So he tried to go back to his work. But he could not do his real work at all. He could practice the violin or read German with Corydon, but when he tried to plan his new book--that involved turning his thoughts loose to graze in a certain pasture, and they would not stay in that pasture, but jumped the fence and came back to her. And so he found himself taking more long journeys, in which he walked in the midst of the storm of his desire. So, of course, all the former naturalness was gone between them. No longer could they kiss and toy with one another as children in a fairy-world. They had suddenly become man and woman--fighting the age-long duel of sex. They would talk about the question; and the more they talked about it, the more it came to dominate the thoughts of both of them; and this broke down the barriers between them--Thyrsis became bolder, and more open in his speech. He lost his awe of her maidenhood and her innocence--he wooed her, he lured her on; he rejoiced in his power to agitate her, to startle her, to speak to her about secret things. He would clasp her in his arms and shower his kisses upon her; and she would yield to him, almost fainting with bliss--and then shrink from him in sudden alarm. Then he would go out into the night and battle again with the wintry winds. That frightened shrinking of hers puzzled him. Everything was so strange to him; and how could he be sure what was right? He wanted to do what was right, with all his soul he wanted it; if he were to do wrong, or to make her think less of him, he could never forgive himself all his life. But then would come the wild surge of his longing, and his man’s power would cry out within him. It was his business to overcome her shrinking, to compel her to yield. The question of the doctor rang in his ears as a taunt--“Why are you a man?” Why _was_ he a man? Section 9. In the end these emotions reached a point where Thyrsis could no longer bear them. They were a torment to him, they deprived him of all rest and sleep. One afternoon he had held her a long time in his arms, and it hurt him; he turned away, and put his hands to his forehead. “Dearest,” he cried, “I can’t stand this any longer!” “Why?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “I mean it’s just tearing me to pieces!” She stared at him in fright. “Thyrsis!” she exclaimed. “You are unhappy!” He sunk down upon the bed and hid his face in his arms. “Yes,” he whispered, “I am unhappy!” And so, all at once, he broke down her resistance. What had swayed him had been the thought of her suffering; and the thought of his suffering now conquered her. Only she did not take days to debate it. She fled to him instantly, and wrapped her arms about him. “Thyrsis,” she whispered, “listen to me! I had no idea of that!” “No, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m sorry--I’m ashamed of myself--” “No, no!” she cried, vehemently. “Don’t say that! I love you, Thyrsis! I love you, heart and soul!”