y eyes, and perhaps mine alone,
detected a lingering rosy tinge--that same rosy light that gleamed upon
the pools down in the pine wood.

'_October 5th._--He knows now that I love him, and knows it from my own
lips. Nothing is left for me but flight--this is what I have come to!

'When he looks at me now, there is a strange gleam in the depths of his
eyes that was not there before. To-day, while Francesca was absent for a
moment, he took my hand and made as if he would kiss it. I managed to
draw it away, but I saw his lips tremble; I caught, as it were, the
reflection of the kiss that never left his lips, and the image of that
kiss haunts me now--it haunts me--haunts me----

'_October 6th._--On the 25th of September, on the marble seat in the
arbutus wood, he said to me--"I know you do not love me and that you
never will love me!" And on the 3rd of October--"You love me--you love
me--you cannot help but love me----"

'In Francesca's presence, he asked if I would allow him to make a study
of my hands, and I consented. He will begin to-day.

'I am nervous and frightened, as if I were going to expose my hands to
some nameless ordeal.

'Night. It has begun, the slow, sweet, unspeakable torture.

'He drew with red and black chalk. My right hand lay on a piece of
velvet; near me on the table stood a Corean vase, yellow and spotted
like the skin of a python, and in the vase was a group of orchids,
those grotesque flowers for which Francesca has so curious a
predilection.

'When I felt that I could no longer bear the ordeal, I looked at the
flowers to distract my thoughts, and their strange, distorted shapes
carried me to the distant countries of their birth, giving me a moment's
respite from my haunting grief. He went on drawing in silence; his eyes
passing continually from the paper to my hand. Two or three times he
looked at the vase; at last, rising from his chair, he said--"Excuse
me"--and lifting the vase, he carried it away and placed it on another
table. I do not know why.

'After that, he resumed his drawing with much greater freedom, as if
relieved of an annoyance.

'I cannot describe the sensation produced in me by his eyes. I felt as
if not my hand, but a part of my soul were laid bare to his scrutinising
gaze, that his eyes pierced to its very depths, exploring its most
secret recesses. Never had my hand felt so alive, so expressive, so
responsive to my heart, revealing so much that I would fain have ke