tendency to seek out ultimate relations, to extend her researches to the
limit of her imaginative experience. But hitherto she had been like some
young captive brought up in a windowless palace whose painted walls she
takes for the actual world. Now the palace had been shaken to its base, and
through a cleft in the walls she looked out upon life. For the first moment
all was indistinguishable blackness; then she began to detect vague shapes
and confused gestures in the depths. There were people below there, men
like Denis, girls like herself--for under the unlikeness she felt the
strange affinity--all struggling in that awful coil of moral darkness, with
agonized hands reaching up for rescue. Her heart shrank from the horror of
it, and then, in a passion of pity, drew back to the edge of the abyss.
Suddenly her eyes turned toward Denis. His face was grave, but less
disturbed. And men knew about these things! They carried this abyss in
their bosoms, and went about smiling, and sat at the feet of innocence.
Could it be that Denis--Denis even--Ah, no! She remembered what he had been
to poor Arthur; she understood, now, the vague allusions to what he had
tried to do for his brother. He had seen Arthur down there, in that coiling
blackness, and had leaned over and tried to drag him out. But Arthur was
too deep down, and his arms were interlocked with other arms--they had
dragged each other deeper, poor souls, like drowning people who fight
together in the waves! Kate's visualizing habit gave a hateful precision
and persistency to the image she had evoked--she could not rid herself of
the vision of anguished shapes striving together in the darkness. The
horror of it took her by the throat--she drew a choking breath, and felt
the tears on her face.

Peyton turned to her. The horses were climbing a hill, and his attention
had strayed from them.

"This has done me good," he began; but as he looked his voice changed.