Men, Women and Ghosts | Page 5

a pattern called a war.?Christ! What are patterns for?
Pickthorn Manor
I
How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day!?A steely silver, underlined with blue,?And flashing where the round clouds, blown away,?Let drop the yellow sunshine to gleam through?And tip the edges of the waves with shifts?And spots of whitest fire, hard like gems
Cut from the midnight moon they were, and sharp?As wind through leafless stems.?The Lady Eunice walked between the drifts?Of blooming cherry-trees, and watched the rifts
Of clouds drawn through the river's azure warp.
II
Her little feet tapped softly down the path.?Her soul was listless; even the morning breeze?Fluttering the trees and strewing a light swath?Of fallen petals on the grass, could please?Her not at all. She brushed a hair aside?With a swift move, and a half-angry frown.
She stopped to pull a daffodil or two,?And held them to her gown?To test the colours; put them at her side,?Then at her breast, then loosened them and tried
Some new arrangement, but it would not do.
III
A lady in a Manor-house, alone,?Whose husband is in Flanders with the Duke?Of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, she's grown?Too apathetic even to rebuke?Her idleness. What is she on this Earth??No woman surely, since she neither can
Be wed nor single, must not let her mind?Build thoughts upon a man?Except for hers. Indeed that were no dearth?Were her Lord here, for well she knew his worth,
And when she thought of him her eyes were kind.
IV
Too lately wed to have forgot the wooing.?Too unaccustomed as a bride to feel?Other than strange delight at her wife's doing.?Even at the thought a gentle blush would steal?Over her face, and then her lips would frame?Some little word of loving, and her eyes
Would brim and spill their tears, when all they saw?Was the bright sun, slantwise?Through burgeoning trees, and all the morning's flame?Burning and quivering round her. With quick shame
She shut her heart and bent before the law.
V
He was a soldier, she was proud of that.?This was his house and she would keep it well.?His honour was in fighting, hers in what?He'd left her here in charge of. Then a spell?Of conscience sent her through the orchard spying?Upon the gardeners. Were their tools about?
Were any branches broken? Had the weeds?Been duly taken out?Under the 'spaliered pears, and were these lying?Nailed snug against the sunny bricks and drying
Their leaves and satisfying all their needs?
VI
She picked a stone up with a little pout,?Stones looked so ill in well-kept flower-borders.?Where should she put it? All the paths about?Were strewn with fair, red gravel by her orders.?No stone could mar their sifted smoothness. So?She hurried to the river. At the edge
She stood a moment charmed by the swift blue?Beyond the river sedge.?She watched it curdling, crinkling, and the snow?Purfled upon its wave-tops. Then, "Hullo,
My Beauty, gently, or you'll wriggle through."
VII
The Lady Eunice caught a willow spray?To save herself from tumbling in the shallows?Which rippled to her feet. Then straight away?She peered down stream among the budding sallows.?A youth in leather breeches and a shirt?Of finest broidered lawn lay out upon
An overhanging bole and deftly swayed?A well-hooked fish which shone?In the pale lemon sunshine like a spurt?Of silver, bowed and damascened, and girt
With crimson spots and moons which waned and played.
VIII
The fish hung circled for a moment, ringed?And bright; then flung itself out, a thin blade?Of spotted lightning, and its tail was winged?With chipped and sparkled sunshine. And the shade?Broke up and splintered into shafts of light?Wheeling about the fish, who churned the air
And made the fish-line hum, and bent the rod?Almost to snapping. Care?The young man took against the twigs, with slight,?Deft movements he kept fish and line in tight
Obedience to his will with every prod.
IX
He lay there, and the fish hung just beyond.?He seemed uncertain what more he should do.?He drew back, pulled the rod to correspond,?Tossed it and caught it; every time he threw,?He caught it nearer to the point. At last?The fish was near enough to touch. He paused.
Eunice knew well the craft -- "What's got the thing!"?She cried. "What can have caused --?Where is his net? The moment will be past.?The fish will wriggle free." She stopped aghast.
He turned and bowed. One arm was in a sling.
X
The broad, black ribbon she had thought his basket?Must hang from, held instead a useless arm.?"I do not wonder, Madam, that you ask it."?He smiled, for she had spoke aloud. "The charm?Of trout fishing is in my eyes enhanced?When you must play your fish on land as well."
"How will you take him?" Eunice asked. "In truth?I really cannot tell.?'Twas stupid of me, but it simply chanced?I never thought of that until he glanced
Into the branches. 'Tis a bit uncouth."
XI
He watched the fish against the blowing sky,?Writhing and glittering, pulling at the line.?"The hook is fast, I might just let him die,"?He mused. "But that would jar against your fine?Sense of true sportsmanship,