him, she believed in her own higher knowledge. His own knowledge was
high, she was the central touchstone of truth. She only needed his
conjunction with her.

And this, this conjunction with her, which was his highest fulfilment
also, with the perverseness of a wilful child he wanted to deny. With
the wilfulness of an obstinate child, he wanted to break the holy
connection that was between them.

He would be at this wedding; he was to be groom's man. He would be in
the church, waiting. He would know when she came. She shuddered with
nervous apprehension and desire as she went through the church-door. He
would be there, surely he would see how beautiful her dress was, surely
he would see how she had made herself beautiful for him. He would
understand, he would be able to see how she was made for him, the
first, how she was, for him, the highest. Surely at last he would be
able to accept his highest fate, he would not deny her.

In a little convulsion of too-tired yearning, she entered the church
and looked slowly along her cheeks for him, her slender body convulsed
with agitation. As best man, he would be standing beside the altar. She
looked slowly, deferring in her certainty.

And then, he was not there. A terrible storm came over her, as if she
were drowning. She was possessed by a devastating hopelessness. And she
approached mechanically to the altar. Never had she known such a pang
of utter and final hopelessness. It was beyond death, so utterly null,
desert.

The bridegroom and the groom's man had not yet come. There was a