ny minute, so that without each other there was no meaning in anything.
It would not help a single soul, for them to murder their love and all
the happiness of their lives; to go on in a sort of living death.
Even if it were wrong, he would rather do that wrong, and take the
consequences! But it was not, it COULD not be wrong, when they felt like
that!

And all the time that he was pouring forth those supplications, his eyes
searched and searched her face. But there only came from her: "I don't
know--I can't tell--if only I knew!" And then he was silent, stricken
to the heart; till, at a look or a touch from her, he would break out
again: "You do love me--you do; then what does anything else matter?"

And so it went on and on that summer afternoon, in the deserted
room meant for such other things, where the two Frenchmen were too
sympathetic, and the old official too drowsy, to come. Then it all
narrowed to one fierce, insistent question:

"What is it--WHAT is it you're afraid of?"

But to that, too, he got only the one mournful answer, paralyzing in its
fateful monotony.

"I don't know--I can't tell!"

It was awful to go on thus beating against this uncanny, dark, shadowy
resistance; these unreal doubts and dreads, that by their very dumbness
were becoming real to him, too. If only she could tell him what she
feared! It could not be poverty--that was not like her--besides, he had
enough for both. It could not be loss of a social position, which was
but irksome to her! Surely it was not fear that he would cease to love
her! What was it? In God's name--what?

To-morrow--she had told him--she was to go down, alone, to the
river-house; would she not come now, this very minute, to him instead?
And they would start off--that night, back to the South where their
love had flowered. But again it was: "I can't! I don't know--I must have
time!" And yet her eyes had that brooding love-light. How COULD she hold
back and waver? But, utterly exhausted, he did not plead again; did not
even resist when she said: "You must go, now; and leave me to get back!
I will write. Perhaps--soon--I shall know." He begged for, and took one
kiss; then, passing the old official, went quickly up and out.

XV

He reached his rooms overcome by a lassitude that was not, however,
quite despair. He had made his effort, failed--but there was still
within him the unconquerable hope of the passionate lover.... As well
try to extinguish in full