The Rainbow

"Don't you like me to-night?" said his low voice, the voice

of the shadow over her shoulder. She clenched her hands in the

dewy brilliance of the moon, as if she were mad.

"Don't you like me to-night?" repeated the soft voice.

And she knew that if she turned, she would die. A strange

rage filled her, a rage to tear things asunder. Her hands felt

destructive, like metal blades of destruction.

"Let me alone," she said.

A darkness, an obstinacy settled on him too, in a kind of

inertia. He sat inert beside her. She threw off her cloak and

walked towards the moon, silver-white herself. He followed her

closely.

The music began again and the dance. He appropriated her.

There was a fierce, white, cold passion in her heart. But he

held her close, and danced with her. Always present, like a soft

weight upon her, bearing her down, was his body against her as

they danced. He held her very close, so that she could feel his

body, the weight of him sinking, settling upon her, overcoming

her life and energy, making her inert along with him, she felt

his hands pressing behind her, upon her. But still in her body

was the subdued, cold, indomitable passion. She liked the dance:

it eased her, put her into a sort of trance. But it was only a

kind of waiting, of using up the time that intervened between

her and her pure being. She left herself against him, she let

him exert all his power over her, to bear her down. She received

all the force of his power. She even wished he might overcome

her. She was cold and unmoved as a pillar of salt.

His will was set and straining with all its tension to

encompass him and compel her. If he could only compel her. He

seemed to be annihilated. She was cold and hard and compact of

brilliance as the moon itself, and beyond him as the moonlight

was beyond him, never to be grasped or known. If he could only

set a bond round her and compel her!

So they danced four or five dances, always together, always

his will becoming more tense, his body more subtle, playing upon

her. And still he had not got her, she was hard and bright as

ever, intact. But he must weave himself round her, enclose her,

enclose her in a net of shadow, of darkness, so she would be

like a bright creature gleaming in a net of shadows, caught.

Then he would have her, he would enjoy her. How he would enjoy

her, when she was caught.

At last, when the dance was over, she would not sit down, she

walked away. He came with his arm round her, keeping her upon

the movement of his walking. And she seemed to agree. She was

bright as a piece of moonlight, as bright as a steel blade, he

seemed to be clasping a blade that hurt him. Yet he would clasp

her, if it killed him.