water. He was a long way
from her. She had been thinking.

"Will you always stay at Jordan's?" she asked.

"No," he answered without reflecting. "No; I s'll leave Nottingham and
go abroad--soon."

"Go abroad! What for?"

"I dunno! I feel restless."

"But what shall you do?"

"I shall have to get some steady designing work, and some sort of sale
for my pictures first," he said. "I am gradually making my way. I know I
am."

"And when do you think you'll go?"

"I don't know. I shall hardly go for long, while there's my mother."

"You couldn't leave her?"

"Not for long."

She looked at the stars in the black water. They lay very white and
staring. It was an agony to know he would leave her, but it was almost
an agony to have him near her.

"And if you made a nice lot of money, what would you do?" she asked.

"Go somewhere in a pretty house near London with my mother."

"I see."

There was a long pause.

"I could still come and see you," he said. "I don't know. Don't ask me
what I should do; I don't know."

There was a silence. The stars shuddered and broke upon the water. There
came a breath of wind. He went suddenly to her, and put his hand on her
shoulder.

"Don't ask me anything about the future," he said miserably. "I don't
know anything. Be with me now, will you, no matter what it is?"

And she took him in her arms. After all, she was a married woman, and
she had no right even to what he gave her. He needed her badly. She had
him in her arms, and he was miserable. With her warmth she folded
him over, consoled him, loved him. She would let the moment stand for
itself.

After a moment he lifted his head as if he wanted to speak.

"Clara," he said, struggling.

She caught him passionately to her, pressed his head down on her breast
with her hand. She could not bear the suffering in his voice. She was
afraid in her soul. He might have anything of her--anything; but she did
not want to KNOW. She felt she could not bear it. She wanted him to be
soothed upon her--soothed. She stood clasping him and caressing him, and
he was something unknown to her--something almost uncanny. She wanted to
soothe him into forgetfulness.

And soon the struggle went down in his soul, and he forgot. But then
Clara was not there for him, only a woman, warm, something he loved
and almost worshipped, there in the dark. But it was not Clara, and she
submitted to him. The naked hunger and inevitability of his loving h