Athalie

After a long while he rose from the window, went to his door again,

opened it and looked out. And saw her still leaning against the window

at the corridor's dim end.

She looked around, laughing softly as he came up: "All this--the

night, the fragrance, and you, have hopelessly bewitched me. I can't

sleep; I don't wish to.... But you, poor boy--you haven't even

undressed. You look very tired and white, Clive. Why is it you can't

sleep?"

He did not answer.

"Shall I get my book and read aloud to you? It's silly stuff--love,

and such things. Shall I?"

"No--I'm going back," he answered curtly.

She glanced around at him curiously. For, that day, a new

comprehension of men and their various humours had come to enlighten

her; she had begun to understand even where she could not feel.

And so, tenderly, gently, in shy sympathy with the powerful currents

that swept this man beside her,--but still herself ignorant of their

power, she laid her cool cheek against his, drawing his head closer.

"Dearest--dearest--" she murmured vaguely.

His head turned, and hers turned instinctively to meet it; and her

arms crept up around his neck.

Then of a sudden she had freed herself, stepped back, one nervous arm

outflung as if in self-defence. But her hand fell, caught on the

window-sill and clung there for support; and she rested against it

breathing rapidly and unevenly.

"Athalie--dear."

"Let me go now--"

Her lips burned for an instant under his; were wrenched away: "Let me go, Clive--"

"You must not tremble so--"

"I can't help it.... I am afraid. I want to go, now. I--I want to

go--"

There was a chair by the window; she sank down on it and dropped her

head back against the wall behind.

And, as he stood there beside her, over her shoulder through the open

window he saw two men in the garden below, watching them.

Presently she lifted her head. His eyes remained fixed on the men

below who never moved.

She said with an effort; "Are you displeased, Clive?"

"No, my darling."

"It was not because I do not love you. Only--I--"

"I know," he whispered, his eyes fixed steadily on the men.

After a silence she said under her breath: "I understand better now

why I ought to wait for you--if there is any hope for us,--as long as

there is any chance. And after that--if there is no chance for

us--then nothing can matter."