the words of contempt Louise had
spoken, came straight from her heart; but he had also known the faint
stir ring of a new hope, and particularly was this the case when he had
not seen Louise for some time. Then, at night, as he lay staring before
him, this feeling became a sudden refulgence, which lighted him through
all the dark hours, only to be remorselessly extinguished by daylight.
Most frequently, however, it was so slender a hope as to be a mere
distracting flutter at his heart. Whence it sprang, he could not
tell--he knew Louise too well to believe, for a moment, that she would
make use of pique to hide her feelings. But there was a something in
her manner, which was strained; in the fact that she, who had never
cared, should at length be moved by words of his; in a certain way she
had looked at him, once or twice in these days; or in a certain way she
had avoided looking at him. No, he did not know what it was. But
nevertheless it was there--a faint, inarticulate existence--and,
compared with it, the tangible facts of life were the shadows of a
shadow.

Surely she had fallen asleep. He said her name aloud, to try her.
"Louise!" She did not stir, and the word floated out into the
night--became an expression of the night itself.

They had passed the weir and its foaming, and now glided under the
bridges that spanned the narrower windings of the river. The wooden
bathing-house looked awesome enough to harbour mysteries. Another sharp
turn, among sedge and rushes, and the outlying streets of the town were
on their right. The boat-sheds were in darkness, when they drew up
alongside the narrow landing-place. Maurice got out with the chain in
his hand, and secured the boat. Louise did not follow immediately. Her
hair had come down, and she was stiff from the cramped position in
which she had been lying. When she did rise to her feet, she could
hardly stand. He put out his hand, and steadied her by the arm.

"A heavy dew must be falling. Your sleeve is wet."

She made a movement to draw her arm away; at the same moment, she
tangled her foot in her skirt, tripped, and, if he had not caught her,
would have fallen forward.

"Take care what you're doing! Do you want to drown yourself?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't mind, I think," she answered tonelessly.

His own balance had been endangered. Directly he had righted himself,
he set her from him. But it could not be undone: he had had her in his
arms, had felt all her