'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 perfected 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 in not-knowing.
Soon they had run on again into the darkness.
She did not ask where they were going, she did not care.
She sat in a fullness and a pure potency that was like apathy, mindless and immobile.
She was next to him, and hung in a pure rest, as a star is hung, balanced unthinkably.
Still there remained a dark lambency of anticipation.
She would touch him.
With perfect fine finger-tips of reality she would touch the reality in him, the suave, pure, untranslatable reality of his loins of darkness.
To touch, mindlessly in darkness to come in pure touching upon the living reality of him, his suave perfect loins and thighs of darkness, this was her sustaining anticipation.
And he too waited in the magical steadfastness of suspense, for her to take this knowledge of him as he had taken it of her.
He knew her darkly, with the fullness of dark knowledge.
Now she would know him, and he too would be liberated.
He would be night-free, like an Egyptian, steadfast in perfectly suspended equilibrium, pure mystic nodality of physical being.
They would give each other this star-equilibrium which alone is freedom.
She saw that they were running among trees—great old trees with dying bracken undergrowth.
The palish, gnarled trunks showed ghostly, and like old priests in the hovering distance, the fern rose magical and mysterious.
It was a night all darkness, with low cloud.
The motor-car advanced slowly.
'Where are we?' she whispered.
'In Sherwood Forest.'
It was evident he knew the place.
He drove softly, watching.
Then they came to a green road between the trees.
They turned cautiously round, and were advancing between the oaks of the forest, down a green lane.
The green lane widened into a little circle of grass, where there was a small trickle of water at the bottom of a sloping bank.
The car stopped.
'We will stay here,' he said, 'and put out the lights.'
He extinguished the lamps at once, and it was pure night, with shadows of trees like realities of other, nightly being.
He threw a rug on to the bracken, and they sat in stillness and mindless silence.
There were faint sounds from the wood, but no disturbance, no possible disturbance, the world was under a strange ban, a new mystery had supervened.
They threw off their clothes, and he gathered her to him, and found her, found the pure lambent reality of her forever invisible flesh.
Quenched, inhuman, his fingers upon her unrevealed nudity were the fingers of silence upon silence, the body of mysterious night upon the body of mysterious night, the night masculine and feminine, never to be seen with the eye, or known with the mind, only known as a palpable revelation of living otherness.
She had her desire of him, she touched, she received the maximum of unspeakable communication in touch, dark, subtle, positively silent, a magnificent gift and give again, a perfect acceptance and yielding, a mystery, the reality of that which can never be known, vital, sensual reality that can never be transmuted into mind content, but remains outside, living body of darkness and silence and subtlety, the mystic body of reality.
She had her desire fulfilled.
He had his desire fulfilled.