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It did not matter what went before. She might be intimate and
sad with him. Then as soon as Clara appeared, it all vanished, and he
played to the newcomer.
Miriam had one beautiful evening with him in the hay. He had been on
the horse-rake, and having finished, came to help her to put the hay in
cocks. Then he talked to her of his hopes and despairs, and his whole
soul seemed to lie bare before her. She felt as if she watched the very
quivering stuff of life in him. The moon came out: they walked home
together: he seemed to have come to her because he needed her so badly,
and she listened to him, gave him all her love and her faith. It seemed
to her he brought her the best of himself to keep, and that she would
guard it all her life. Nay, the sky did not cherish the stars more
surely and eternally than she would guard the good in the soul of Paul
Morel. She went on home alone, feeling exalted, glad in her faith.
And then, the next day, Clara came. They were to have tea in the
hayfield. Miriam watched the evening drawing to gold and shadow.


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