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DIGITAL IMAGE
PROCESSING
AND ANALYSIS
Human and Computer Vision
Applications with CVIPtools
SECOND EDITION
SCOTT E UMBAUGH
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publish reliable data and information, but the author and publisher cannot assume responsibility for the validity of all materials
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Preface..............................................................................................................................................xv
Acknowledgments....................................................................................................................... xix
Author............................................................................................................................................ xxi
Exercises................................................................................................................................... 68
Problems........................................................................................................................ 68
Programming Exercises............................................................................................... 70
Supplementary Exercises....................................................................................................... 70
Supplementary Problems............................................................................................ 70
Supplementary Programming Exercises.................................................................. 71
References................................................................................................................................ 72
Further Reading...................................................................................................................... 73
References.............................................................................................................................. 441
Further Reading....................................................................................................................442
8. Image Enhancement............................................................................................................443
8.1 Introduction and Overview......................................................................................443
8.2 Gray-Scale Modification............................................................................................445
8.2.1 Mapping Equations......................................................................................445
8.2.2 Histogram Modification.............................................................................. 456
8.2.3 Adaptive Contrast Enhancement............................................................... 468
8.2.4 Color................................................................................................................ 476
8.3 Image Sharpening . ................................................................................................... 489
8.3.1 Highpass Filtering........................................................................................ 490
8.3.2 High Frequency Emphasis.......................................................................... 490
8.3.3 Directional Difference Filters...................................................................... 493
8.3.4 Homomorphic Filtering............................................................................... 494
8.3.5 Unsharp Masking......................................................................................... 497
8.3.6 Edge Detector–Based Sharpening Algorithms........................................ 499
8.4 Image Smoothing....................................................................................................... 503
8.4.1 Frequency Domain Lowpass Filtering...................................................... 503
8.4.2 Convolution Mask Lowpass Filtering........................................................ 503
8.4.3 Nonlinear Filtering.......................................................................................505
8.5 Key Points.................................................................................................................... 514
Exercises................................................................................................................................. 521
Problems...................................................................................................................... 521
Programming Exercises............................................................................................. 527
Supplementary Exercises..................................................................................................... 529
Supplementary Problems.......................................................................................... 529
Supplementary Programming Exercises................................................................ 530
References.............................................................................................................................. 531
Further Reading.................................................................................................................... 532
Section V Appendices
Appendix A: CVIPtools CD..................................................................................................... 891
Appendix B: Installing and Updating CVIPtools .............................................................. 893
Appendix C: CVIPtools Software Organization................................................................. 895
Appendix D: CVIPtools C® Functions.................................................................................... 897
D.1 Toolkit Libraries............................................................................................ 897
D.2 Toolbox Libraries.......................................................................................... 902
Appendix E: Common Object Module (COM) Functions: cviptools.dll......................... 911
Appendix F: CVIP Resources................................................................................................... 923
Index.............................................................................................................................................. 927
Digital image processing and analysis is a field that continues to experience rapid growth,
with applications ranging from areas such as space exploration to the entertainment indus-
try. The diversity of applications is one of the driving forces that make it such an exciting
field to be involved in for the twenty-first century. Digital image processing, also referred to
as computer imaging, can be defined as the acquisition and processing of visual informa-
tion by computer. This book presents a unique approach to the practice of digital image
processing, and will be of interest to those who want to learn about and use computer
imaging techniques.
Digital image processing can be divided into two primary application areas, human
vision and computer vision, with image analysis tying these two together. Although the
book focuses on image processing and analysis, the image analysis part provides the
reader with the tools necessary for developing computer vision applications such as those
discussed in Chapter 12. The automatic identification of land types in satellites images,
robotic control of a Mars rover, and the automatic classification of abnormalities in medical
images are examples of computer vision applications. Human vision applications involve
manipulation of image data for viewing by people. Examples include the development of
better compression algorithms, special effects imaging for motion pictures, and the resto-
ration of satellite images distorted by atmospheric disturbance.
The creation of the two new software tools, the Computer Vision and Image Processing
Algorithm Test and Analysis Tool (CVIP-ATAT) and the CVIP Feature Extraction and
Pattern Classification Tool (CVIP-FEPC), realizes a much more powerful development
environment. The new Windows® version of CVIPtools, which has been integrated even
more throughout the book, in conjunction with the two new development tools, creates a
valuable environment for learning about imaging as well as providing a set of reusable
tools for applications development.
Approach
To help motivate the reader I have taken an approach that presents topics as needed. This
approach starts by presenting a global model to help gain an understanding of the over-
all process, followed by a breakdown and explanation of each individual topic. Instead
of presenting techniques or mathematical tools when they fit into a nice, neat theoretical
framework, topics are presented as they become necessary for understanding the practi-
cal imaging model under study. This approach provides the reader with the motivation to
learn about and use the tools and topics, because they see an immediate need for them. For
example, the mathematical process of convolution is introduced when it is needed for an
image zoom algorithm, and morphological operations are introduced when the filtering
© 2011 by Taylor & Francis Group, LLC
Preface xvii
operations are needed after image segmentation. This approach also makes the book more
useful as a reference, or for those who may not work through the book sequentially, but
will reference a specific section as the need arises.
After the CVIPtools environment is installed from the CD, an image database will be in
the default images directory, which contains the images used in the book. The CVIPtools
Website, www.ee.siue.edu/CVIPtools, is a resource that has useful imaging examples,
information and links to other imaging Web sites of interest. Additionally, a Solutions
Manual with Instructor’s CD containing PowerPoint lecture slides is available from the
publisher to those adopting the book in their courses.
Dad, Pat, Angi, Tyler, Connor, Kayla, Aaron, Ava, Chris, MaryBeth, Logan, Dylan, Ryder,
Chad, Jamie, and Noah for letting me use their smiling faces in some of the figures.
I also thank the publisher, the CRC Press of Taylor & Francis, for having the insight,
foresight, and good taste in publishing the second edition of the book in full color. Nora
Konopka has been very supportive throughout the project and very helpful in putting
things together the way I wanted. Jennifer Ahringer and her staff have been very helpful
in getting and keeping the project rolling, and special thanks go to them. Their encourage-
ment and enthusiasm are much appreciated. Joette Lynch and her staff have done a won-
derful job managing project details as we approach production; while Srikanth Gopaalan
from Datapage and his staff survived my many requests regarding the layout of the book.
Both Joette and Srikanth deserve my thanks for making this book happen.
Finally, I thank my family for all their contributions; without them this book would not
have been possible. I thank my mom who instilled in me a love of learning and a sense of
wonder about the world around me; my dad, who taught me how to think like an engineer
and the importance of self-discipline and hard work. I want to thank my brothers for being
there during those formative years. And I am especially grateful to Jeanie, Michael, Robin,
and David, who lived through the ordeal and endured the many long hours I put into the
new edition of this book.
Dr. Scott E Umbaugh is Professor and Graduate Program Director for the Department of
Electrical and Computer Engineering at Southern Illinois University Edwardsville (SIUE).
He is also the Director of the Computer Vision and Image Processing (CVIP) Laboratory
at SIUE. He has been teaching computer vision and image processing, as well as computer
and electrical engineering design, for over 20 years. His professional interests include digi-
tal image processing education, research, and development of both human and computer
vision applications, and engineering design education.
Prior to his academic career, Dr. Umbaugh worked as a computer design engineer and
project manager in the avionics and telephony industries. He has been a computer imag-
ing consultant since 1986 and has provided consulting services for the aerospace, medi-
cal, and manufacturing industries with projects ranging from automatic identification of
defects in microdisplay chips to analysis of thermographic images for clinical diagnosis
of brain disease. He has performed research and development for projects funded by the
National Institutes of Health, the National Science Foundation, the U.S. Department of
Defense, and many private companies.
Dr. Umbaugh served on the editorial board for the IEEE Engineering in Medicine in Biology
Magazine for eight years and is currently an associate editor for the Pattern Recognition
journal. He served as a reviewer for a variety of IEEE journals and has evaluated research
monographs and textbooks in the imaging field. He has written a previous book on com-
puter vision and image processing, has authored numerous papers, and co-authored sev-
eral book chapters.
Dr. Umbaugh received his BSE with honors from Southern Illinois University Edwardsville
in 1982, his MSEE in 1987, and his PhD in 1990 from the University of Missouri–Rolla, (now
Missouri University and Science and Technology) where he was a Chancellor’s Fellow. He is
a senior member of the Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers (IEEE), and a member
of Sigma Xi and the International Society for Optical Engineering (SPIE). Dr. Umbaugh is
also the primary developer of the CVIPtools software package used throughout this book.
CHAPTER XXV
That was the beginning of their happy time. Morton taught Theresa
to ride and, mounted on a steady grey animal while he bestrode one
more mettlesome, she went with him into every corner of his land,
and began to understand his pride of possession. He was a good
landlord, and there was nothing he did not oversee, little of which
she could complain, and she said so frankly; but she startled him
with a question as they rode out one morning, waving farewell to a
Mrs. Morton who was beginning to find herself neglected by young
people unnaturally busy over cottages and plans.
"Basil, were you going to give me a wedding present?"
"Of course."
"Then may I choose it?"
"I wanted to give you a surprise."
"No, no, let me choose."
"Tell me, then."
"I don't want diamonds, or pearls, or gold. I want lead—I think it's
lead. Perhaps it's iron. Yes, I think it is. I want you to take water into
those old cottages on the peppermint land."
"Where do you mean, dear?"
"I mean the land Mrs. Morton bought, not the hereditary domain!
Wasn't it bought with peppermint, and sticks of bright pink rock, and
yards of liquorice? I like to think of ragged little children putting their
dirty faces against dirty window panes, and gloating over masses of
your grandfather's sweets. Don't you?"
"I'm afraid I have often wished he had made money, if he had to
make it, in a different way."
"That's because you have more false pride than imagination. Why,
he has made a fairy feast for children! Think of the dark winter
streets, wet, perhaps, and the lamps just lighted and bright
reflections in the pavements, and children staring at pyramids of
sweetness. It's lovely—magical, like being a perpetual Father
Christmas. So when I call it the peppermint land, I do not sneer, and
you'll lay on the water, won't you?"
"There's a well quite near, darling."
"It's across a field."
"A small field."
"Quite big enough."
"Theresa, you know I treat my tenants like human beings, but you
want to pamper them."
"No I don't. I know it's the tendency, but I don't. Oh, my good soul,
if you had ever done any housework, you would know the value of
water! Have you ever done any? Have you ever so much as washed
up a dish? No; I thought not. I have. And I've scrubbed floors—don't
shudder; it's good exercise—and I've cooked; but I have not had
several children to look after at the same time, and that's what many
of these women have to do. I know it's pastoral and patriarchal to
go to the well, but it's not so pleasant to come back with two heavy
pails. And it has to be done a good many times a day if there's to be
cleanliness. I'm not a stickler for too much cleaning, but I saw a
woman the other day carrying pails when she wasn't fit to lift a
weight. She rested four times between the well and the house. I
reached her in time to prevent her going on a second journey. It was
when you were seeing about those young trees."
"The larches?"
"Yes." She frowned. She had avoided naming them, and now he
stabbed her with their remembered scent.
"Did you—what did you say to her?"
"I told her she wasn't to do it. No; I didn't complain about the
landlord! But she wanted the water for washing, so I fetched it
myself."
"Theresa!"
"There, you see! And I'm a strong young woman. Imagine—oh, try
to imagine me in her position!"
"I'll do it."
She leaned to touch his hand. "Thank you. You only need to see
things. 'The bride presented the bridegroom with a pair of
spectacles, and the bridegroom's gift to the bride was a ton of iron
piping!'" She shook her reins. "Shall we gallop? I wish this old
omnibus were a bit friskier. He gives me nothing to do. Can't I be
promoted to something else?"
"I have been seeing about a splendid chestnut," he said slyly, "but
that was to be part of your wedding-present."
"Ah well, it's better to be a ministering angel than a fiery
horsewoman, and the rushing of the water in those pipes will be
sweeter to me than the sound of clattering hoofs. A-ha! Oh, do give
this old beast a good knock with your whip!"
She was happy. Mrs. Morton continued to ruffle the smoothness of
life, but she could do no more, and she was allowed few
opportunities of attempting it, for on most evenings she sat alone in
the drawing-room, and in the daytime Basil and Theresa were far
afield. This was not the daughter-in-law she had desired. Where
were the afternoon calls, the drives with Theresa by her side and
Basil opposite, the pleasant hours after dinner, with a little music, a
little talk, a little work? Theresa could not even play the piano, her
hands were idle, and Mrs. Morton was really glad when she did not
talk, for she feared what she might say; but the sound of her voice
coming across the wide hall when the smoking-room door was open,
her sharp exclamations and her laughter gave the elder woman a
new sense of isolation. In some subtle way the house seemed to be
no longer hers. Theresa, who had been the stranger, had taken a
possession stronger than that of keys and command, and whereas
the girl had once stood out glaringly against the sober, peaceful
background of the house, it had now become but an appendage of
herself. The quick thud of her feet as she ran down the stairs, her
manner of opening doors, the whistling call with which she
summoned Basil—these, by the vividness of her strength, had
overcome the old stillness, the old ordered atmosphere.
And, indeed, the place had become a home to Theresa. Her
irritability was soothed by Morton's loyal companionship. They were
friends as well as lovers; she was breaking down his fences, and she
loved power. She knew she was changing his attitude in a hundred
little ways. She was moulding him to the kind of man with whom it
was possible to live, and daily she liked him better. But she had
another cause for happiness. She was still making up her stories,
and as she wandered about the house she was accompanied by little
illusive figures with sunny heads. They went before her in the
passages, they ran up and down the stairs and scampered across
the broad polished floors, and for her, too, the silence and decorum
of the house were banished. And the garden was inhabited. There
were more voices than those of the rooks among the elms and she
saw happy people by the lakeside. She saw herself among them,
dabbling with the water, racing across the lawn or climbing trees,
and she surprised herself with the positive belief that this life was far
better than one of fame. She felt that through her means some
joyous spirit of childhood had burst its bonds and broken into these
separate fragments which were to be her children, and the thought
brightened her eyes and her voice. It solaced her for the tiny
disappointments that pricked, but were too small to have a name,
almost too small to be felt.
She waved her hand towards an upper window, one afternoon as
they rode down the drive, and he looked sharply at the house and
then at her. "To whom are you waving?" he asked.
"To someone you could not see, my good grammarian," she said,
and hoped a little fearfully for further questions.
He turned in the saddle and looked back, and for the sake of the
strong, easy twist of his body she forgave his lack of curiosity as he
said: "Fancies again?"
And she said: "Yes; fancies."
He was content to remain ignorant of them, as he had often been
before. He had no desire to enter into that very real part of her
existence, and she blocked out her disappointment with a quick
word of another nature.
"I like you best in your riding things." She was never tired of
summing up the things she liked in him.
He smiled and let his eyes run over her trim, green figure, the thick
plaits of hair under the little hat. She nodded.
"I know what you are thinking. You are congratulating yourself that
I'm quite presentable, in spite of my intolerable past."
"Will you never stop teasing me about that? As if I'm not as proud of
it as you are!"
"Then I have taught you how to be."
"I'm willing to acknowledge my teacher. But I wasn't thinking that.
You look so fair and free—like the breath of the morning."
"Oh ho! Aren't we being nice to each other? And who is having
fancies now? Basil"—she could never let a wound fester in her
—"Basil, I wish you'd want me to tell you everything."
"But I do. What is it you want to say?"
She controlled the petulance of her lips. "Would you like me to have
secrets?"
"I can't imagine your having them."
Under her gauntlets the muscles of her hands were tightened. The
promise of possession had very slightly changed his attitude towards
her, and she resented his security. She was not willing that he should
have no doubts, even had there been no cause for them. She
wanted the old uncertainty, the old waiting on her moods. He grew
more loving, more demonstrative, but he was less her servant, and
she stretched against the bonds; but if he were so little eager to
know the utmost of her, so impervious to jealousy or to hints, then
she could in honesty keep her cherished silence. She changed the
subject. They were happiest when their talk was clear of
personalities. Discussions about tenants, the wisdom of giving help
there or refusing it here, and information from Morton about crops
and the raising of cattle, drew them into a closer comradeship. But
to-day Theresa's questions were half-hearted, and had Morton been
less enthusiastic he would have noticed that she did not listen.
The day was of a new-washed clearness, but it seemed to her that
someone had smudged it with a dirty hand; and in her breast was
the vague longing that was like a hole there, while the clamorous
voices, stilled for a little while, were taking deep breaths as if they
would test their powers.
She blamed herself, she blamed her restlessness, but she looked
frowningly at Morton, and while she owned her fault she could put
the burden of some of it on his back. It seemed to Theresa that he
loved the surface of her and would not look into the depths, that a
principle of his life was to avoid looking into depths; and as she had
been eager to know the evil of the world and the turmoil and the
stain of it, and below that the great serenity, so she longed for a like
capacity to see into his soul, to show him all, or nearly all, of hers.
He baulked her constantly, and the more successfully, by his very
ignorance of her need. Other barriers she had broken down, but
here she failed.
She put an abrupt question as they rode home.
"Had you ever been in love before you saw me?"
"Never until I saw you, and now—for always."
He took for granted her own singleness of affection. He was benign,
smiling a little, and content. Little flushes of colour came and went in
her cheeks. She straightened herself, and then drooped in the
saddle.
"You are tired," he said tenderly.
"No." And with a jerk she added: "I am cross."
That, too, he accepted without question. There was no doubt that
he was very patient. He watched her as he rode close to assure her
of his care, and when he helped her to dismount he held her for an
instant, in spite of the groom; but, making no response, she hurried
to her room and to her secret treasure there.
She was unpleasant all that evening and very much ashamed of
herself, but she could not shake the blackness from her, though she
tried. She heard in Morton's voice a distressing likeness to his
mother's, and the way he handled his knife and fork seemed to her
sufficient excuse for murder. At table she felt like a naughty
schoolgirl, and she went early to bed; but as she sat beside her fire
the remembrance of Basil standing, puzzled, in the hall as she went
up the stairs, smote her with the shame she would have felt if she
had hurt a child. She was not fit to have children—she, who had no
self-control. She was capricious, vain, exacting. She asked more than
she was willing to give, yet she was willing to give more than Basil
asked. She knew she was endangered by his complaisance, and she
wanted to be loyal. She would be loyal. She stared at the fire
through mist and strands of hair, and slowly the mist gathered itself
into drops that fell with a little crack on her silken petticoat. She was
cold, though the flames were bright. She was not conscious of the
room. All round her there was a dark loneliness like nothing she had
ever seen or tasted. It was not the lonely terror of the sea, nor the
great cleansing solitude of the mountains, but something formless,
perilous. Now, everything was obscure, but she had a fear that if she
could not save herself she would emerge into a clearness that would
be terrible and enduring—a prison from which she could never
escape, whose walls were formed of what was ignoble in herself.
How long she sat there she could not tell. Now she did not cry, and
thought had left her; yet, in some dim way, she had made her
resolution, and news of it was carried to her mind.
She combed out her hair steadily and plaited it; she put on her
lavender dressing-gown, and the shoes that matched it, and she
bathed her face. It was white, and seemed to have fallen thinner in
that hour, for she had touched a deeper tragedy than her mother's
death. She must be honest, but such an honesty tore the heart from
her.
She unlocked the little box where she kept no other thing than
Alexander's letter. She took it out and held it fast between her
palms, but she did not read it. She raised the upper hand, and laid
her cheek in its place.
"I ought not to have kept you," she said, and gave a little moan.
"But it's not because you're a man, Alexander; it's because you are a
spirit. You and Father are the only ones I've known. Must I resign
you to keep the other things? You see, Alexander, I do want the
other things—a home, and love, and—other things. But oh, there's
no need to tell you, for you know—you know."
She opened her door softly. The landing lights were out, no light
came from the hall, but as she followed the staircase curve she saw
a golden streak under the door of the smoking-room. A little nearer,
and she smelt tobacco. She entered, and saw Morton deep in a
leather-covered chair. He sprang to his feet.
She appeared to him like a sprite. She was pale and small, she
seemed to be overweighted by her hair, and the movements of her
dressing-gown revealed white ankles and white arms. The tender
little hollow of her neck was plain to him, and though he had seen it
that very night it had seemed a more modest thing than this
between the close folds of her gown.
She shut the door. "Basil. I want to talk to you."
"Not now, dear." He put the cigar on the mantelpiece, and held his
hands behind his back. "You must go to bed now. It's after twelve.
Haven't you been to sleep?"
"No; I've been thinking." She looked at him with wide, strained eyes.
He had never seen her so simple and so frail. "There's something I
must tell you."
"Is it so very important?"
Her voice quivered. "You may not think so."
"Can't it wait? Darling, you mustn't sit here with me at this hour of
night with all the house asleep."
"For me, there's no one in the house but you, and you are awake."
She put out her left hand, but dropped it when he did not take it.
She went on, with the hand at her throat. "There's a great gap in my
life I've never told you of. I don't feel honest. I want to tell you
everything to-night, and go on clear."
"Are you sure you're not asleep now, Theresa darling?" He drew
nearer, and she leaned against him.
"Basil, help me."
He held her off. "Not now. You must go back. You are over-tired,
dear. You've not been well all day."
"It's my soul that's sick," she said.
"It will be better in the morning. Hush! Did you hear something?" He
opened the door and listened. "Mother sleeps so lightly. Go back,
Theresa. Good-night, darling—good-night. Why, your eyes are heavy
with sleep."
"No," she said, and she had the look of someone starved—"no,
that's with crying."
He seized her hand and drew her limp figure to him. "Why, my
sweet—why? Because we didn't have a happy day? Darling, I'll think
no more of it. And you shall tell me everything in the morning. Only
go now. You mustn't wander about like this at night."
She was leaning against the door. Her lips twitched with an emotion
which was no longer one of distress.
"What are you afraid of?" she said.
He hesitated. "Your—good name," he answered.
She lifted her hands and dropped them, and for a moment he
thought something terrible was going to happen, for her eyes closed
sharply, and in her pale face her opened mouth was like a blot.
"Oh!" she cried. "Oh! oh! oh!" She laughed weakly, uncontrollably.
She dropped into a chair, while the tears rolled down her cheeks and
her body was shaken with her mirth.
He stared at her stonily and turned away to look into the fire. The
sound of her laughter shocked him, for it had entirely gone beyond
her keeping, but gradually it grew quieter and he thought he heard
in it the break of sobs. He looked at her. She was leaning her head
on her hand and crying softly, but as he turned she smiled and
began to shake again.
"Why don't you laugh, too?" she said. "You are so funny."
"I can see nothing to laugh at. Go to bed at once. You are
overwrought."
"I am in the best of health," she said. "Oh dear, I wish I could stop
laughing! But I'll go to bed."
"And you'll talk to me in the morning?"
"Yes, I'll talk to you in the morning." That was an answer he had not
expected, and he would have kissed her, but she turned her face
aside. He noticed that she had a little roll of paper in her right hand.
CHAPTER XXVI
An immense and palpable calm surrounded her as she undressed,
and when she stretched herself between the sheets she fell at once
into an untroubled sleep. For a little while the firelight licked the
walls, danced on the chair where her clothes were tumbled and leapt
to the ceiling to look down on her in the bed, lying pale and flaccid
with her cheek on Alexander's letter. Then the fire's heart called back
the flames, and they were gathered into a red and tranquil glow
which faded, while the dropping coals slowly ticked out their life. But
that noise had ceased and the room was entirely dark when Theresa
woke and sat up.
She thought there was someone in the room, but she was not afraid.
She listened, leaning on her hands.
"What is it?" she whispered.
The room was quiet, but its stillness was heavy as with a presence.
She looked behind her; only the wall was there.
"What is it?" she repeated.
There was something she had to do, and even while she strove to
discover it she had slipped from bed and pattered across the floor.
She ran with a swift sureness down the stairs and through the hall.
The locks and bolts of the front-door yielded to her fever, and then
the night air smote her and the cold of the steps shocked her feet.
"What am I doing?" she asked.
What little wind there was moaned stealthily among the elms, and
on the house-wall the ivy-leaves scratched each other. The lawn
stretched before her like water of an unimagined blackness.
"I must have been asleep," she murmured, looking at the night for
confirmation, but its waiting patience made her no answer. She
thought all the trees had faces that looked kindly on her. She was
not afraid of the night, yet it was imminent and sorrowful with
doom. Something was going to happen.
"I had to do something," she said in a strange voice, and closed the
door. Her fingers were weak now, and slow. Her strength had gone
and she was very cold. She stood shivering in the hall, trying to
solve this mystery. Had she been warned in some way? Was the
house on fire? She sniffed earnestly. There were no signs anywhere
of danger or disturbance, and she turned to climb the stairs. Half-
way up she began to run. Where was her letter? She had forgotten
her letter. Someone had stolen it, and, stealing it, had waked her.
But she found it, crumpled, in the bed.
"I don't understand," she said, and lay long awake, conquering the
cold of her body and the puzzle of her mind.
When the morning came through the windows, she was lying deep
in the bed, as though she were rooted to it and she was conscious
of a fatigue she had not known before. It was her habit to spring
from bed with the first opening of her eyes, but this morning she
had to be reminded of coming battle before she could be roused,
and then the adventurous spirit that welcomed any new experience,
and would have dreadful ones rather than none, took command over
her tired frame.
She had an enigmatical smile for Morton at the breakfast table, and
afterwards, when he would have smoked a pipe before the fire, she
was imperative.
"Come into the garden quickly," she said.
"He would like to read the newspaper first, dear. He always likes to
read the paper and have a pipe."
She clapped her hands together. "He must come into the garden
with me."
He glanced at her feet. "Put your shoes on first, darling."
"And you would like my woolly shawl."
"My slippers are thick, and I don't want a shawl, or anything, thank
you. I'm burning. Are you coming, Basil? Can't you see—can't you
see that you must come?"
She ran out before him and on to the lawn, and the wind caught her
hair and buffeted her so that she had to lean against it to find rest.
She watched his slow approach, and as soon as he was close to her
she said clearly, loudly, because of the wind: "I can't marry you."
"What?" He took her by the arm and stooped. "What did you say?"
She freed herself. "I can't marry you."
He heard. "Can we get out of the wind?" he said.
She made a gesture that told him to lead on, and she followed him
to a dusty summer-house. The sudden quiet of the place was like a
blow and there was a singing in her ears.
"It's dirty, I'm afraid."
"I don't want to sit down. Did you hear what I said, Basil?"
"You don't want to sit down?"
"No. I can't marry you."
He saw no ring on her hand. "Why?" he breathed. He was shocked
into the use of his imagination. "Is it—it isn't Vincent?"
"Vincent?" She had to frown before she could remember him. "Oh
no, no, no!"
"Why?" he asked again, and his voice seemed to hold back the word
as it was uttered.
"I don't know. I'm very fond of you." She smiled with a touch of
drollery. "I think I love you, as one loves some people, but not—
one's lover. I thought I did, except when I heard voices."
He frowned, uncertain of her sanity. He shook his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Theresa. What have I
done?"
"Nothing. But I've known secretly all the time—nearly all the time—
that in saying I would marry you I fell below myself. Not"—she
smiled again—"because I think you are unworthy, but just because
you are not—the man for me. I made you into him for a little while,
but truth is stronger than my will. It's possible that a very good man
may do one more harm than a very bad one. But I'm not thinking of
my safety. It's just my necessity, and I don't know what is going to
follow. I can't explain. There are no words, for, you see, it's
something that belongs to the wordless things. I ought to have
found out before. I might have, if I had been quite honest."
The word had a memory for him. "Was this what you came to say
last night?"
"No."
"What was it?"
"I can't tell you now."
"I think I have a right to know."
"You had last night; not now."
He showed her a terrible, drawn face. "Theresa, forgive me for last
night. Let us begin again. We are so different—but I want to learn
from you. Let us begin again."
"We can't." She twisted her hands together, and shook them with
the faint shaking of her body.
"A little thing like that—Theresa, I love you."
"I know." She stood silent, with head bowed, but she lifted it with a
thought. "You've never wanted the best of me, Basil. And—I can't
give it to you. There's a dam, somewhere. And I've never been true
to you. Ah, you see, you don't understand. Isn't that proof enough?
I thought I loved you, but all my life I've been playing parts, half
consciously. There has only been one day—only one—when I did not
think about myself."
"When was that?" It was the first time she had seen him curious.
She smiled waveringly, as though she would soon cry.
"It was before I met you. Will you let me finish? I want to tell you.
It's not your fault. It's something in myself. Don't think I'm blaming
you. You've never seen me, Basil. You've seen a woman who likes
being spoilt, who likes being loved, who knows how to get what she
wants, and yet contrives to do it with a kind of fiendish decency, for
I haven't a blatant fashion of alluring. And you've seen the other
woman who likes power. Perhaps it is the same woman on her more
intellectual side. Yes, power! When I look back, I see that it is a
distorted kind of power I've wanted. And to know one's self loved is
to have power. You see how I was tempted, yet I did not know that I
was falling. Now I know—and there's an end to it. I have to ask your
pardon for making you the victim, and to—to thank you for all your
sweetness—too much sweetness."
She was like a bit of smiling steel, he thought—a sword, sorry to
have to wound, yet bound to do it. He had no hope of mastering her,
though he saw pity dragged from her heart into her eyes. He was
haggard. She had been right to call him victim.
"But why after last night?" he asked.
"It had to be some time, hadn't it? Before marriage, or after it."
"But why last night? There's something you're not telling me."
"Haven't I said enough?"
"You needn't be afraid of hurting. I shall be glad of it."
She nodded comprehension. "I had a fight last night. I had to give
you all my confidences or none, and I wanted to keep you because I
like you, and because I'd entangled you with some of my dearest
thoughts. But it was hard to tell you what I was going to tell you,
and then you wouldn't listen, and you made me laugh, and I saw—
oh, clearly—that you would never have understood, and I felt—oh,
must I tell you?—I felt I'd saved something very precious from
destruction. And so there was an end."
He was sitting on the dusty, wooden bench, staring before him.
"If only there weren't any people," she said for him. He started. "It's
hateful for you, dear. All those good friends of yours, looking so
sorrowful and being so curious. Oh, I am sorry! You can tell them
anything you like about me, and nothing will be bad enough."
"Please don't, Theresa."
She began to count the cobwebs hanging from the roof.
"Why don't you have this place kept clean?"
"I do, in the summer."
Over and over again she counted them. She made calculations of
the height of the walls, the length and breadth of the floor, while the
sight of Morton sitting there, inert and miserable, roused her to an
irritated, helpless pity.
"Do you think I could go home this morning, please?" she asked
softly.
"I'll see about it."
"You won't want to tell Mrs. Morton, will you? I'll do it."
"Be kind to her, Theresa."
"My dear, she'll thank God for an escape."
"Ah, don't——"
"No. Good-bye."
He stood up. He seemed very tall and broken, resting one hand
heavily on the little rustic table.
"Basil," she said thoughtfully, "did you come into my room last
night?"
"Your room? Your bedroom?"
"Yes, long after I had left you?"
"No dear. Of course not! Why?"
"I had a queer feeling that someone was in the room."
He stumbled over his words. "I—I dreamt of you last night."
Her mouth drooped; he saw the quiver of her nostril. "Oh—don't
dream of me any more," she said. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Theresa."
"May I kiss you? Stoop down. Lower, lower. How tall you are!" She
kissed him on each cheek. "I always liked that little hollow place,"
she said, and left him with the sound of her sobbing breath for
company.
George and Edward Webb, eating their hybrid meal at seven o'clock,
were startled by the entrance of Theresa. Above her coat collar and
below the veil banded across her forehead, her eyes were luminous
and black-rimmed.
Edward Webb sprang up and, forgetting the restricting presence of
his brother, exclaimed anxiously: "My dear, my dearest! what is the
matter?"
"Nothing, dear. It's nice to see you."
"You look ill, Theresa."
"I've had a journey, and the train jolted so."
"Where's Basil?"
"In his home, I hope." She became flippant for the benefit of Uncle
George. "I'd better tell you. I have resigned the situation. Do you
think I can have some of your tea?"
"H'm, and now, I suppose, you'll be wanting another?"
"Will you find me one, Uncle George? If not, I've no doubt Mr. Smith
will take me back."
Edward Webb still held Theresa's hand. "I think," he said with
dignity, "we need not discuss the matter until Theresa has had some
tea. You're cold, my dear."
"Desperately," she said.
He seated her by the fire, and brought her tea, and ordered Bessie
to bring hot toast.
"Lots of it, please, Bessie," said Theresa.
"And more coal, and perhaps we'd better have Miss Grace."
"No, not Miss Grace until to-morrow."
"But, my dear, I'm afraid you're going to be ill. You're shivering."
"It's just a cold. I want to be alone with you to-night."
"Well, I'm going to finish my tea, anyhow," said Uncle George.
She nodded at him, laughing. He nodded back, in his grim way. This
was how they always told each other of their friendship.
"And there was a time when I didn't like you!" she exclaimed
involuntarily.
He ducked his head again. "I'm quite aware of that, my girl."
He went to his harmonium, and Bessie, with a thousand fancies in
her romantic heart, retired to wash up the dishes.
"Now tell me," said Edward Webb.
"It was only because I didn't love him enough," she said, and burst
into a foolish weakness of tears.
He was pacing behind her chair, and she heard him muttering:
"Thank God! thank God! Are you crying, Theresa? You mustn't do
that, my dear. You've come home. I've got you back again. You must
be happy." He patted her clumsily on the shoulder, and she dabbed
her eyes with her handkerchief. "It's good to have you back. We've
missed you. Even George admitted that."
"Don't tell me such things," she said. "They've been the ruin of me.
And you must let me be miserable for a little while! It's all I can do
for Basil. I think I'll go to bed."
"Not yet. I told Bessie to light the fire."
"But what extravagance!"
"You don't come home every day," he said, and he spoke as though
she had come on a far journey.
Afterwards, when she lay warm and comforted in bed, he came to
see her. He made up the fire, he altered the opening of the window
by an inch, he felt the heat of the hot-water bottle, and hovered on
the threshold to find more to do.
"I wish I had a thermometer," he murmured.
"I'm glad I broke it. I refuse to have my temperature taken. I'm
much too sleepy. Good-night, dear. I'm so comfortable."
"Good-night, my child," he said, and crept down the stairs in a great
happiness of hope.
CHAPTER XXVII
Very late, on a dark and moonless night in March, when the larches
were stiff and silent under the frost that bound the hills, and the air
was of an imprisoned stillness, Janet, sewing by lamplight, heard a
dog's bark cut through the quiet, and then hurried footsteps that
were Alec's.
Her fingers lost their steadiness for an instant, but as he opened the
door she peered round the lamp and said sharply: "So you're here at
last! You've not touched my doorstep for four weeks, and now you
come at this time of night and expect a welcome! What made you
think I would be up?"
"I didn't think," he said. "I just came."
He was within the circle of the lamplight, and she looked at him. He
was frost-powdered from head to foot, from ruffled hair to heavy
boots, and his eyes were dull in a face the whiter for the tan it had
to conquer. She went on with her sewing:
"Where have you been?" she said.
"God knows."
"That'll be why I didn't go to bed," she said quietly.
"I've been walking since dark, nearly." He moved away into the
gloom, and there he went back and forth, across the kitchen's width,
with a restlessness like his father's.
"And I've had the devil for company."
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