'
'Isn't there? But let me see, will you?'
Gudrun reached out the sketch-book, Gerald stretched from the boat to
take it. And as he did so, he remembered Gudrun's last words to him,
and her face lifted up to him as he sat on the swerving horse. An
intensification of pride went over his nerves, because he felt, in some
way she was compelled by him. The exchange of feeling between them was
strong and apart from their consciousness.
And as if in a spell, Gudrun was aware of his body, stretching and
surging like the marsh-fire, stretching towards her, his hand coming
straight forward like a stem. Her voluptuous, acute apprehension of him
made the blood faint in her veins, her mind went dim and unconscious.
And he rocked on the water perfectly, like the rocking of
phosphorescence. He looked round at the boat. It was drifting off a
little. He lifted the oar to bring it back. And the exquisite pleasure
of slowly arresting the boat, in the heavy-soft water, was complete as
a swoon.
'THAT'S what you have done,' said Hermione, looking searchingly at the
plants on the shore, and comparing with Gudrun's drawing.
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