uld not recall one single little
thing that she had done to draw him to her. Was it, perhaps, her very
passivity, her native pride that never offered or asked anything, a sort
of soft stoicism in her fibre; that and some mysterious charm, as close
and intimate as scent was to a flower?

He waited to open till he heard her footstep just outside. She came in
without a word, not even looking at him. And he, too, said not a word
till he had closed the door, and made sure of her. Then they turned to
each other. Her breast was heaving a little, under her thin frock, but
she was calmer than he, with that wonderful composure of pretty women in
all the passages of love, as who should say: This is my native air!

They stood and looked at each other, as if they could never have enough,
till he said at last:

"I thought I should die before this moment came. There isn't a minute
that I don't long for you so terribly that I can hardly live."

"And do you think that I don't long for you?"

"Then come to me!"

She looked at him mournfully and shook her head.

Well, he had known that she would not. He had not earned her. What right
had he to ask her to fly against the world, to brave everything, to have
such faith in him--as yet? He had no heart to press his words, beginning
then to understand the paralyzing truth that there was no longer
any resolving this or that; with love like his he had ceased to be a
separate being with a separate will. He was entwined with her, could act
only if her will and his were one. He would never be able to say to her:
'You must!' He loved her too much. And she knew it. So there was nothing
for it but to forget the ache, and make the hour happy. But how about
that other truth--that in love there is no pause, no resting?... With
any watering, however scant, the flower will grow till its time comes
to be plucked.... This oasis in the desert--these few minutes with
her alone, were swept through and through with a feverish wind. To be
closer! How not try to be that? How not long for her lips when he had
but her hand to kiss? And how not be poisoned with the thought that in
a few minutes she would leave him and go back to the presence of that
other, who, even though she loathed him, could see and touch her when he
would? She was leaning back in the very chair where in fancy he had seen
her, and he only dared sit at her feet and look up. And this, which a
week ago would have been rapture, was now almost t