In her heart this
overpowering human love which, in the garden, when first she realised
it fully, had seemed to leave no room in her for love of God, now in the
moment when it was close to absolute satisfaction seemed almost to be
one with her love of God. Perhaps no man could understand how, in a
good woman, the two streams of the human love which implies the intense
desire of the flesh, and the mystical love which is absolutely purged
of that desire, can flow the one into the other and mingle their waters.
She tried to think that, and then she ceased to try. Everything was
forgotten as his arms held her fast in the night, everything except this
great force of human love which was like iron, and yet soft about her,
which was giving and wanting, which was concentrated upon her to the
exclusion of all else, plunging the universe in darkness and setting her
in light.
"There is nothing for me to-night but you," he said, crushing her in his
arms. "The desert is your garden. To me it has always been your garden,
only that, put here for you, and for me because you love me--but for me
only because of that.
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