Page:Sons and Lovers, 1913, Lawrence.djvu/231

Rh “You’re always begging things to love you,” he said, “as if you were a beggar for love. Even the flowers, you have to fawn on them——”

Rhythmically, Miriam was swaying and stroking the flower with her mouth, inhaling the scent which ever after made her shudder as it came to her nostrils.

“You don’t want to love—your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren’t positive, you’re negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you’ve got a shortage somewhere.”

She was stunned by his cruelty, and did not hear. He had not the faintest notion of what he was saying. It was as if his fretted, tortured soul, run hot by thwarted passion, jetted off these sayings like sparks from electricity. She did not grasp anything he said. She only sat crouched beneath his cruelty and his hatred of her. She never realized in a flash. Over everything she brooded and brooded.

After tea he stayed with Edgar and the brothers, taking no notice of Miriam. She, extremely unhappy on this looked-for holiday, waited for him. And at last he yielded and came to her. She was determined to track this mood of his to its origin. She counted it not much more than a mood.

“Shall we go through the wood a little way?” she asked him, knowing he never refused a direct request.

They went down to the warren. On the middle path they passed a trap, a narrow horseshoe hedge of small fir-boughs, baited with the guts of a rabbit. Paul glanced at it frowning. She caught his eye.

“Isn’t it dreadful?” she asked.

“I don’t know! Is it worse than a weasel with its teeth in a rabbit’s throat? One weasel or many rabbits? One or the other must go!”

He was taking the bitterness of life badly. She was rather sorry for him.

“We will go back to the house,” he said. “I don’t want to walk out.”

They went past the lilac-tree, whose bronze leaf-buds were coming unfastened. Just a fragment remained of the hay-stack, a monument squared and brown, like a pillar of stone. There was a little bed of hay from the last cutting.

“Let us sit here a minute,” said Miriam.

He sat down against his will, resting his back against the hard wall of hay. They faced the amphitheatre of round hills that glowed with sunset, tiny white farms standing out,