his very heart seemed parched with
nervousness. Was it real that he was going to her, or only some
fantastic trick of Fate, a dream from which he would wake to find himself
alone again? He passed the dove-cot at last, and kept on till he could
round into the backwater and steal up under cover to the poplar. He
arrived a few minutes before eight o'clock, turned the boat round, and
waited close beneath the bank, holding to a branch, and standing so that
he could see the path. If a man could die from longing and anxiety,
surely Lennan must have died then!

All wind had failed, and the day was fallen into a wonderful still
evening. Gnats were dancing in the sparse strips of sunlight that
slanted across the dark water, now that the sun was low. From the
fields, bereft of workers, came the scent of hay and the heavy scent of
meadow-sweet; the musky odour of the backwater was confused with them
into one brooding perfume. No one passed. And sounds were few and far
to that wistful listener, for birds did not sing just there. How still
and warm was the air, yet seemed to vibrate against his cheeks as though
about to break into flame. That fancy came to him vividly while he stood
waiting--a vision of heat simmering in little pale red flames. On the
thick reeds some large, slow, dusky flies were still feeding, and now and
then a moorhen a few yards away splashed a little, or uttered a sharp,
shrill note. When she came--if she did come!--they would not stay here,
in this dark earthy backwater; he would take her over to the other side,
away to the woods! But the minutes passed, and his heart sank. Then it
leaped up. Someone was coming--in white, with bare head, and something
blue or black flung across her arm. It was she! No one else walked like
that! She came very quickly. And he noticed that her hair looked like
little wings on either side of her brow, as if her face were a white bird
with dark wings, flying to love! Now she was close, so close that he
could see her lips parted, and her eyes love-lighted--like nothing in the
world but darkness wild with dew and starlight. He reached up and lifted
her down into the boat, and the scent of some flower pressed against his
face seemed to pierce into him and reach his very heart, awakening the
memory of something past, forgotten. Then, seizing the branches,
snapping them in his haste, he dragged the skiff along through the
sluggish water, the gnats dancing in his face.