You can still see how we figured it in any museum by looking up the caricatures of capital and labor that adorned the German and American socialistic papers of the old time.

Section 2

I had cast Nettie off in an eloquent epistle, had really imagined the affair was over forever—­“I’ve done with women,” I said to Parload—­and then there was silence for more than a week.

Before that week was over I was wondering with a growing emotion what next would happen between us.

I found myself thinking constantly of Nettie, picturing her—­sometimes with stern satisfaction, sometimes with sympathetic remorse—­mourning, regretting, realizing the absolute end that had come between us.  At the bottom of my heart I no more believed that there was an end between us, than that an end would come to the world.  Had we not kissed one another, had we not achieved an atmosphere of whispering nearness, breached our virgin shyness with one another?  Of course she was mine, of course I was hers, and separations and final quarrels and harshness and distance were no more than flourishes upon that eternal fact.  So at least I felt the thing, however I shaped my thoughts.

Whenever my imagination got to work as that week drew to its close, she came in as a matter of course, I thought of her recurrently all day and dreamt of her at night.  On Saturday night I dreamt of her very vividly.  Her face was flushed and wet with tears, her hair a little disordered, and when I spoke to her she turned away.  In some manner this dream left in my mind a feeling of distress and anxiety.  In the morning I had a raging thirst to see her.

That Sunday my mother wanted me to go to church very particularly.  She had a double reason for that; she thought that it would certainly exercise a favorable influence upon my search for a situation throughout the next week, and in addition Mr. Gabbitas, with a certain mystery behind his glasses, had promised to see what he could do for me, and she wanted to keep him up to that promise.  I half consented, and then my desire for Nettie took hold of me.  I told my mother I wasn’t going to church, and set off about eleven to walk the seventeen miles to Checkshill.

It greatly intensified the fatigue of that long tramp that the sole of my boot presently split at the toe, and after I had cut the flapping portion off, a nail worked through and began to torment me.  However, the boot looked all right after that operation and gave no audible hint of my discomfort.  I got some bread and cheese at a little inn on the way, and was in Checkshill park about four.  I did not go by the road past the house and so round to the gardens, but cut over the crest beyond the second keeper’s cottage, along a path Nettie used to call her own.  It was a mere deer track.  It led up a miniature valley and through a pretty dell in which we had been accustomed to meet, and so through the hollies and along a narrow path close by the wall of the shrubbery to the gardens.