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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
273
XXIII
Twisting
and
turning
in
her
flight,
with
wild
eyes
that
fearfully
retained
the
image
of
that
small
man
gathering
himself
to
spring,
Zuleika
found
herself
suddenly
where
she
could
no
further
go.
She
was
in
that
grim
ravine
by
which
you
approach
New
College.
At
sight
of
the
great
shut
gate
before
her,
she
halted,
and
swerved
to
the
wall.
She
set
her
brow
and
the
palms
of
her
hands
against
the
cold
stones.
She
threw
back
her
head,
and
beat
the
stones
with
her
fists.
It
was
not
only
what
she
had
seen,
it
was
what
she
had
barely
saved
herself
from
seeing,
and
what
she
had
not
quite
saved
herself
from
hearing,
that
she
strove
so
piteously
to
forget.
She
was
sorrier
for
herself,
angrier,
than
she
had
been
last
night
when
the
Duke
laid
hands
on
her.
Why
should
every
day
have
a
horrible
ending?
Last
night
she
had
avenged
herself.
To-night’s
outrage
was
all
the
more
foul
and
mean
because
of
its
certain
immunity.
And
the
fact
that
she
had
in
some
measure
brought
it
on
herself
did
but
whip
her
rage.
What
a
fool
she
had
been
to
taunt
the
man!
Yet
no,
how
could
she
have
foreseen
that
he
would--do
THAT?
How
could
she
have
guessed
that
he,
who
had
not
dared
seemly
death
for
her
in
the
gentle
river,
would
dare--THAT?
She
shuddered
the
more
as
she
now
remembered
that
this
very
day,
in
that
very
house,
she
had
invited
for
her
very
self
a
similar
fate.
What
if
the
Duke
had
taken
her
word?
Strange!
she
wouldn’t
have
flinched
then.
She
had
felt
no
horror
at
the
notion
of
such
a
death.
And
thus
she
now
saw
Noaks’
conduct
in
a
new
light--saw
that
he
had
but
wished
to
prove
his
love,
not
at
all
to
affront
her.
This
understanding
quickly
steadied
her
nerves.
She
did
not
need
now
to
forget
what
she
had
seen;
and,
not
needing
to
forget
it--thus
are
our
brains
fashioned--she
was
able
to
forget
it.
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