It would be better not to see it.

Come," she said, looking up into his face, and seeing its uncomprehending expression, "let us go, it is getting late.

Doss is anxious for his breakfast also," she added, wheeling round and calling to the dog, who was endeavouring to unearth a mole, an occupation to which he had been zealously addicted from the third month, but in which he had never on any single occasion proved successful.
Waldo shouldered his bag, and Lyndall walked on before in silence, with the dog close to her side.

Perhaps she thought of the narrowness of the limits within which a human soul may speak and be understood by its nearest of mental kin, of how soon it reaches that solitary land of the individual experience, in which no fellow footfall is ever heard.
Whatever her thoughts may have been, she was soon interrupted.

Waldo came close to her, and standing still, produced with awkwardness from his breast-pocket a small carved box.
"I made it for you," he said, holding it out.
"I like it," she said, examining it carefully.
The workmanship was better than that of the grave-post.