"We must go," he said, and remembering the softness of his voice, he was tormented.
She sprang up, and the long silence was broken. They walked home side by side, and she had talked and drawn talk from him until he was telling her the thoughts he hardly knew were his, and now found were his best possessions. With perfect confidence in her interest, he told her the great and little things about his work, and she did not fail him. It was her mind he sought and she gave it gladly; he knew there were no barriers raised against him, and his own were all thrown down.
They had clasped hands in farewell, and she had thanked him for her day, and suddenly her face had become as beautiful for him as her body. It was elfin in the gloaming and tremulous with life, and he saw the loveliness of her lips.
Long after she had left him he sat staring at the stream, shaking and half-afraid because of his fierce desire to touch her.
The water was dark and hardly discernible except where foam gathered and pale waterfalls were splashing, but it was Theresa that he saw. Now he would push her from him in anger, hating himself for his need, and a moment later twine his fingers among hers and draw her back, looking into her clear, unflinching eyes, telling her it was her companionship as well as her sweet frame he wanted, the mind that had sprung so swiftly to his meaning and never fallen short. And then again there would come a terrible distrust, born of his physical desire. How was he to clear himself of that and see an uncaged Theresa flown from the vivid body that might and might not be the expression of herself? Better perhaps to see neither bird nor gilded wires, to forget the singing she had started in his breast, and to go steadily on his chosen road. Why should he introduce strange new gods into his worship? Would they satisfy him? Would they not hinder him, and demand the offering up of sacrifices he could not give?
He cried aloud, and his voice fell in with the sound of the rushing water. "Oh, Theresa, you heather flower, I'll give you anything but my work, if you'll only be what your face says you are. But you can't be that. Can you? Can you? It would be like Heaven opened. Oh, fool—fool—fool!"
He stood up strongly, holding down his hands. "And I thought myself a stubborn man to beat! Well, and I'm not beaten yet."
Nevertheless, late that night he stole round the house and sat long on the horse-block, for it was just below her window.