She wanted to show him a certain
wild-rose bush she
had discovered. She knew it was wonderful. And yet,
till he had seen it, she felt it had not come into her soul.
Only he could make it her own, immortal. She was dissatisfied.
Dew was already on the paths. In the old oak-wood a mist
was rising, and he hesitated, wondering whether one
whiteness
were a strand of fog or only campion-flowers pallid in a cloud.
By the time they came to the pine-trees Miriam was getting very
eager and very tense. Her bush might be gone. She might not be
able to find it; and she wanted it so much.
Almost passionately
she wanted to be with him when be stood before the flowers.
They were going to have a
communion together--something that
thrilled her,
something holy. He was walking beside her in silence.
They were very near to each other. She trembled, and he listened,
vaguely anxious.
Coming to the edge of the wood, they saw the
sky in front,
like
mother-of-pearl, and the
earth growing dark. Somewhere on the
outermost branches of the pine-wood the honeysuckle was streaming scent.
"Where?" he asked.
"Down the middle path," she murmured, quivering.
When they turned the corner of the path she stood still.
In the wide walk between the pines, gazing rather frightened,
she could distinguish nothing for some moments; the greying light
robbed things of their colour. Then she saw her bush.
"Ah!" she cried, hastening forward.
It was very still. The tree was tall and straggling.
It had thrown its
briers over a hawthorn-bush, and its long
streamers trailed thick, right down to the grass,
splashing the
darkness everywhere with
great spilt stars, pure white.
In
bosses of ivory and in
large splashed stars the roses
gleamed on the
darkness of foliage and stems and grass. Paul and Miriam stood
close together, silent, and watched. Point after point the
steady
roses shone out to them, seeming to
kindle something in their souls.
The
dusk came like smoke around, and still
did not put out the roses.
Paul looked into Miriam's eyes. She was pale and expectant
with wonder, her lips were parted, and her
dark eyes lay open to him.
His look seemed to travel down into her. Her soul quivered.
It was
the communion she wanted. He turned aside, as if
pained.
He turned to the bush.
"They seem as if they
walk like butterflies, and
shake themselves,"
he said.