unthinkable knowledge and unthinkable force, upheld
immemorially in timeless force, like the immobile, supremely potent Egyptians,
seated for ever in their living, subtle silence.
    »We need not go home,« he said. »This car has seats that let down and make a
bed, and we can lift the hood.«
    She was glad and frightened. She cowered near to him.
    »But what about them at home?« she said.
    »Send a telegram.«
    Nothing more was said. They ran on in silence. But with a sort of second
consciousness he steered the car towards a destination. For he had the free
intelligence to direct his own ends. His arms and his breast and his head were
rounded and living like those of the Greek, he had not the unawakened straight
arms of the Egyptian, nor the sealed, slumbering head. A lambent intelligence
played secondarily above his pure Egyptian concentration in darkness.
    They came to a village that lined along the road. The car crept slowly
along, until he saw the post office. Then he pulled up.
    »I will send a telegram to your father,« he said. »I will merely say
Spending the night in town, shall I?«
    »Yes,« she answered. She did not want to be disturbed into taking thought.
    She watched him move into the post office. It was also a shop, she saw.
Strange, he was. Even as he went into the lighted, public place he remained dark
and magic, the living silence seemed the body of reality in him, subtle, potent,
indiscoverable. There he was! In a strange uplift of elation she saw him, the
being never to be revealed, awful in its potency, mystic and real. This dark,
subtle reality of him, never to be translated, liberated her into perfection,
her own perfect being. She too was dark and fulfilled in silence.
    He came out, throwing some packages into the car.
    »There is some bread, and cheese, and raisins, and apples, and hard
chocolate,« he said, in his voice that was as if laughing, because of the
unblemished stillness and force which was the reality in him. She would have to
touch him. To speak, to see, was nothing. It was a travesty to look and to
comprehend the man there. Darkness and silence must fall perfectly on her, then
she could know mystically, in unrevealed touch. She must lightly, mindlessly
connect with him, have the knowledge which is death of knowledge, the reality of
surety