Buthisdreadwasthenightswhenhecouldnotsleep。Thenitwasawfulindeed，whenannihilationpressedinonhimoneveryside。Thenitwasghastly，toexistwithouthavinganylife：lifeless，inthenight，toexist。
ButnowhecouldringforMrsBolton。Andshewouldalwayscome。Thatwasagreatcomfort。Shewouldcomeinherdressinggown，withherhairinaplaitdownherback，curiouslygirlishanddim，thoughthebrownplaitwasstreakedwithgrey。Andshewouldmakehimcoffeeorcamomiletea，andshewouldplaychessorpiquetwithhim。Shehadawoman’squeerfacultyofplayingevenchesswellenough，whenshewasthreepartsasleep，wellenoughtomakeherworthbeating。So，inthesilentintimacyofthenight，theysat，orshesatandhelayonthebed，withthereading-lampsheddingitssolitarylightonthem，shealmostgoneinsleep，healmostgoneinasortoffear，andtheyplayed，playedtogether——thentheyhadacupofcoffeeandabiscuittogether，hardlyspeaking，inthesilenceofnight，butbeingareassurancetooneanother。
AndthisnightshewaswonderingwhoLadyChatterley’sloverwas。AndshewasthinkingofherownTed，solongdead，yetforherneverquitedead。Andwhenshethoughtofhim，theold，oldgrudgeagainsttheworldroseup，butespeciallyagainstthemasters，thattheyhadkilledhim。
Theyhadnotreallykilledhim。Yet，toher，emotionally，theyhad。Andsomewheredeepinherselfbecauseofit，shewasanihilist，andreallyanarchic。
Inherhalf-sleep，thoughtsofherTedandthoughtsofLadyChatterley’sunknownlovercommingled，andthenshefeltshesharedwiththeotherwomanagreatgrudgeagainstSirCliffordandallhestoodfor。Atthesametimeshewasplayingpiquetwithhim，andtheyweregamblingsixpences。Anditwasasourceofsatisfactiontobeplayingpiquetwithabaronet，andevenlosingsixpencestohim。
Whentheyplayedcards，theyalwaysgambled。Itmadehimforgethimself。
Andheusuallywon。Tonighttoohewaswinning。Sohewouldnotgotosleeptillthefirstdawnappeared。Luckilyitbegantoappearathalfpastfourorthereabouts。
Conniewasinbed，andfastasleepallthistime。Butthekeeper，too，couldnotrest。Hehadclosedthecoopsandmadehisroundofthewood，thengonehomeandeatensupper。Buthedidnotgotobed。Insteadhesatbythefireandthought。
HethoughtofhisboyhoodinTevershall，andofhisfiveorsixyearsofmarriedlife。Hethoughtofhiswife，andalwaysbitterly。Shehadseemedsobrutal。Buthehadnotseenhernowsince1915，inthespringwhenhejoinedup。Yetthereshewas，notthreemilesaway，andmorebrutalthanever。Hehopednevertoseeheragainwhilehelived。
Hethoughtofhislifeabroad，asasoldier。India，Egypt，thenIndiaagain：theblind，thoughtlesslifewiththehorses：thecolonelwhohadlovedhimandwhomhehadloved：theseveralyearsthathehadbeenanofficer，alieutenantwithaveryfairchanceofbeingacaptain。Thenthedeathofthecolonelfrompneumonia，andhisownnarrowescapefromdeath：hisdamagedhealth：hisdeeprestlessness：hisleavingthearmyandcomingbacktoEnglandtobeaworkingmanagain。
Hewastemporizingwithlife。Hehadthoughthewouldbesafe，atleastforatime，inthiswood。Therewasnoshootingasyet：hehadtorearthepheasants。Hewouldhavenogunstoserve。Hewouldbealone，andapartfromlife，whichwasallhewanted。Hehadtohavesomesortofabackground。
Andthiswashisnativeplace。Therewasevenhismother，thoughshehadnevermeantverymuchtohim。Andhecouldgooninlife，existingfromdaytoday，withoutconnexionandwithouthope。Forhedidnotknowwhattodowithhimself。
Hedidnotknowwhattodowithhimself。Sincehehadbeenanofficerforsomeyears，andhadmixedamongtheotherofficersandcivilservants，withtheirwivesandfamilies，hehadlostallambitionto`geton’。Therewasatoughness，acuriousrubberneckedtoughnessandunlivingnessaboutthemiddleandupperclasses，ashehadknownthem，whichjustlefthimfeelingcoldanddifferentfromthem。
So，hehadcomebacktohisownclass。Tofindthere，whathehadforgottenduringhisabsenceofyears，apettinessandavulgarityofmannerextremelydistasteful。Headmittednowatlast，howimportantmannerwas。Headmitted，also，howimportantitwaseventopretendnottocareaboutthehalfpenceandthesmallthingsoflife。Butamongthecommonpeopletherewasnopretence。ApennymoreorlessonthebaconwasworsethanachangeintheGospel。Hecouldnotstandit。
Andagain，therewasthewage-squabble。Havinglivedamongtheowningclasses，heknewtheutterfutilityofexpectinganysolutionofthewage-squabble。
Therewasnosolution，shortofdeath。Theonlythingwasnottocare，nottocareaboutthewages。
Yet，ifyouwerepoorandwretchedyouhadtocare。Anyhow，itwasbecomingtheonlythingtheydidcareabout。Thecareaboutmoneywaslikeagreatcancer，eatingawaytheindividualsofallclasses。
Herefusedtocareaboutmoney。
Andwhatthen？Whatdidlifeofferapartfromthecareofmoney？Nothing。
Yethecouldlivealone，inthewansatisfactionofbeingalone，andraisepheasantstobeshotultimatelybyfatmenafterbreakfast。Itwasfutility，futilitytothenthpower。
Butwhycare，whybother？Andhehadnotcarednorbotheredtillnow，whenthiswomanhadcomeintohislife。Hewasnearlytenyearsolderthanshe。Andhewasathousandyearsolderinexperience，startingfromthebottom。Theconnexionbetweenthemwasgrowingcloser。Hecouldseethedaywhenitwouldclinchupandtheywouldhavetomakealifetogether。
`Forthebondsofloveareilltoloose!’
Andwhatthen？Whatthen？Musthestartagain，withnothingtostarton？Mustheentanglethiswoman？Musthehavethehorriblebroilwithherlamehusband？Andalsosomesortofhorriblebroilwithhisownbrutalwife，whohatedhim？Misery!Lotsofmisery!Andhewasnolongeryoungandmerelybuoyant。Neitherwashetheinsouciantsort。Everybitternessandeveryuglinesswouldhurthim：andthewoman!
ButeveniftheygotclearofSirCliffordandofhisownwife，eveniftheygotclear，whatweretheygoingtodo？Whatwashe，himselfgoingtodo？Whatwashegoingtodowithhislife？Forhemustdosomething。
Hecouldn’tbeamerehanger-on，onhermoneyandhisownverysmallpension。
Itwastheinsoluble。HecouldonlythinkofgoingtoAmerica，totryanewair。Hedisbelievedinthedollarutterly。Butperhaps，perhapstherewassomethingelse。
Hecouldnotrestnorevengotobed。Aftersittinginastuporofbitterthoughtsuntilmidnight，hegotsuddenlyfromhischairandreachedforhiscoatandgun。
`Comeon，lass，’hesaidtothedog。`We’rebestoutside。’
Itwasastarrynight，butmoonless。Hewentonaslow，scrupulous，soft-steppingandstealthyround。Theonlythinghehadtocontendwithwasthecollierssettingsnaresforrabbits，particularlytheStacksGatecolliers，ontheMarehayside。Butitwasbreedingseason，andevencolliersrespecteditalittle。Neverthelessthestealthybeatingoftheroundinsearchofpoacherssoothedhisnervesandtookhismindoffhisthoughts。
Butwhenhehaddonehisslow，cautiousbeatingofhisbounds——itwasnearlyafive-milewalk——hewastired。Hewenttothetopoftheknollandlookedout。Therewasnosoundsavethenoise，thefaintshufflingnoisefromStacksGatecolliery，thatneverceasedworking：andtherewerehardlyanylights，savethebrilliantelectricrowsattheworks。Theworldlaydarklyandfumilysleeping。Itwashalfpasttwo。Buteveninitssleepitwasanuneasy，cruelworld，stirringwiththenoiseofatrainorsomegreatlorryontheroad，andflashingwithsomerosylightningflashfromthefurnaces。Itwasaworldofironandcoal，thecrueltyofironandthesmokeofcoal，andtheendless，endlessgreedthatdroveitall。Onlygreed，greedstirringinitssleep。
Itwascold，andhewascoughing。Afinecolddraughtblewovertheknoll。Hethoughtofthewoman。Nowhewouldhavegivenallhehadorevermighthavetoholdherwarminhisarms，bothofthemwrappedinoneblanket，andsleep。Allhopesofeternityandallgainfromthepasthewouldhavegiventohaveherthere，tobewrappedwarmwithhiminoneblanket，andsleep，onlysleep。Itseemedthesleepwiththewomaninhisarmswastheonlynecessity。
Hewenttothehut，andwrappedhimselfintheblanketandlayonthefloortosleep。Buthecouldnot，hewascold。Andbesides，hefeltcruellyhisownunfinishednature。Hefelthisownunfinishedconditionofalonenesscruelly。Hewantedher，totouchher，toholdherfastagainsthiminonemomentofcompletenessandsleep。
Hegotupagainandwentout，towardstheparkgatesthistime：thenslowlyalongthepathtowardsthehouse。Itwasnearlyfouro’clock，stillclearandcold，butnosignofdawn。Hewasusedtothedark，hecouldseewell。
Slowly，slowlythegreathousedrewhim，asamagnet。Hewantedtobenearher。Itwasnotdesire，notthat。Itwasthecruelsenseofunfinishedaloneness，thatneededasilentwomanfoldedinhisarms。Perhapshecouldfindher。Perhapshecouldevencallherouttohim：orfindsomewayintoher。Fortheneedwasimperious。
Heslowly，silentlyclimbedtheinclinetothehall。Thenhecameroundthegreattreesatthetopoftheknoll，ontothedrive，whichmadeagrandsweeproundalozengeofgrassinfrontoftheentrance。Hecouldalreadyseethetwomagnificentbeecheswhichstoodinthisbiglevellozengeinfrontofthehouse，detachingthemselvesdarklyinthedarkair。
Therewasthehouse，lowandlongandobscure，withonelightburningdownstairs，inSirClifford’sroom。Butwhichroomshewasin，thewomanwhoheldtheotherendofthefrailthreadwhichdrewhimsomercilessly，thathedidnotknow。
Hewentalittlenearer，guninhand，andstoodmotionlessonthedrive，watchingthehouse。Perhapsevennowhecouldfindher，comeatherinsomeway。Thehousewasnotimpregnable：hewasascleverasburglarsare。
Whynotcometoher？
Hestoodmotionless，waiting，whilethedawnfaintlyandimperceptiblypaledbehindhim。Hesawthelightinthehousegoout。ButhedidnotseeMrsBoltoncometothewindowanddrawbacktheoldcurtainofdark-bluesilk，andstandherselfinthedarkroom，lookingoutonthehalf-darkoftheapproachingday，lookingforthelonged-fordawn，waiting，waitingforCliffordtobereallyreassuredthatitwasdaybreak。Forwhenhewassureofdaybreak，hewouldsleepalmostatonce。
Shestoodblindwithsleepatthewindow，waiting。Andasshestood，shestarted，andalmostcriedout。Fortherewasamanoutthereonthedrive，ablackfigureinthetwilight。Shewokeupgreyly，andwatched，butwithoutmakingasoundtodisturbSirClifford。
Thedaylightbegantorustleintotheworld，andthedarkfigureseemedtogosmallerandmoredefined。Shemadeoutthegunandgaitersandbaggyjacket——itwouldbeOliverMellors，thekeeper。`Yes，fortherewasthedognosingaroundlikeashadow，andwaitingforhim’!
Andwhatdidthemanwant？Didhewanttorousethehouse？Whatwashestandingtherefor，transfixed，lookingupatthehouselikealove-sickmaledogoutsidethehousewherethebitchis？
Goodness!TheknowledgewentthroughMrsBoltonlikeashot。HewasLadyChatterley’slover!He!He!
Tothinkofit!Why，she，IvyBolton，hadoncebeenatinybitinlovewithhimherself。Whenhewasaladofsixteenandsheawomanoftwenty-six。
Itwaswhenshewasstudying，andhehadhelpedheralotwiththeanatomyandthingsshehadhadtolearn。He’dbeenacleverboy，hadascholarshipforSheffieldGrammarSchool，andlearnedFrenchandthings：andthenafterallhadbecomeanoverheadblacksmithshoeinghorses，becausehewasfondofhorses，hesaid：butreallybecausehewasfrightenedtogooutandfacetheworld，onlyhe’dneveradmitit。
Buthe’dbeenanicelad，anicelad，hadhelpedheralot，socleveratmakingthingscleartoyou。HewasquiteascleverasSirClifford：
andalwaysoneforthewomen。Morewithwomenthanmen，theysaid。
Tillhe’dgoneandmarriedthatBerthaCoutts，asiftospitehimself。
Somepeopledomarrytospitethemselves，becausethey’redisappointedofsomething。Andnowonderithadbeenafailure——Foryearshewasgone，allthetimeofthewar：andalieutenantandall：quitethegentleman，reallyquitethegentleman!——ThentocomebacktoTevershallandgoasagame-keeper!Really，somepeoplecan’ttaketheirchanceswhenthey’vegotthem!AndtalkingbroadDerbyshireagainliketheworst，whenshe，IvyBolton，knewhespokelikeanygentleman，really。
Well，well!Soherladyshiphadfallenforhim!Wellherladyshipwasn’tthefirst：therewassomethingabouthim。Butfancy!ATevershallladbornandbred，andsheherladyshipinWragbyHall!Myword，thatwasaslapbackatthehigh-and-mightyChatterleys!
Buthe，thekeeper，asthedaygrew，hadrealized：it’snogood!It’snogoodtryingtogetridofyourownaloneness。You’vegottosticktoitallyourlife。Onlyattimes，attimes，thegapwillbefilledin。Attimes!Butyouhavetowaitforthetimes。Acceptyourownalonenessandsticktoit，allyourlife。Andthenacceptthetimeswhenthegapisfilledin，whentheycome。Butthey’vegottocome。Youcan’tforcethem。
Withasuddensnapthebleedingdesirethathaddrawnhimafterherbroke。Hehadbrokenit，becauseitmustbeso。Theremustbeacomingtogetheronbothsides。Andifshewasn’tcomingtohim，hewouldn’ttrackherdown。Hemustn’t。Hemustgoaway，tillshecame。
Heturnedslowly，ponderingly，acceptingagaintheisolation。Heknewitwasbetterso。Shemustcometohim：itwasnousehistrailingafterher。Nouse!
MrsBoltonsawhimdisappear，sawhisdogrunafterhim。
`Well，well!’shesaid。`He’stheonemanIneverthoughtof；andtheonemanImighthavethoughtof。Hewasnicetomewhenhewasalad，afterIlostTed。Well，well!Whateverwouldhesayifheknew!’
AndsheglancedtriumphantlyatthealreadysleepingClifford，asshesteppedsoftlyfromtheroom。
Chapter11
ConniewassortingoutoneoftheWragbylumberrooms。Therewereseveral：
thehousewasawarren，andthefamilyneversoldanything。SirGeoffery’sfatherhadlikedpicturesandSirGeoffery’smotherhadlikedcinquecentofurniture。SirGeofferyhimselfhadlikedoldcarvedoakchests，vestrychests。Soitwentonthroughthegenerations。Cliffordcollectedverymodernpictures，atverymoderateprices。
SointhelumberroomtherewerebadSirEdwinLandseersandpatheticWilliamHenryHuntbirds’nests：andotherAcademystuff，enoughtofrightenthedaughterofanR。A。Shedeterminedtolookthroughitoneday，andclearitall。Andthegrotesquefurnitureinterestedher。
Wrappedupcarefullytopreserveitfromdamageanddry-rotwastheoldfamilycradle，ofrosewood。Shehadtounwrapit，tolookatit。Ithadacertaincharm：shelookedatitalongtime。
`It’sthousandpitiesitwon’tbecalledfor，’sighedMrsBolton，whowashelping。`Thoughcradleslikethatareoutofdatenowadays。’
`Itmightbecalledfor。Imighthaveachild，’saidConniecasually，asifsayingshemighthaveanewhat。
`YoumeanifanythinghappenedtoSirClifford!’stammeredMrsBolton。
`No!Imeanasthingsare。It’sonlymuscularparalysiswithSirClifford——itdoesn’taffecthim，’saidConnie，lyingasnaturallyasbreathing。
Cliffordhadputtheideaintoherhead。Hehadsaid：`OfcourseImayhaveachildyet。I’mnotreallymutilatedatall。Thepotencymayeasilycomeback，evenifthemusclesofthehipsandlegsareparalysed。Andthentheseedmaybetransferred。’
Hereallyfelt，whenhehadhisperiodsofenergyandworkedsohardatthequestionofthemines，asifhissexualpotencywerereturning。
Conniehadlookedathiminterror。Butshewasquitequick-wittedenoughtousehissuggestionforherownpreservation。Forshewouldhaveachildifshecould：butnothis。