Madonna Lily .sx I waited outside the rickety , low fence , and I watched with a feeling of guilt creeping over me .sx For I felt that I pried upon her upon that comely young mother in the coarse and no doubt unfashionably short blue serge skirt and dark blouse of a fisherman's wife .sx She looked up quickly and stopped when she became aware of me on the other side of the gate .sx Her chin jerked up imperiously on the strong , white pillar of her throat .sx She was a tall , handsome creature enough .sx But that was nothing .sx To me an impersonal and frankly disillusioned old man who for decades has earned his bread trying to force some spark of vitality when none exists to portraits of often beautiful but always mask-like faces mere beauty of feature has become a weariness .sx But this girl's face she could not have been yet out of her twenties - was .sx vital , even for me .sx Arresting , with its dark and liquid eyes , which after that first swift glance became so secret and withdrawn ; its calm oval pointed-chinned yet full and wide across the cheek-bones , its straight-lipped mouth , and smooth , warm pallor of skin .sx Her hair it was long and unshorn , I could see by the heavy coils of it banded round her head shone a glossy wet-black in the afternoon sunlight .sx In her , for all her calm and dignity , I sensed the smoulder of deep , strong elements .sx Already she had lived .sx Already she had known the realities of happiness and of sorrow .sx She was vital .sx She was alive .sx Or I wanted to sense that of her It was an impulse .sx An absurd and subtly brutal impulse , perhaps .sx But as I swung the gate aside to let her pass through I bowed low with .sx an extravagantly Latin flourish of my hat , my grey , unbarbered locks blowing heedlessly in the breeze .sx I had the mocking certainty in my mind that I must be mistaken , that if she spoke she would destroy that picture of her that voiceless ideal of her I had formed .sx Possibly if she spoke she would speak in the broadest and flattest of Sussex drawls , or she would break into the simpering giggle of the spoiled village coquette .sx Possibly she would begin to make me aware she was a shrew to her fisherman husband down in Sweetapple Harbour , or a whining , frustrated wife with her eyes for ever on the far-off glittering mirage of London .sx She swept past me .sx There was rhythm and grace in the very rustle of her skirt .sx She murmured three words as she passed me .sx Her voice was soft , clear , exquisitely modulated .sx " Mais merci , monsieur , " she said .sx She could have been a queen , and I a lackey .sx And as inevitably , she left me there , hat in hand , at the garden gate .sx SHE took the thin winding track along the edge of the Downs .sx Her straight back and the nape of her white neck beneath the gleaming black crown of hair became lost to my sight when she reached the dip of the track which would take her round the hillside flanking the landlocked sheet of water known as Sweetapple Harbour .sx For down there below me to my left , cluttered at the foot of the surrounding Downs , was the village where no doubt she lived .sx And no doubt one of the sturdy little boats now bobbing to the fret of full tide beneath the grey semicircle of the seawall was her husband's boat , .sx and even it was possible , if he loved them both equally well , the boat was named .sx after her , as the supreme compliment of a Sweetapple man .sx I made my way carefully up the blue-pebbled path , that one appalling neatness amidst the garden's litter of spread fishing nets and tarred lobster pots and unkempt , coarse grass .sx Old Jason himself stood in the doorway of his thatched , whitewashed cottage .sx He held in his hand a wicker basket of eggs and butter and what looked like a home-made cake .sx The gift , obviously , of the strange young woman who had just visited him .sx " Good-afternoon , sir .sx Come back again , then ?sx " said old Jason .sx It was characteristic of him to speak as if only a week had elapsed since he last saw me , and to evince not the slightest curiosity as to where I had been for the three years during which that studio bungalow of mine farther along the Downs had been empty .sx I SAT down on the bench outside his window and proffered him my tobacco pouch .sx He put down the basket inside the door , took the other end of the bench , and filled his clay pipe .sx So we sat , two lonely and , I dare say , sour old men , smoking and gazing out at the foam-flecked , wide blue of the Channel , the fresh salt breeze and the late summer sunlight upon us .sx Sometimes I think there is a curious kinship between that gnarled , grey-bearded old fisherman and myself .sx Sometimes I feel he earns a more honest living than ever I can hope to earn myself .sx At least he faces , always , the realities , the starkness of life .sx While I by reason of some facile deftness with a brush and a square of canvas , and because that deftness has brought me some measure of affluence and what is known as fame deliberately blind my eyes to it .sx " You saw Lily , maybe , just now ?sx And her little 'un , too ?sx " he suggested presently .sx His leathery , brown face and far-seeing blue eyes were inscrutable .sx But his voice had a faint lurking uneasiness in it .sx " The French girl ?sx Yes .sx A fine young woman , Jason .sx A relation of yours , perhaps ?sx " I answered .sx " She's not French .sx She's a proper Sweetapple girl , married to a proper Sweetapple man down there in the village , " he said .sx And now there was a sharpness , almost a defiance , in his tone .sx " Lily ?sx " I repeated musingly .sx There is much in names , and I was pondering the significance of her name in relation to herself .sx And then I remembered the way she had gazed down at her child , the calm seriousness and gentle awe in her face during the moments she had come walking , absorbed and unconscious of watching eyes , towards me .sx " Madonna Lily .sx Of course , " I murmured .sx " Maybe , sir , you'll be thinking to paint her ?sx " He growled the words as if they were an accusation .sx And his face had the grim , unyielding look that I knew , and respected .sx I said no more , but waited .sx " Well , there's other artist gentlemen staying in these parts as have wanted to paint her , too , " he added more mildly .sx " But you'll not persuade her , any more than they have .sx She's not the sort , that's all .sx She's happy and content with her man and her baby to care for , and she won't change .sx And if her picture was up to London for everybody to stare at why , you never know .sx There's those she wants to forget as might recognise her and try to bring her back to where they think she belongs .sx But she belongs here , because it's where she wants to belong .sx With her man and her little 'un any proper woman , like she is , don't wish for more " .sx I smoked in silence , staring straight in front of me .sx We were both silent .sx Very silent .sx " Well , then , sir , I'll tell you about Lily , " he said at last slowly .sx " For I've known you a goodish few years now , off and on , and I know what I tell you won't go no further .sx There's folk in Sweetapple village , her own neighbours , as don't know the real rights of it all .sx There's the newspaper men from London as would be round her door like a flock of seagulls if they ever heard a whisper of the truth .sx Remember , she's happy at last and happiness like that ain't such a common thing any woman in her senses wants to throw it away with both hands .sx And that's what would happen , surely , if the whole world knew what happened here in Sweetapple two years ago .sx " So this is the story of the woman known as Lily , exactly as Jason told it to me that quiet , autumn afternoon in his garden above the sea .sx THERE'S an hour betwixt the midnight and the dawn ( he began ) , and that hour is never more solemn-like than on a calm autumn night such as I'm going to tell you about .sx It's an hour when the whole of creation seems to stir itself half awake from its sleep and wait in a scared , tired sort of hush for what's to come ; and the sea below shudders uneasy and deep inside itself , and the stars above go all wan and misty as if in fear for the first shiver of dawn .sx It's a queer , unearthly hour , and sometimes it gives even us Sweetapple men , used to it as we should be , a touch of the creeps .sx hid from our eyes , and maybe it's as well they're hid though there's fools call that way of thinking superstition .sx Well , it was just such a night as I say black as the pit it was , with the sea gliding oily and smooth around us , and just one solitary star up in the murk of the sky peering down cold and sorrowful at us .sx Me and my son Jim was trawling four miles out from where we sit here .sx The rest of the fleet was far to leeward , closer in to shore , and we'd only see a ghostly glimmer of a masthead light or two through the darkness every now and again , for there was a drift of fog .sx about to deaden the night still more .sx My boy Jim he was a fine grown young chap , though I say it myself .sx The shoulders of an ox he had , and yet he was sort of mild and quiet in his manner , for all he wasn't yet out of his twenties .sx He used to live here with me in this cottage , and I'd given him a half share in my boat , too .sx He wasn't a racketing , noisy lad like they often are at his age .sx I couldn't have abided him if he had been , son or no son , for I'm what you call proper set in my ways by now .sx We got on famous together , us two , in our own silent sort of way .sx We understood each other , I suppose ; or we thought we did .sx Maybe because there was no woman in our home to point out each other's faults .sx WELL , it was Jim had the tiller that night , standing bolt upright there in the stern as usual , with his feet planted firm and wide apart and him swaying from side to side with his hips just as if our old Venturer was a horse as he thought the world of and he was a-riding of her and nursing her strength to the last ounce .sx A youngster's trick it was , I'll allow .sx But I trod a boat the same myself when I was his age and the sea ran like magic through my veins and hadn't just clogged to rheumatics in my bones .sx " Dad !sx " young Jim shouted all of a sudden , and so sharp it made me jump neither of us had spoken a word for a long time , anyway .sx " Dad !sx Out there !sx Quick !sx D'ye see it ?sx " .sx He'd turned to face astern , and now he stood very still like a statue he'd become , of a sudden and with one hand he was pointing down at the black , heavy water in our wake where the nets were sunk and dragging along after .sx " Pull 'em in quick !sx " he went on in that excited way .sx " There's some queer , great fish there a shark , maybe !sx I'm certain sure I saw a flash of white a-following us in the water .sx Give a haul on the nets , dad , or he'll tear 'em to shreds if he gets caught up !sx " " Shark !sx " I scoffed , contemptuous .sx But at that very moment I felt a jerk and tug on the nets , and the rollers under my hand that trailed them rasped and squealed like a living thing .sx