Then there had come the two terrible evenings--when he had gone back
to the farmhouse with her to find the wedding feast set in their honor,
and that other evening when old Tom had brought him to the farmhouse a
defeated, frightened man who hoped the woman would put out her hand, would
reassure him.
Hugh was sure he had missed the great opportunity of his life. He had
married, but his marriage was not a marriage. He had got himself into a
position from which there was no possibility of escaping. "I'm a coward,"
he thought, looking at the other workmen in the shop. They, like himself,
were married men and lived in a house with a woman. At night they went
boldly into the presence of the woman. He had not done that when the
opportunity offered, and Clara could not come to him. He could understand
that. His hands had builded a wall and the passing days were huge stones
put on top of the wall. What he had not done became every day a more and
more impossible thing to do.
Tom, having taken Hugh back to Clara, was still concerned over the outcome
of their adventure. Every day he came to the shop and in the evening came
to see them at the farmhouse. He hovered about, was like a mother bird
whose offspring had been prematurely pushed out of the nest. Every morning
he came into the shop to talk with Hugh. He made jokes about married life.
Winking at a man standing nearby he put his hand familiarly on Hugh's
shoulder.
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