very different from Father Roubier, more human."

"Father Beret is very human, I think," she answered.

She was still smiling. It had just occurred to her that the priest had
timed his visit with some forethought.

"I am coming," she added.

A sudden cheerfulness had taken possession of her. All the morning she
had been feeling grave, even almost apprehensive, after a bad night.
When her husband had abruptly left her and gone away into the darkness
she had been overtaken by a sudden wave of acute depression. She had
felt, more painfully than ever before, the mental separation which
existed between them despite their deep love, and a passionate but
almost hopeless longing had filled her heart that in all things they
might be one, not only in love of each other, but in love of God. When
Androvsky had taken his arms from her she had seemed to feel herself
released by a great despair, and this certainty--for as he vanished into
the darkness she was no more in doubt that his love for her left room
within his heart for such an agony--had for a moment brought her soul to
the dust. She had been overwhelmed by a sensation that instead of
being close together they were far apart, almost strangers, and a great
bitterness had entered into her. It was accompanied by a desire for
action. She longed to follow Androvsky, to lay her hand on his arm, to
stop him in the sand and force him to confide in her. For the first
time the idea that he was keeping something from her, a sorrow, almost
maddened her, even made her feel jealous. The fact that she divined what
that sorrow was, or believed she divined it, did not help her just then.
She waited a long while, but Androvsky did not return, and at last she
prayed and went to bed. But her prayers were feeble, disjointed, and
sleep did not come to her, for her mind was travelling with this man
who loved her and who yet was out there alone in the night, who was
deliberately separating himself from her. Towards dawn, when he stole
into the tent, she was still awake, but she did not speak or give any
sign of consciousness, although she was hot with the fierce desire to
spring up, to throw her arms round him, to draw his head down upon her
heart, and say, "I have given myself, body, heart and soul, to you. Give
yourself to me; give me the thing you are keeping back--your sorrow.
Till I have that I have not all of you. And till I have all of you I am
in hell."

It was a mad impulse. She resist