Риф, або Там, де розбивається щастя

III

           Shewasstillafraidoflife,ofitsruthlessness,itsdangerandmystery.Shewasstillthepettedlittlegirlwhocannotbeleftaloneinthedark....Hismemoryflewbacktotheiryouthfulstory,andlong-forgottendetailstookshapebeforehim.Howfrailandfaintthepicturewas!Theyseemed,heandshe,liketheghostlyloversoftheGrecianUrn,foreverpursuingwithouteverclaspingeachother.Tothisdayhedidnotquiteknowwhathadpartedthem:thebreakhadbeenasfortuitousastheflutteringapartoftwoseed-vesselsonawaveofsummerair...

           Theveryslightness,vagueness,ofthememorygaveitanaddedpoignancy.Hefeltthemysticpangoftheparentforachildwhichhasjustbreathedanddied.Whyhadithappenedthus,whentheleastshiftingofinfluencesmighthavemadeitallsodifferent?Ifshehadbeengiventohimthenhewouldhaveputwarmthinherveinsandlightinhereyes:wouldhavemadeherawomanthroughandthrough.Musingthus,hehadthesenseofwastethatisthebitterestharvestofexperience.Alovelikehismighthavegivenherthedivinegiftofself-renewal;andnowhesawherfatedtowaneintooldagerepeatingthesamegestures,echoingthewordsshehadalwaysheard,andperhapsneverguessingthat,justoutsideherglazedandcurtainedconsciousness,liferolledaway,avastblacknessstarredwithlights,likethenightlandscapebeyondthewindowsofthetrain.

           Theenginelowereditsspeedforthepassagethroughasleepingstation.InthelightoftheplatformlampDarrowlookedacrossathiscompanion

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