of some irrational impulse that had driven her out of the house.
And the quick picture she drew, of how, in her native land, the brief
winter passed almost without transition into the scathing summer; her
suggestion of unchanging leaves, brown barrenness, and and dryness; of
grass burnt to cinders, of dust, drought, and hot, sandy winds: all
this helped him to understand something of what she was feeling. A
remembrance of this parched heat was in her veins, making her eager not
to miss any of the young, teeming beauty around her, or one of the new
strange scents; eager to let the magic of this awakening permeate her
and amaze her, like a primeval happening. But, though he thus grasped
something of what was going on in her, he was none the less uneasy
under it: just as her feverish unburdening of herself after hours of
silence, so now her attitude towards this mere change of nature
disquieted him; she over-enjoyed it, let herself go in its exuberance.
And, as usual, when she lost hold of her nerves, he found himself
retreating into his shell, practising self-control for two.

Often, how often he could not count, the words that had to be said had
risen to his lips. But they had never crossed them--in spite of the
wanton greenness of the woods, which should have been the very frame in
which to tell a woman you loved her. But not one drop of her nervous
exaltation was meant for him: she had never shown, by the least sign,
that she cared a jot for him; and daily he became more convinced that
he was chasing a shadow, that he was nothing to her but the STAFFAGE in
the picture of her life. He was torn by doubts, and mortally afraid of
the one little word that would put an end to them.

He recollected one occasion when he had nearly succeeded in telling
her, and when, but for a trick of fate, he would have done so. They
were on their way home from the NONNE, where the delicate undergrowth
of the high old trees was most prodigal, and where Louise had closed
her eyes, and drunk in the rich, earthy odours. They had paused on the
suspension bridge, and stood, she with one ungloved hand on the
railing, to watch the moving water. Looking at her, it had seemed to
him that just on this afternoon, she might listen to what he had to say
with a merciful attentiveness; she was quiet, and her face was gentle.
He gripped the rail with both hands. But, before he could open his
lips, a third person turned from the wood-path on to the bridge, ma