In my recollections of that strange night there are wide gaps.

　　Trivial incidents come back to me with extraordinary vividness;while there are hours of which I can remember nothing. What I didor where I went I cannot recall. It seems to me, looking back,that I walked without a pause till morning; yet, when day came, Iwas still in the school grounds. Perhaps I walked, as a woundedanimal runs, in circles. I lost, I know, all count of time. Ibecame aware of the dawn as something that had happened suddenly,as if light had succeeded darkness in a flash. It had been night;I looked about me, and it was day--a steely, cheerless day, like aDecember evening. And I found that I was very cold, very tired,and very miserable.

　　My mind was like the morning, grey and overcast. Conscience may beexpelled, but, like Nature, it will return. Mine, which I had castfrom me, had crept back with the daylight. I had had my hour offreedom, and it was now for me to pay for it.

　　I paid in full. My thoughts tore me. I could see no way out.

　　Through the night the fever and exhilaration of that mad momenthad sustained me, but now the morning had come, when dreams mustyield to facts, and I had to face the future.

　　I sat on the stump of a tree, and buried my face in my hands. Imust have fallen asleep, for, when I raised my eyes again, the daywas brighter. Its cheerlessness had gone. The sky was blue, andbirds were singing.

　　It must have been about half an hour later that the firstbeginnings of a plan of action came to me. I could not trustmyself to reason out my position clearly and honestly in thisplace where Audrey's spell was over everything. The part of methat was struggling to be loyal to Cynthia was overwhelmed here.

　　London called to me. I could think there, face my positionquietly, and make up my mind.

　　I turned to walk to the station. I could not guess even remotelywhat time it was. The sun was shining through the trees, but inthe road outside the grounds there were no signs of workersbeginning the day.

　　It was half past five when I reached the station. A sleepy porterinformed me that there would be a train to London, a slow train,at six.

　　* * * * *I remained in London two days, and on the third went down to Sansteadto see Audrey for the last time. I had made my decision.

　　I found her on the drive, close by the gate. She turned at myfootstep on the gravel; and, as I saw her, I knew that the fightwhich I had thought over was only beginning.

　　I was shocked at her appearance. Her face was very pale, and therewere tired lines about her eyes.

　　I could not speak. Something choked me. Once again, as on thatnight in the stable-yard, the world and all that was in it seemedinfinitely remote.

　　It was she who broke the silence.

　　'Well, Peter,' she said listlessly.

　　We walked up the drive together.

　　'Have you been to London?'

　　'Yes. I came down this morning.' I paused. 'I went there tothink,' I said.

　　She nodded.

　　'I have been thinking, too.'

　　I stopped, and began to hollow out a groove in the wet gravel withmy heel. Words were not coming readily.

　　Suddenly she found speech. She spoke quickly, but her voice wasdull and lifeless.

　　'Let us forget what has happened, Peter. We were neither of usourselves. I was tired and frightened and disappointed. You weresorry for me just at the moment, and your nerves were strained,like mine. It was all nothing. Let us forget it.'

　　I shook my head.

　　'No,' I said. 'It was not that. I can't let you even pretend youthink that was all. I love you. I always have loved you, though Idid not know how much till you had gone away. After a time, Ithought I had got over it. But when I met you again down here, Iknew that I had not, and never should. I came back to say good-bye,but I shall always love you. It is my punishment for being the sortof man I was five years ago.'

　　'And mine for being the sort of woman I was five years ago.' Shelaughed bitterly. 'Woman! I was just a little fool, a sulky child.

　　My punishment is going to be worse than yours, Peter. You will notbe always thinking that you had the happiness of two lives in yourhands, and threw it away because you had not the sense to holdit.'

　　'It is just that that I shall always be thinking. What happenedfive years ago was my fault, Audrey, and nobody's but mine. Idon't think that, even when the loss of you hurt most, I everblamed you for going away. You had made me see myself as I was,and I knew that you had done the right thing. I was selfish,patronizing--I was insufferable. It was I who threw away ourhappiness. You put it in a sentence that first day here, when yousaid that I had been kind--sometimes--when I happened to think ofit. That summed me up. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.

　　I think we have not had the best of luck; but all the blame ismine.'

　　A flush came into her pale face.

　　'I remember saying that. I said it because I was afraid of myself.

　　I was shaken by meeting you again. I thought you must be hatingme--you had every reason to hate me, and you spoke as if youdid--and I did not want to show you what you were to me. It wasn'ttrue, Peter. Five years ago I may have thought it, but not now. Ihave grown to understand the realities by this time. I have beenthrough too much to have any false ideas left. I have had somechance to compare men, and I realize that they are not all kind,Peter, even sometimes, when they happen to think of it.'

　　'Audrey,' I said--I had never found myself able to ask thequestion before--'was--was--he--was Sheridan kind to you?'

　　She did not speak for a moment, and I thought she was resentingthe question.

　　'No!' she said abruptly.

　　She shot out the monosyllable with a force that startled andsilenced me. There was a whole history of unhappiness in the word.

　　'No,' she said again, after a pause, more gently this time. Iunderstood. She was speaking of a dead man.

　　'I can't talk about him,' she went on hurriedly. 'I expect most ofit was my fault. I was unhappy because he was not you, and he sawthat I was unhappy and hated me for it. We had nothing in common.

　　It w............