The last time the dying man asked to see Gudrun he was grey with near death.Yet he must see someone, he must, in the intervals of consciousness, catch into connection with the living world, lest he should have to accept his own situation.Fortunately he was most of his time dazed and half gone.
And he spent many hours dimly thinking of the past, as it were, dimly re-living his old experiences.But there were times even to the end when he was capable of realising what was happening to him in the present, the death that was on him.And these were the times when he called in outside help, no matter whose.For to realise this death that he was dying was a death beyond death, never to be borne.It was an admission never to be made.
Gudrun was shocked by his appearance, and by the darkened, almost disintegrated eyes, that still were unconquered and firm.
`Well,' he said in his weakened voice, `and how are you and Winifred getting on?'
`Oh, very well indeed,' replied Gudrun.
There were slight dead gaps in the conversation, as if the ideas called up were only elusive straws floating on the dark chaos of the sick man's dying.
`The studio answers all right?' he said.
`Splendid.It couldn't be more beautiful and perfect,' said Gudrun.
She waited for what he would say next.
`And you think Winifred has the makings of a sculptor?'
It was strange how hollow the words were, meaningless.
`I'm sure she has.She will do good things one day.'
`Ah! Then her life won't be altogether wasted, you think?'
Gudrun was rather surprised.
`Sure it won't!' she exclaimed softly.
`That's right.'
Again Gudrun waited for what he would say.
`You find life pleasant, it is good to live, isn't it?' he asked, with a pitiful faint smile that was almost too much for Gudrun.
`Yes,' she smiled -- she would lie at random -- `I get a pretty good time I believe.'
`That's right.A happy nature is a great asset.'
Again Gudrun smiled, though her soul was dry with repulsion.Did one have to die like this -- having the life extracted forcibly from one, whilst one smiled and made conversation to the end? Was there no other way? Must one go through all the horror of this victory over death, the triumph of the integral will, that would not be broken till it disappeared utterly?
One must, it was the only way.She admired the self-possession and the control of the dying man exceedingly.But she loathed the death itself.
She was glad the everyday world held good, and she need not recognise anything beyond.
`You are quite all right here? -- nothing we can do for you? -- nothing you find wrong in your position?'
`Except that you are too good to me,' said Gudrun.
`Ah, well, the fault of that lies with yourself,' he said, and he felt a little exultation, that he had made this speech.
He was still so strong and living! But the nausea of death began to creep back on him, in reaction.
Gudrun went away, back to Winifred.Mademoiselle had left, Gudrun stayed a good deal at Shortlands, and a tutor came in to carry on Winifred's education.
But he did not live in the house, he was connected with the Grammar School.
One day, Gudrun was to drive with Winifred and Gerald and Birkin to town, in the car.It was a dark, showery day.Winifred and Gudrun were ready and waiting at the door.Winifred was very quiet, but Gudrun had not noticed.Suddenly the child asked, in a voice of unconcern:
`Do you think my father's going to die, Miss Brangwen?'
Gudrun started.
`I don't know,' she replied.
`Don't you truly?'
`Nobody knows for certain.He may die, of course.'
The child pondered a few moments, then she asked:
`But do you think he will die?'
It was put almost like a question in geography or science, insistent, as if she would force an admission from the adult.The watchful, slightly triumphant child was almost diabolical.
`Do I think he will die?' repeated Gudrun.`Yes, I do.'
But Winifred's large eyes were fixed on her, and the girl did not move.
`He is very ill,' said Gudrun.
A small smile came over Winifred's face, subtle and sceptical.
`I don't believe he will,' the child asserted, mockingly, and she moved away into the drive.Gudrun watched the isolated figure, and her heart stood still.Winifred was playing with a little rivulet of water, absorbedly as if nothing had been said.
`I've made a proper dam,' she said, out of the moist distance.
Gerald came to the door from out of the hall behind.
`It is just as well she doesn't choose to believe it,' he said.
Gudrun looked at him.Their eyes met; and they exchanged a sardonic understanding.
`Just as well,' said Gudrun.
He looked at her again, and a fire flickered up in his eyes.
`Best to dance while Rome burns, since it must burn, don't you think?'
he said.
She was rather taken aback.But, gathering herself together, she replied:
`Oh -- better dance than wail, certainly.'
`So I think.'
And they both felt the subterranean desire to let go, to fling away everything, and lapse into a sheer unrestraint, brutal and licentious.
A strange black passion surged up pure in Gudrun.She felt strong.She felt her hands so strong, as if she could tear the world asunder with them.
She remembered the abandonments of Roman licence, and her heart grew hot.
She knew she wanted this herself also -- or something, something equivalent.
Ah, if that which was unknown and suppressed in her were once let loose, what an orgiastic and satisfying event it would be.And she wanted it, she trembled slightly from the proximity of the man, who stood just behind her, suggestive of the same black licentiousness that rose in herself.
She wanted it with him, this unacknowledged frenzy.For a moment the clear perception of this preoccupied her, distinct and perfect in its final reality.
Then she shut it off completely, saying:
`We might as well go down to the lodge after Winifred -- we can get in the care there.'
`So we can,' he answered, going with her.
