Ursula seemed to have to struggle for her life. She put her hands over her ears, and looked at the high bland moon.

‘Can’t we go now?’ she cried to Birkin, who was watching the water on the steps, to see if it would get any lower. It seemed to fascinate him. He looked at her and nodded.

The little dark boats had moved nearer, people were crowding curiously along the hedge by the high-road, to see what was to be seen. Birkin and Ursula went to the cottage with the key, then turned their backs on the lake. She was in great haste. She could not bear the terrible crushing boom of the escaping water.

‘Do you think they are dead?’ she cried in a high voice, to make herself heard.

‘Yes,’ he replied.