

 tude of her retreat had been violated. In the gathering dusk of the early winter evening she beheld, through the branches of the thick willows which sheltered her, the figure of an intruder—a man—who skated awkwardly and with an air of effort, as if the act required the most profound concentration. Yet it was clear that his mind wandered now and then to other things, for from time to time in the stillness of the evening the sound of his muttering reached her. He failed even to notice the smoke of the dying fire, and as he came nearer a sudden gust of wind carried his words toward her so that in snatches they became audible.

"I won't do it. . . . I'll be damned if I do. (And then the labored, steady ring of his skates on the glittering ice.) They can't make me. . . ." (Then once more a painful labored concentration upon skates and ankles that were too weak.)

By now Ellen must have recognized him. The figure was unmistakable—slight, rather stiff and incredibly neat, even to the carefully pressed line of his trousers. In place of a warm skating cap he wore a Fedora hat pulled over his ears to prevent the wind, which had reddened his smooth face, from blowing it astray. The man was Clarence Murdock. Ellen might have permitted him to pass unnoticed, save that in the next moment he came round the willows and, tottering upon his skates, stood face to face with her.

For a moment he stared at her silently, with the air of one who cannot believe his senses.

"Well?" said Ellen, rising to her feet slowly.

Clarence shook himself, balancing more and more perilously on his skates. "I didn't know you were here," he began. "I didn't see you."

"I wasn't there," replied Ellen, indicating the direction of the round pond. "I've been skating here all afternoon. . . . You look cold. Wait, I'll poke up the fire. I was going home, but I'm in no hurry."

Once his astonishment had passed away, his manner assumed a