Women in Love

Yet again, they were flickering their way to the centre, finding the

path blindly, enviously. And again, all was still, as Birkin and Ursula

watched. The waters were loud on the shore. He saw the moon regathering

itself insidiously, saw the heart of the rose intertwining vigorously

and blindly, calling back the scattered fragments, winning home the

fragments, in a pulse and in effort of return.

And he was not satisfied. Like a madness, he must go on. He got large

stones, and threw them, one after the other, at the white-burning

centre of the moon, till there was nothing but a rocking of hollow

noise, and a pond surged up, no moon any more, only a few broken flakes

tangled and glittering broadcast in the darkness, without aim or

meaning, a darkened confusion, like a black and white kaleidoscope

tossed at random. The hollow night was rocking and crashing with noise,

and from the sluice came sharp, regular flashes of sound. Flakes of

light appeared here and there, glittering tormented among the shadows,

far off, in strange places; among the dripping shadow of the willow on

the island. Birkin stood and listened and was satisfied.

Ursula was dazed, her mind was all gone. She felt she had fallen to the

ground and was spilled out, like water on the earth. Motionless and

spent she remained in the gloom. Though even now she was aware,

unseeing, that in the darkness was a little tumult of ebbing flakes of

light, a cluster dancing secretly in a round, twining and coming

steadily together. They were gathering a heart again, they were coming

once more into being. Gradually the fragments caught together

re-united, heaving, rocking, dancing, falling back as in panic, but

working their way home again persistently, making semblance of fleeing

away when they had advanced, but always flickering nearer, a little

closer to the mark, the cluster growing mysteriously larger and

brighter, as gleam after gleam fell in with the whole, until a ragged

rose, a distorted, frayed moon was shaking upon the waters again,

re-asserted, renewed, trying to recover from its convulsion, to get

over the disfigurement and the agitation, to be whole and composed, at

peace.

Birkin lingered vaguely by the water. Ursula was afraid that he would

stone the moon again. She slipped from her seat and went down to him,

saying: 'You won't throw stones at it any more, will you?' 'How long have you been there?' 'All the time. You won't throw any more stones, will you?' 'I wanted to see if I could make it be quite gone off the pond,' he

said.