I lay there, happy in being near her, the unknown.

After a long time she rose ... gave a sigh ... brushed her hand over her hair.

Fascination held me close as she stooped over ... began leisurely to untie her shoes ... set them, removed, aside, toe to toe and heel to heel, equal, as if for mathematical exactness ... paused a moment ... lifted her skirts, drew off her garters with a circular downward sweep ... drew down her stockings....

She sat with her stockings off, stuffed into her shoes,—­her skirt up to her hips, gazing meditatively at her naked legs held straight before her.

I was close enough to hear her breathing—­or so keen in my aroused senses that I thought I heard it.  She wiggled her toes to herself as she meditated.

She paused as if hesitating to go on with her undressing.  A twig snapped.  She came to her knees and looked about, startled, then subsided again, tranquil and sure of her solitude.

* * * * *

She stood in the moonlight, naked.  My gaze grew fat with pleasure as it fed on her nakedness....

She stepped down to the water’s edge, dabbling her outstretched toes in the flow.

Ankle-deep, she stood and stooped.  She scooped up water and dashed it over her breasts.  She rose erect a moment and gazed idly about.

Then, binding her hair in a careful knot, she went in with a plunge and I saw that she could swim well.

My heart shook and thundered so that its pulse pervaded all my body with its violence.  I held in curb a mad, almost irresistible impulse to rush in after her, crying out that I was a poet ... that this was the true romance ... that we must throw aside the conventions ... that no one would ever know.

Then I thought of my skinniness and ugliness in comparison with her slight but perfect beauty.  And I knew that it would repel her.  And I held still in utter shame, not being good-looking enough to join her in the river.

I lay prone, almost fainting, dizzy, not having the strength to creep away, as I now considered I must do.

I saw her return and watched her as she slowly resumed her clothes, piece by leisurely piece.  She folded her camp stool, packed her small easel in a case and started off toward town.

Shouldn’t I now intercept her, explain who I was, and offer to escort her along the tracks back to town?  For it was surely dangerous for her to come so far into the night, alone.  There were tramps ... and the stray criminal negro from the Bottoms ...  God knows what else, in her path!

But my timidity let her pass on alone.

I needed the coolness of the water about me, as I swam out to my tent.  I forgot my clothes on my head and they soused in the water as I swam.  All night I tossed, sleepless.  I lay delirious with remembrance of her ... imagined myself with her as I lay there, and whispered terms of love and endearment into the dark.