couldn't."

He made a gesture as if to say:

"That's sufficient."

In his soul and in his body he experienced a nervous reaction from
tenderness. All at once, without transition, he detested her. But only
for a moment. He remembered that she was pretty, and, more, that she
had a special grace in the intimacy of life. She had the secret of
individuality which excites--and escapes.

He jumped up and began to walk to and fro. Presently his hidden fury
fell into dust within him, like a crazy structure, leaving behind
emptiness, desolation, regret. His resentment was not against the girl,
but against life itself--that commonest of snares, in which he felt
himself caught, seeing clearly the plot of plots and unconsoled by the
lucidity of his mind.

He swerved and, stepping up to her, sank to the ground by her side.
Before she could make a movement or even turn her head his way, he took
her in his arms and kissed her lips. He tasted on them the bitterness
of a tear fallen there. He had never seen her cry. It was like another
appeal to his tenderness--a new seduction. The girl glanced round,
moved suddenly away, and averted her face. With her hand she signed
imperiously to him to leave her alone--a command which Heyst did not
obey.

CHAPTER FIVE

When she opened her eyes at last and sat up, Heyst scrambled quickly to
his feet and went to pick up her cork helmet, which had rolled a little
way off. Meanwhile she busied herself in doing up her hair, plaited on
the top of her head in two heavy, dark tresses, which had come loose. He
tendered her the helmet in silence, and waited as if unwilling to hear
the sound of his own voice.

"We had better go down now," he suggested in a low tone.

He extended his hand to help her up. He had the intention to smile,
but abandoned it at the nearer sight of her still face, in which was
depicted the infinite lassitude of her soul. On their way to regain the
forest path they had to pass through the spot from which the view of
the sea could be obtained. The flaming abyss of emptiness, the liquid,
undulating glare, the tragic brutality of the light, made her long for
the friendly night, with its stars stilled by an austere spell; for the
velvety dark sky and the mysterious great shadow of the sea, conveying
peace to the day-weary heart. She put her hand to her eyes. Behind her
back Heyst spoke gently.

"Let us get on, Lena."

She walked ahead in silence. Heyst remarked that th