She was not the same; he could not bring them back to their old relationship; but although he knew that it was foolish he could not prevent himself from endeavouring to bring her back, to make her remember, and when this failed he was in despair.

He always concluded as he left her room that it was worse to see her than not to see her, but by degrees, as the day wore on, the desire to see her returned and became almost too great to be borne.
On Thursday morning when Terence went into her room he felt the usual increase of confidence.

She turned round and made an effort to remember certain facts from the world that was so many millions of miles away.
"You have come up from the hotel ?" she asked.
"No; I'm staying here for the present," he said.

"We've just had luncheon," he continued, "and the mail has come in.

There's a bundle of letters for you--letters from England." Instead of saying, as he meant her to say, that she wished to see them, she said nothing for some time.
"You see, there they go, rolling off the edge of the hill," she said suddenly.
"Rolling, Rachel?
What do you see rolling?
There's nothing rolling." "The old woman with the knife," she replied, not speaking to Terence in particular, and looking past him.