She repeated “I like it.”  She was walking fast, and holding herself more erect than usual.  There was another pause.

“You like being with me?” Terence asked.

“Yes, with you,” she replied.

He was silent for a moment.  Silence seemed to have fallen upon the world.

“That is what I have felt ever since I knew you,” he replied.  “We are happy together.”  He did not seem to be speaking, or she to be hearing.

“Very happy,” she answered.

They continued to walk for some time in silence.  Their steps unconsciously quickened.

“We love each other,” Terence said.

“We love each other,” she repeated.

The silence was then broken by their voices which joined in tones of strange unfamiliar sound which formed no words.  Faster and faster they walked; simultaneously they stopped, clasped each other in their arms, then releasing themselves, dropped to the earth.  They sat side by side.  Sounds stood out from the background making a bridge across their silence; they heard the swish of the trees and some beast croaking in a remote world.

“We love each other,” Terence repeated, searching into her face.  Their faces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing.  He was afraid to kiss her again.  By degrees she drew close to him, and rested against him.  In this position they sat for some time.  She said “Terence” once; he answered “Rachel.”

“Terrible—­terrible,” she murmured after another pause, but in saying this she was thinking as much of the persistent churning of the water as of her own feeling.  On and on it went in the distance, the senseless and cruel churning of the water.  She observed that the tears were running down Terence’s cheeks.

The next movement was on his part.  A very long time seemed to have passed.  He took out his watch.

“Flushing said an hour.  We’ve been gone more than half an hour.”

“And it takes that to get back,” said Rachel.  She raised herself very slowly.  When she was standing up she stretched her arms and drew a deep breath, half a sigh, half a yawn.  She appeared to be very tired.  Her cheeks were white.  “Which way?” she asked.

“There,” said Terence.

They began to walk back down the mossy path again.  The sighing and creaking continued far overhead, and the jarring cries of animals.  The butterflies were circling still in the patches of yellow sunlight.  At first Terence was certain of his way, but as they walked he became doubtful.  They had to stop to consider, and then to return and start once more, for although he was certain of the direction of the river he was not certain of striking the point where they had left the others.  Rachel followed him, stopping where he stopped, turning where he turned, ignorant of the way, ignorant why he stopped or why he turned.

“I don’t want to be late,” he said, “because—­” He put a flower into her hand and her fingers closed upon it quietly.  “We’re so late—­so late—­so horribly late,” he repeated as if he were talking in his sleep.  “Ah—­this is right.  We turn here.”