All these moods ran themselves into one general effect, which Helen compared to the sliding of a river, quick, quicker, quicker still, as it races to a waterfall.

Her instinct was to cry out Stop! but even had there been any use in crying Stop! she would have refrained, thinking it best that things should take their way, the water racing because the earth was shaped to make it race.
It seemed that Rachel herself had no suspicion that she was watched, or that there was anything in her manner likely to draw attention to her.
What had happened to her she did not know.

Her mind was very much in the condition of the racing water to which Helen compared it.

She wanted to see Terence; she was perpetually wishing to see him when he was not there; it was an agony to miss seeing him; agonies were strewn all about her day on account of him, but she never asked herself what this force driving through her life arose from.

She thought of no result any more than a tree perpetually pressed downwards by the wind considers the result of being pressed downwards by the wind.
During the two or three weeks which had passed since their walk, half a dozen notes from him had accumulated in her drawer.