At the North Wall

At the station at the North Wall, among the swaying crowd, Frank holds her hand and talks about the passage. Through the doors of the sheds she sees the black mass of the boat, with lighted portholes.

She says nothing. Her cheek is pale and cold. In her distress, she prays to God to show her what her duty is. The boat blows a long, mournful whistle into the mist. Their passage is booked. Can she still draw back, after all he has done for her? She feels sick, and keeps moving her lips in silent prayer.

A bell clangs upon her heart. Frank seizes her hand: 'Come!' 'All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart.' He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She grips the iron railing with both hands.

'Come!' No! No! No! It is impossible. Her hands clutch the iron in a frenzy.

Frank rushes beyond the barrier, calling 'Eveline! Evvy!' and begging her to follow. She turns her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes give him no sign of love, or farewell, or recognition.

In the end, fear, duty and habit are stronger than her wish for happiness. The story asks a hard question: when duty to family and the right to personal happiness pull apart, how does one choose?