n--well, then he would get
tired, just because she gave him everything, was so simple, and so
trustful, so dewy. And dew--wears off! The little spot of faded colour,
her tam-o'-shanter cap, wavered on far in front of him; she was looking
up into every face, and at the house windows. Had any man ever such a
cruel moment to go through? Whatever he did, he felt he would be a
beast. And he uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare. He
saw Megan stop and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he
too stopped. Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in
her distress could not resist that sight. 'Yes-she's seen nothing,' he
thought; 'everything's before her. And just for a few weeks' passion, I
shall be cutting her life to ribbons. I'd better go and hang myself
rather than do it!' And suddenly he seemed to see Stella's calm eyes
looking into his, the wave of fluffy hair on her forehead stirred by the
wind. Ah! it would be madness, would mean giving up all that he
respected, and his own self-respect. He turned and walked quickly back
towards the station. But memory of that poor, bewildered little figure,
those anxious eyes searching the passers-by, smote him too hard again,
and once more he turned towards the sea.

The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had vanished in
the stream of the noon promenaders. And impelled by the passion of
longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to be whirling
something out of reach, he hurried forward. She was nowhere to be seen;
for half an hour he looked for her; then on the beach flung himself face
downward in the sand. To find her again he knew he had only to go to the
station and wait till she returned from her fruitless quest, to take her
train home; or to take train himself and go back to the farm, so that she
found him there when she returned. But he lay inert in the sand, among
the indifferent groups of children with their spades and buckets. Pity
at her little figure wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the
spring-running of his blood; for it was all wild feeling now--the
chivalrous part, what there had been of it, was gone. He wanted her
again, wanted her kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her
quick, warm, pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night
under the moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity,
as the faun wants the nymph. The quick