“But when we’re together we’re perfectly happy,” he said.  He continued to hold her hand.

The light being dim, it was impossible to see any change in her face.  An immense feeling of peace came over Terence, so that he had no wish to move or to speak.  The terrible torture and unreality of the last days were over, and he had come out now into perfect certainty and peace.  His mind began to work naturally again and with great ease.  The longer he sat there the more profoundly was he conscious of the peace invading every corner of his soul.  Once he held his breath and listened acutely; she was still breathing; he went on thinking for some time; they seemed to be thinking together; he seemed to be Rachel as well as himself; and then he listened again; no, she had ceased to breathe.  So much the better—­this was death.  It was nothing; it was to cease to breathe.  It was happiness, it was perfect happiness.  They had now what they had always wanted to have, the union which had been impossible while they lived.  Unconscious whether he thought the words or spoke them aloud, he said, “No two people have ever been so happy as we have been.  No one has ever loved as we have loved.”

It seemed to him that their complete union and happiness filled the room with rings eddying more and more widely.  He had no wish in the world left unfulfilled.  They possessed what could never be taken from them.

He was not conscious that any one had come into the room, but later, moments later, or hours later perhaps, he felt an arm behind him.  The arms were round him.  He did not want to have arms round him, and the mysterious whispering voices annoyed him.  He laid Rachel’s hand, which was now cold, upon the counterpane, and rose from his chair, and walked across to the window.  The windows were uncurtained, and showed the moon, and a long silver pathway upon the surface of the waves.

“Why,” he said, in his ordinary tone of voice, “look at the moon.  There’s a halo round the moon.  We shall have rain to-morrow.”

The arms, whether they were the arms of man or of woman, were round him again; they were pushing him gently towards the door.  He turned of his own accord and walked steadily in advance of the arms, conscious of a little amusement at the strange way in which people behaved merely because some one was dead.  He would go if they wished it, but nothing they could do would disturb his happiness.

As he saw the passage outside the room, and the table with the cups and the plates, it suddenly came over him that here was a world in which he would never see Rachel again.

“Rachel!  Rachel!” he shrieked, trying to rush back to her.  But they prevented him, and pushed him down the passage and into a bedroom far from her room.  Downstairs they could hear the thud of his feet on the floor, as he struggled to break free; and twice they heard him shout, “Rachel, Rachel!”

Chapter XXVI