shine.
The wheels died away--I was alone.

"Presently--I think after a very long time--I turned and went back to
the monastery. Domini, that night I left the monastery. I was as one
mad. The wish to live had given place to the determination to live. I
thought of nothing else. In the chapel that evening I heard nothing--I
did not see the monks. I did not attempt to pray, for I knew that I
was going. To go was an easy matter for me. I slept alone in the
_hotellerie_, of which I had the key. When it was night I unlocked
the door. I walked to the cemetery--between the Stations of the Cross.
Domini, I did not see them. In the cemetery was a ladder, as I told you.

"Just before dawn I reached my brother's house outside of Tunis, not far
from the Bardo. I knocked. My brother himself came down to know who was
there. He, as I told you, was without religion, and had always hated my
being a monk. I told him all, without reserve. I said, 'Help me to go
away. Let me go anywhere--alone.' He gave me clothes, money. I shaved
off my beard and moustache. I shaved my head, so that the tonsure was
no longer visible. In the afternoon of that day I left Tunis. I was let
loose into life. Domini--Domini, I won't tell you where I wandered till
I came to the desert, till I met you.

"I was let loose into life, but, with my freedom, the wish to live
seemed to die in me. I was afraid of life. I was haunted by terrors. I
had been a monk so long that I did not know how to live as other men. I
did not live, I never lived--till I met you. And then--then I realised
what life may be. And then, too, I realised fully what I was. I
struggled, I fought myself. You know--now, if you look back, I think you
know that I tried--sometimes, often--I tried to--to--I tried to----"

His voice broke.

"That last day in the garden I thought that I had conquered myself, and
it was in that moment that I fell for ever. When I knew you loved me I
could fight no more. Do you understand? You have seen me, you have lived
with me, you have divined my misery. But don't--don't think, Domini,
that it ever came from you. It was the consciousness of my lie to you,
my lie to God, that--that--I can't go on--I can't tell you--I can't tell
you--you know."

He was silent. Domini said nothing, did not move. He did not look at
her, but her silence seemed to terrify him. He drew back from it sharply
and turned to the desert. He stared across the vast spaces lit up by the
moon. Still