It was black or dark like tar, and sentineled to the east and north by tall, dark pines — the serried spears of armed and watchful giants, as they now seemed to him — ogres almost — so gloomy, suspicious and fantastically erratic was his own mood in regard to all this.
But still there were too many people — as many as ten on the lake.
The weirdness of it.
The difficulty.
But whisper:— one could not walk from here through any woods to Three Mile Bay.
Oh, no.
That was all of thirty miles to the south now.
And besides this lake was less lonely — probably continually observed by members of this religious group.
Oh, no — he must say — he must say — but what — could he say?
That he had inquired, and that no license could be procured here?
Or that the minister was away, or that he required certain identifications which he did not have — or — or, well, well — anything that would serve to still Roberta until such hour to-morrow, as the train south from here left for Big Bittern and Sharon, where, of course, they would surely be married.
Why should she be so insistent?
And why, anyhow, and except for her crass determination to force him in this way, should he be compelled to track here and there with her — every hour — every minute of which was torture — an unending mental crucifixion really, when, if he were but rid of her!
Oh, Sondra, Sondra, if but now from your high estate, you might bend down and aid me.
No more lies!
No more suffering!
No more misery of any kind!
But instead, more lies.
A long and aimless and pestilential search for water-lilies, which because of his own restless mood, bored Roberta as much as it did him.
For why, she was now thinking to herself as they rowed about, this indifference to this marriage possibility, which could have been arranged before now and given this outing the dream quality it would and should have had, if only — if only he had arranged for everything in Utica, even as she had wanted.
But this waiting — evasion — and so like Clyde, his vacillating, indefinite, uncertain mood, always.
She was beginning to wonder now as to his intentions again — whether really and truly he did intend to marry her as he had promised.
Tomorrow, or the next day at most, would show.
So why worry now?
And then the next day at noon, Gun Lodge and Big Bittern itself and Clyde climbing down from the train at Gun Lodge and escorting Roberta to the waiting bus, the while he assured her that since they were coming back this way, it would be best if she were to leave her bag here, while he, because of his camera as well as the lunch done up at Grass Lake and crowded into his suitcase, would take his own with him, because they would lunch on the lake.
But on reaching the bus, he was dismayed by the fact that the driver was the same guide whom he had heard talk at Big Bittern.
What if it should prove now that this guide had seen and remembered him!
Would he not at least recall the handsome Finchley car — Bertine and Stuart on the front seat — himself and Sondra at the back — Grant and that Harley Baggott talking to him outside?
At once that cold perspiration that had marked his more nervous and terrified moods for weeks past, now burst forth on his face and hands.
Of what had he been thinking, anyhow?
How planning?
In God’s name, how expect to carry a thing like this through, if he were going to think so poorly?
It was like his failing to wear his cap from Lycurgus to Utica, or at least getting it out of his bag before he tried to buy that straw hat; it was like not buying the straw hat before he went to Utica at all.
Yet the guide did not remember him, thank God!
On the contrary he inquired rather curiously, and as of a total stranger:
“Goin’ over to the lodge at Big Bittern?
First time up here?”
And Clyde, enormously relieved and yet really tremulous, replied:
“Yes,” and then in his nervous excitement asked: “Many people over there to- day?” a question which the moment he had propounded it, seemed almost insane.
Why, why, of all questions, should he ask that?
Oh, God, would his silly, self-destructive mistakes never cease?
So troubled was he indeed, now, that he scarcely heard the guide’s reply, or, if at all, as a voice speaking from a long way off.
“Not so many.
About seven or eight, I guess.
We did have about thirty over the Fourth, but most o’ them went down yesterday.”
The stillness of these pines lining this damp yellow road along which they were traveling; the cool and the silence; the dark shadows and purple and gray depths and nooks in them, even at high noon.
If one were slipping away at night or by day, who would encounter one here?
A blue-jay far in the depths somewhere uttered its metallic shriek; a field sparrow, tremulous upon some distant twig, filled the silver shadows with its perfect song.
And Roberta, as this heavy, covered bus crossed rill and thin stream, and then rough wooden bridges here and there, commented on the clarity and sparkle of the water:
“Isn’t that wonderful in there?