It is all echoing here, and here, and here!" He touched his breast, his eyes, and his forehead with the fingers of his long and slender hand.

"We sigh and strain our eyes and stretch out our arms in the dark, groping always for the strange blessing that is just beyond our grasp, seeking for the precious unknown that lies just over the horizon! It's what they meant by the pot of gold where the rainbow ends--only, it may be there, after all!" They stopped unconsciously, and remained standing at the lower end of the Carewe hedge.

The western glow had faded, and she was gazing at him through the darkness, leaning forward, never dreaming that her tight grasp had broken the sticks of the little pink fan.
"Yes," she whispered, eagerly.

"You are right: you understand!" He went on, the words coming faster and faster: "We are haunted--you and I--by the wish to know all things, and by the question that lies under every thought we have: the agonizing Whither?
Isn't it like that?
It is really death that makes us think.

You are a good Catholic: you go to mass; but you wish to know.