But it can't be helped; I've done what I could for the moment.
I could go on diving, of course—not much, though—and not much use—'
He moved away barefoot, on the planks of the platform. Then he trod on something sharp.
'Of course, you've got no shoes on,' said Birkin.
'His shoes are here!' cried Gudrun from below.
She was making fast her boat.
Gerald waited for them to be brought to him.
Gudrun came with them.
He pulled them on his feet.
'If you once die,' he said, 'then when it's over, it's finished.
Why come to life again?
There's room under that water there for thousands.'
'Two is enough,' she said murmuring.
He dragged on his second shoe.
He was shivering violently, and his jaw shook as he spoke.
'That's true,' he said, 'maybe. But it's curious how much room there seems, a whole universe under there; and as cold as hell, you're as helpless as if your head was cut off.'
He could scarcely speak, he shook so violently.
'There's one thing about our family, you know,' he continued. 'Once anything goes wrong, it can never be put right again—not with us.
I've noticed it all my life—you can't put a thing right, once it has gone wrong.'
They were walking across the high-road to the house.
'And do you know, when you are down there, it is so cold, actually, and so endless, so different really from what it is on top, so endless—you wonder how it is so many are alive, why we're up here.
Are you going?
I shall see you again, shan't I?
Good-night, and thank you.
Thank you very much!'
The two girls waited a while, to see if there were any hope.
The moon shone clearly overhead, with almost impertinent brightness, the small dark boats clustered on the water, there were voices and subdued shouts.
But it was all to no purpose.
Gudrun went home when Birkin returned.
He was commissioned to open the sluice that let out the water from the lake, which was pierced at one end, near the high-road, thus serving as a reservoir to supply with water the distant mines, in case of necessity.
'Come with me,' he said to Ursula, 'and then I will walk home with you, when I've done this.'
He called at the water-keeper's cottage and took the key of the sluice.
They went through a little gate from the high-road, to the head of the water, where was a great stone basin which received the overflow, and a flight of stone steps descended into the depths of the water itself.
At the head of the steps was the lock of the sluice-gate.
The night was silver-grey and perfect, save for the scattered restless sound of voices.
The grey sheen of the moonlight caught the stretch of water, dark boats plashed and moved.
But Ursula's mind ceased to be receptive, everything was unimportant and unreal.
Birkin fixed the iron handle of the sluice, and turned it with a wrench.
The cogs began slowly to rise.
He turned and turned, like a slave, his white figure became distinct.
Ursula looked away.
She could not bear to see him winding heavily and laboriously, bending and rising mechanically like a slave, turning the handle.
Then, a real shock to her, there came a loud splashing of water from out of the dark, tree-filled hollow beyond the road, a splashing that deepened rapidly to a harsh roar, and then became a heavy, booming noise of a great body of water falling solidly all the time.
It occupied the whole of the night, this great steady booming of water, everything was drowned within it, drowned and lost.
Ursula seemed to have to struggle for her life.
She put her hands over her ears, and looked at the high bland moon.
'Can't we go now?' she cried to Birkin, who was watching the water on the steps, to see if it would get any lower.
It seemed to fascinate him.
He looked at her and nodded.
The little dark boats had moved nearer, people were crowding curiously along the hedge by the high-road, to see what was to be seen.