She could hear Winifred moaning: 'OH DO FIND HER GERALD, DO FIND HER,' and someone trying to comfort the child.
Gudrun paddled aimlessly here and there.
The terrible, massive, cold, boundless surface of the water terrified her beyond words.
Would he never come back?
She felt she must jump into the water too, to know the horror also.
She started, hearing someone say:
'There he is.'
She saw the movement of his swimming, like a water-rat.
And she rowed involuntarily to him.
But he was near another boat, a bigger one.
Still she rowed towards him.
She must be very near.
She saw him—he looked like a seal.
He looked like a seal as he took hold of the side of the boat.
His fair hair was washed down on his round head, his face seemed to glisten suavely.
She could hear him panting.
Then he clambered into the boat.
Oh, and the beauty of the subjection of his loins, white and dimly luminous as be climbed over the side of the boat, made her want to die, to die.
The beauty of his dim and luminous loins as be climbed into the boat, his back rounded and soft—ah, this was too much for her, too final a vision. She knew it, and it was fatal The terrible hopelessness of fate, and of beauty, such beauty!
He was not like a man to her, he was an incarnation, a great phase of life.
She saw him press the water out of his face, and look at the bandage on his hand.
And she knew it was all no good, and that she would never go beyond him, he was the final approximation of life to her.
'Put the lights out, we shall see better,' came his voice, sudden and mechanical and belonging to the world of man.
She could scarcely believe there was a world of man.
She leaned round and blew out her lanterns.
They were difficult to blow out.
Everywhere the lights were gone save the coloured points on the sides of the launch.
The blueygrey, early night spread level around, the moon was overhead, there were shadows of boats here and there.
Again there was a splash, and he was gone under.
Gudrun sat, sick at heart, frightened of the great, level surface of the water, so heavy and deadly.
She was so alone, with the level, unliving field of the water stretching beneath her.
It was not a good isolation, it was a terrible, cold separation of suspense.
She was suspended upon the surface of the insidious reality until such time as she also should disappear beneath it.
Then she knew, by a stirring of voices, that he had climbed out again, into a boat.
She sat wanting connection with him.
Strenuously she claimed her connection with him, across the invisible space of the water.
But round her heart was an isolation unbearable, through which nothing would penetrate.
'Take the launch in.
It's no use keeping her there.
Get lines for the dragging,' came the decisive, instrumental voice, that was full of the sound of the world.
The launch began gradually to beat the waters.
'Gerald!
Gerald!' came the wild crying voice of Winifred.
He did not answer.
Slowly the launch drifted round in a pathetic, clumsy circle, and slunk away to the land, retreating into the dimness.
The wash of her paddles grew duller.
Gudrun rocked in her light boat, and dipped the paddle automatically to steady herself.
'Gudrun?' called Ursula's voice.
'Ursula!'
The boats of the two sisters pulled together.