HONEYCOMB

CHAPTER I

1

When Miriam got out of the train intothe darkness she knew that there werewoods all about her. The moist air was richwith the smell of trees—wet bark and branches—mossand lichen, damp dead leaves. She stoodon the dark platform snuffing the rich air. Itwas the end of her journey. Anything thatmight follow would be unreal compared to thatmoment. Little bulbs of yellow light furtherup the platform told her where she must turnto find the things she must go to meet. “Howlovely the air is here.” ... The phrase repeateditself again and again, going with her upthe platform towards the group of lights. Itwas all she could summon to meet the new situation.It satisfied her; it made her happy. Itwas enough; but no one would think it wasenough.

But the house was two miles off. She wassafe for the present. Throughout the journeyfrom London the two-mile drive from thestation had stood between her and the house.The journey was a long solitary adventure; endless;shielded from thoughts of the new lifeahead and leaving the past winter in the Gunnersburyvilla far away; vanquished, almost forgotten.She could only recall the hours she hadspent shivering apathetically over small fires; amoment when she had brought a flush of tears toher mother’s eyes by suddenly telling her shewas maddeningly unreasonable, and anothermoment alone with her father when she hadstood in the middle of the hearth-rug with herhands behind her and ordered him to abstainfrom argument with her in the presence of hermother—“because it gives her pain when I haveto show you that I am at least as right as you are”—andhe had stood cowed and silent.... Thenthe moment of accepting the new post, the lastdays of fear and isolation and helplessness in hardwinter weather and the setting off in the mainline train that had carried her away from everything—intothe spring. Sitting in the shabbilyupholstered unexpectedly warm and comfortablemain line train she had seen through the mildmuggy air bare woods on the horizon, warm andtawny, and on the near copses a ruddy purplingbloom. Surprise had kept her thoughtless andrapt. Spring—a sudden pang of tender greenseen in suburban roadways in April ... one dayin the Easter holidays, bringing back the forgottensummer and showing you the whole picture ofsummer and autumn in one moment ... butevidently there was another spring, much morereal and wonderful that she had not known—nota clear green thing, surprising and somehow disappointingyou, giving you one moment and the

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