stand that nothing
proves anything; that everything is unforeseen, inconsistent, and
unexpected; and that we must just simply 'believe,' because it is good
to believe and because it is sweet to offer to others what we ourselves
are unhappy enough to lack."

She went on:

"But what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go away from here."

"Why?"

"Because you are wretched here."

"Has any one said so?"

"What does it matter what any one has said? I have only to look at you
to see that you are not happy. Oh, please don't regard this as an act of
charity, I would not even dare to talk about kindness! The interest that
impels me is one which you do not yet know; it looks to none for
recompense; it is its own reward. It is the mere joy, the mere delight
of knowledge.... Do you understand?"

She shook her head; and I began to laugh:

"I suppose I really am a little obscure!... But why do you force me to
explain myself now? You learn to understand me by degrees.... I am
leading you towards a goal of which I am almost as ignorant as you are;
I am only the guide waving a hand towards the roads which he himself has
taken and never knowing what the traveller will see or feel in the
depths of his being."

She was going to speak, but I placed my hand on her lips:

"Hush! I ask nothing more of you. I shall know how to win your
confidence."

I feel that she is silenced but not convinced. Hers is not a character
to be thus persuaded: she will wait for deeds before judging the
sincerity of words. I feel clearly that she is searching and judging me,
while I myself am engaged in discovering her; and I shall have some
curiosity in bending over the untroubled waters of that soul in order to
see my image there, as soon as there is sufficient light to reflect my
image.

CHAPTER VII

1

Rose is already almost happy. Hope is penetrating her life; and the
moments of rest filter into her days of wearisome toil like the cool
water trickling through the rocks.

As soon as she can get away on any excuse, she runs across to me.
Flushed and laughing, she hurls herself into my arms with all the
violence of a catastrophe; she crushes my cheek with a vehement kiss
which waits for no response; and my hair catches in the rough hands
squeezing my head. Smiling, I cannot help warding off the attack, while
she pours out a torrent of incoherent words at the top of her voice....

During our early talks, I tried speaking very q