The water was dark and hardly discernible except where foam gathered and pale waterfalls were splashing, but it was Theresa that he saw. Now he would push her from him in anger, hating himself for his need, and a moment later twine his fingers among hers and draw her back, looking into her clear, unflinching eyes, telling her it was her companionship as well as her sweet frame he wanted, the mind that had sprung so swiftly to his meaning and never fallen short. And then again there would come a terrible distrust, born of his physical desire. How was he to clear himself of that and see an uncaged Theresa flown from the vivid body that might and might not be the expression of herself? Better perhaps to see neither bird nor gilded wires, to forget the singing she had started in his breast, and to go steadily on his chosen road. Why should he introduce strange new gods into his worship? Would they satisfy him? Would they not hinder him, and demand the offering up of sacrifices he could not give? He cried aloud, and his voice fell in with the sound of the rushing water. "Oh, Theresa, you heather flower, I'll give you anything but my work, if you'll only be what your face says you are. But you can't be that. Can you? Can you? It would be like Heaven opened. Oh, fool--fool--fool!" He stood up strongly, holding down his hands. "And I thought myself a stubborn man to beat! Well, and I'm not beaten yet." Nevertheless, late that night he stole round the house and sat long on the horse-block, for it was just below her window. CHAPTER XIX While Alexander battled against the physical with hopes divided between a conquest which might show Theresa to him in spiritual beauty, and a defeat which would keep her clothed in flesh, and so preserve him from complete capitulation, Theresa, as yet untrammelled by these cares, went home rejoicing in a friend. There was no other to whom she could give that name with the same fulness of meaning, and the glow of her splendid possession did something to remove the chilliness from a home with no Grace in it. She had, too, a new belief in herself based, not on fancy, but on Alexander's confidences and her own understanding of them, and with that to help her, she set about finding work. Her view of men had been almost imperceptibly readjusted by half a day's communion with one of them, and she would have returned to Mr. Partiloe but for the certainty of planting hope in him. She could not do that, and she spent much time and weariness of body in looking for someone whom she considered fit to be her employer. Weariness of mind, she had none; she was conscious of a strong effect of wind and sunshine there, clearing the dust and dirt from its corners and making room for fresh and urgent powers, and she saw life as a thing too short for the use of her vitality. "Your holiday has done you good," Grace told her.