A Spinner in the Sun | Page 9

was absolutely necessary for her to come back to the one shelter which
she could call her own.
Weary, despairing, and still in the merciless grip of her obsession, she
had come--only to find that Anthony Dexter had long since preceded
her. A year afterward, Miss Hitty said, he had come back, with a pretty
young wife. And he had a son.
The new knowledge hurt, and Evelina had fancied that she could be
hurt no more, that she had reached the uttermost limits of pain. By a
singular irony, the last refuge was denied her at the very moment of her
greatest temptation to avail herself of it. Long hours of thought led her
invariably to the one possible conclusion--to avoid every one, keep

wholly to herself, and, by starvation, if need be, save enough of her
insignificant pittance to take her far away. And after that--freedom.
Since the night of full realisation which had turned her brown hair to a
dull white she had thought of death in but one way--escape. Set free
from the insufferable bondage of earthly existence. Miss Evelina
dreamed of peace as a prisoner in a dungeon may dream of green fields.
To sleep and wake no more, never to feel again the cold hand upon her
heart that tore persistently at the inmost fibres of it, to forget----
Miss Evelina took the vial from her bag and uncorked it. The incense of
the poppies crept subtly through the room, mingling inextricably with
the mustiness and the dust. The grey cobwebs swayed at the windows,
sunset touching them to iridescence. Conscious that she was the most
desolate and lonely thing in all the desolate house, Miss Evelina buried
her face in her hands.
The poppies breathed from the vial. In her distorted fancy, she saw vast
plains of them, shimmering in the sun--scarlet like the lips of a girl,
pink as the flush of dawn upon the eastern sky, blood-red as the
passionate heart that never dreamed of betrayal.
The sun was shining on the field of poppies and Miss Evelina walked
among them, her face unveiled. Golden masses of bloom were spread at
her feet, starred here and there by stately blossoms as white as the
blown snow. Her ragged garments touched the silken petals, her worn
shoes crushed them, bud and blossom alike. Always, the numbing,
sleepy odour came from the field. Dew was on the petals of the flowers;
their deep cups gathered it and held it, never to be surrendered, since
the dew of the poppies was tears.
Like some evil genius rising from the bottle, the Spirit of the Poppies
seemed to incarnate itself in the vapour. A woman with a face of deadly
white arose to meet Miss Evelina, with outspread arms. In her eyes was
Lethe, in her hands was the gift of forgetfulness. She brought pardon
for all that was past and to come, eternal healing, unfathomable
oblivion. "Come," the drowsy voice seemed to say. "I have waited long
and yet you do not come. The peace that passeth all understanding is
mine to give and yours to take. Come--only come! Come! Come!"
Miss Evelina laughed bitterly. Never in all the years gone by had the
Spirit of the Poppies pleaded with her thus. Now, at the hour when
surrender meant the complete triumph of her enemy, the ghostly figure

came to offer her the last and supreme gift.
The afterglow yet lingered in the west. The grey of a March twilight
was in the valley, but it was still late afternoon on the summit of the hill.
Miss Evelina drew her veil about her and went out into the garden, the
vial in her hand.
Where was it that she had planted the poppies? Through the mass of
undergrowth and brambles, she made scant headway. Thorns pressed
forward rudely as if to stab the intruder. Vines, closely matted, forbade
her to pass, yet she kept on until she reached the western slope of the
garden.
Here, unshaded, and in the full blaze of the Summer sun, the poppies
had spread their brilliant pageantry. In all the village there had been no
such poppies as grew in Evelina's garden. Now they were dead and
only the overgrown stubble was left.
"Dust to dust, earth to earth, and ashes to ashes." The solemn words of
the burial service were chanted in her consciousness as she lifted the
vial high and emptied it. She held it steadily until the last drop was
drained from it. The poppies had given it and to the poppies she had
returned it. She put the cork into the empty vial and flung it far away
from her, then turned back to the house.
There was a sound of wheels upon the road. Miss Evelina