seemed that she could never again be utterly unhappy。 Then； too； in
her nature； so deeply； unreasoningly incapable of perceiving the
importance of any principle but love； there was a secret feeling of
assurance； of triumph。 He did love her！ And she； him！ Well！ And
suddenly panic…stricken； lest he should take back those words； she
put her hand up to his breast； and said：
〃And I love you。〃
The feel of his arms round her； the strength and passion of that
moment； were so terribly sweet； that she died to thought； just
looking up at him； with lips parted and eyes darker with the depth of
her love than he had ever dreamed that eyes could be。 The madness of
his own feeling kept him silent。 And they stood there； so merged in
one another that they knew and cared nothing for any other mortal
thing。 It was very still in the room； the roses and carnations in
the lustre bowl； seeming to know that their mistress was caught up
into heaven； had let their perfume steal forth and occupy every
cranny of the abandoned air； a hovering bee； too； circled round the
lovers' heads； scenting； it seemed； the honey in their hearts。
It has been said that Miltoun's face was not unhandsome； for Audrey
Noel at this moment when his eyes were so near hers； and his lips
touching her； he was transfigured； and had become the spirit of all
beauty。 And she； with heart beating fast against him； her eyes； half
closing from delight； and her hair asking to be praised with its
fragrance； her cheeks fainting pale with emotion； and her arms too
languid with happiness to embrace himshe； to him； was the
incarnation of the woman that visits dreams。
So passed that moment。
The bee ended it； who； impatient with flowers that hid their honey so
deep； had entangled himself in Audrey's hair。 And then； seeing that
words； those dreaded things； were on his lips； she tried to kiss them
back。 But they came：
〃When will you marry me？〃
It all swayed a little。 And with marvellous rapidity the whole
position started up before her。 She saw； with preternatural insight；
into its nooks and corners。 Something he had said one day； when they
were talking of the Church view of marriage and divorce； lighted all
up。 So he had really never known about her！ At this moment of utter
sickness； she was saved from fainting by her sense of humourher
cynicism。 Not content to let her be； people's tongues had divorced
her； he had believed them！ And the crown of irony was that he should
want to marry her； when she felt so utterly； so sacredly his； to do
what he liked with sans forms or ceremonies。 A surge of bitter
feeling against the man who stood between her and Miltoun almost made
her cry out。 That man had captured her before she knew the world or
her own soul； and she was tied to him； till by some beneficent chance
he drew his last breath when her hair was grey； and her eyes had no
love light； and her cheeks no longer grew pale when they were kissed；
when twilight had fallen； and the flowers； and bees no longer cared
for her。
It was that feeling； the sudden revolt of the desperate prisoner；
which steeled her to put out her hand； take up the paper； and give it
to Miltoun。
When he had read the little paragraph； there followed one of those
eternities which last perhaps two minutes。
He said； then：
〃It's true； I suppose？〃 And； at her silence； added： 〃I am sorry。〃
This queer dry saying was so much more terrible than any outcry； that
she remained； deprived even of the power of breathing； with her eyes
still fixed on Miltoun's face。
The smile of the old Cardinal had come up there； and was to her like
a living accusation。 It seemed strange that the hum of the bees and
flies and the gentle swishing of the limetree should still go on
outside； insisting that there was a world moving and breathing apart
from her； and careless of her misery。 Then some of her courage came
back； and with it her woman's mute power。 It came haunting about her
face； perfectly still； about her lips； sensitive and drawn； about her
eyes； dark； almost mutinous under their arched brows。 She stood；
drawing him with silence and beauty。
At last he spoke：
〃I have made a foolish mistake； it seems。 I believed you were free。〃
Her lips just moved for the words to pass： 〃I thought you knew。 I
never； dreamed you would want to marry me。〃
It seemed to her natural that he should be thinking only of himself；
but with the subtlest defensive instinct； she put forward her own
tragedy：
〃I suppose I had got too used to knowing I was dead。〃
〃Is there no release？〃
〃None。 We have neither of us done wrong； besides with him； marriage
isfor ever。〃
〃My God！〃
She had broken his smile； which had been cruel without meaning to be
cruel； and with a smile of her own that was cruel too； she said：
〃I didn't know that you believed in release either。〃
Then； as though she had stabbed herself in stabbing him； her face
quivered。
He looked at her now； conscious at last that she was suffering。 And
she felt that he was holding himself in with all his might from
taking her again into his arms。 Seeing this； the warmth crept back
to her lips； and a little light into her eyes； which she kept hidden
from him。 Though she stood so proudly still； some wistful force was
coming from her； as from a magnet； and Miltoun's hands and arms and
face twitched as though palsied。 This struggle； dumb and pitiful；
seemed never to be coming to an end in the little white room；
darkened by the thatch of the verandah； and sweet with the scent of
pinks and of a wood fire just lighted somewhere out at the back。
Then； without a word； he turned and went out。 She heard the wicket
gate swing to。 He was gone。
CHAPTER XVI
Lord Denis was fly…fishingthe weather just too bright to allow the
little trout of that shallow； never silent stream to embrace with
avidity the small enticements which he threw in their direction。
Nevertheless he continued to invite them； exploring every nook of
their watery pathway with his soft…swishing line。 In a rough suit
and battered hat adorned with those artificial and other flies； which
infest Harris tweed； he crept along among the hazel bushes and thorn…
trees； perfectly happy。 Like an old spaniel； who has once gloried in
the fetching of hares； rabbits； and all manner of fowl； and is now
glad if you will but throw a stick for him； so one； who had been a
famous fisher before the Lord； who had harried the waters of Scotland
and Norway； Florida and Iceland； now pursued trout no bigger than
sardines。 The glamour of a thousand memories hallowed the hours he
thus spent by that brown water。 He fished unhasting； religious； like
some good Catholic adding one more to the row of beads already told；
as though he would fish himself； gravely； without complaint； into the
other world。 With each fish caught he experienced a solemn
satisfaction。
Though he would have liked Barbara with him that morning； he had only
looked at her once after breakfast in such a way that she could not
see him； and with a dry smile gone off by himself。 Down by the
stream it was dappled； both cool and warm； windless； the trees met
over the river； and there were many stones； forming little basins
which held up the ripple； so that the casting of a fly required much
cunning。 This long dingle ran for miles through the foot…growth of
folding hills。 It was beloved of jays； but of human beings there
were none； except a chicken…farmer's widow； who lived in a house
thatched almost to the ground； and made her livelihood by directing
tourists； with such cunning that they soon came back to her for tea。
It was while throwing a rather longer line than usual to reach a
little dark piece of crisp water that Lord Dennis heard the swishing
and crackling of someone advancing at full speed。 He frowned
slightly； feeling for the nerves of his fishes； whom he did not wish
startled。 The invader was Miltoun； hot； pale； dishevelled； with a
queer； hunted look on his face。 He stopped on seeing his great…
uncle； and instantly assumed the mask of his smile。
Lord Dennis was not the man to see what was not intended for him； and
he merely said：
〃Well； Eustace！〃 as he might have spoken； meeting his nephew in the
hall of one of his London Clubs。
Miltoun； no less polite； murmured：
〃Hope I haven't lost you anything。〃
Lord Dennis shook his head； and laying his rod on the bank； said：
〃Sit down and have a chat； old fellow。 You don't fish； I think？〃
He had not； in the least； missed the suffering behind Miltoun's mask；
his eyes were still good； and there was a little matter of some
twenty years' suffering of his own on account of a womanancient
history nowwhich had left him quaintly sensitive； for an old man；
to signs of suffering in others。
Miltoun would not have obeyed that invitation from anyone else； but
there was something about Lord Dennis which people did not resist；
his power lay in a dry ironic suavity which could not but persuade
people that impoliteness was altogether too new and raw a thing to be
indulged in。
The two sat side by side on the roots of trees。 At first they talked
a little of birds； and then were dumb； so dumb that the invisible
creatures of the woods consulted together audibly。 Lord Dennis broke
that silence。
〃This place；〃 he said； 〃always reminds me of Mark Twain's writings
can't tell why； unless it's the ever…greenness。 I like the evergreen
philosophers； Twain and Meredith。 There's no salvation except
through courage； though I never could stomach the 'strong man'
captain of his soul； Henley and Nietzsche and that sortgoes against
the grain with me。 What do you say； Eustace？〃
〃They meant well；〃 answered Miltoun； 〃but they protested too much。〃
Lord Dennis moved his head in assent。
〃To be captain of your soul！〃 continued Miltoun in a bitter voice；
〃it's a pretty phrase！〃
〃Pretty enough；〃 murmured Lord Dennis。
Miltoun looked at him。
〃And suitable to you；〃 he said。
〃No； my dear；〃 Lord Dennis answered dryly； 〃a long way off that；
thank God！〃
His eyes were fixed intently on the place where a large trout had
risen in the stillest toffee…coloured pool。 He kn