Now, however, it was very different; he felt himself wholly
preoccupied by the thought of Maud; and he found himself looking
into the secret of love, as a man might gaze from a hill-top into a
chasm where the rocky ridges plunged into mist, doubting of his
way, and mistrusting his own strength to pursue the journey. He did
not know what the quality of his love was; he recognised an intense
kind of passion, but when he looked beyond that, and imagined
himself wedded to Maud, what was the emotion that would survive the
accomplishment of his desires? Would he find himself longing for
the old, comfortable, isolated life again? did he wish his life to
be inextricably intertwined with the life of another? He was not
sure. He had a dread of having to concede an absolute intimacy, he
wished to give only as much as he chose; and then, too, he told
himself that he was too old to marry so young a girl, and that she
would be happier if she could find a more equal partner for her
life. Yet even so the thought of yielding her to another sickened
him. He believed that she had been attracted by Guthrie, and that
he had but to hold his hand and keep his distance, and the relation
might broaden into marriage. He wondered if love could begin so, so
easily and simply. He would like to have believed it could not, yet
it was just so that love did begin! And then, too, he did not know
what was the nature of Maud's feelings to himself.
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