I have forgotten all the ways of sleep,  
The endless, windless silence of my dream,
 
The milk-white poppy meadows and the stream,
 
The dreaming water soft and still and deep—
 
I have forgotten how that water flows,
 
I have forgotten how the poppy grows,
 
I have forgotten all the ways of sleep.
 
It was on an afternoon, a few days later, that David came into the hall of the Mottisfonts’ house.
 
“Lord save us, he do look bad,” was the thought in Markham’s mind as she let him in. Aloud she said that she thought Mrs. Mottisfont was just going out. As she , Mary came down the stairs, bringing with her a sweet of violets.
 
Mary was very obviously going out. She wore a white cloth dress, with dark furs, and there was a large bunch of mauve and white violets at her breast. She looked a little when she saw David.
 
“Oh,” she said, “I am just going out. I am so sorry, but I am afraid I must. are things, but one must go to them, and I promised Mrs. Codrington that I would be there early. Elizabeth is in. She’ll give you some tea. Markham, will you please tell Miss Elizabeth?”
 
David came forward as she was speaking. There was a window above the front door, and as he came out of the shadow, and the light fell on his face, he saw Mary start a little. Her expression changed, and she said in a hesitating manner:
 
“Of course, Elizabeth may be busy, or she may be going out—I really don’t know. Perhaps you had better come another day, David.”
 
He read her clearly enough. She thought that he had been drinking, and hesitated to leave him with her sister. He had been about to say that he could not stop, but her suspicion raised a devil of in him, and as Elizabeth came out of her room by way of the dining-room, he advanced to meet her, saying:
 
“Will you give me some tea, Elizabeth, or are you too busy?”
 
“Liz, come here,” said Mary quickly. Her colour had risen at David’s tone. She drew Elizabeth a little aside. “Liz, you’d better not,” she whispered, “he looks so queer.”
 
“Nonsense, Molly.”
 
“I wish you wouldn’t——”
 
“My dear Molly, are you going to begin to chaperone me?”
 
Mary tossed her head.
 
“Oh, if you don’t mind,” she said angrily, and went out, leaving Elizabeth with an odd sense of .
 
Elizabeth found David before the writing-table, and looking at himself in the little Dutch mirror which hung above it. He turned as she came in.
 
“Well,” he said bitterly, “has Mary the in order to stay and protect you? I’m not really as dangerous as she seems to think, though I am willing to admit that I am not exactly . Give me some tea, and I’ll not myself on you for long.”
 
Elizabeth smiled.
 
“You know very well that I like having you here,” she said in her friendly voice. “Look at my flowers. Aren’t they well forward? I really think that everything is a fortnight before its time this year. No, not that chair, David. This one is much more comfortable.”
 
Markham was coming in with the tea as Elizabeth spoke. David sat silent. He watched the tiny flame of the spirit-lamp, the of firelight and daylight upon the silver, and the thin old china with its branching pattern of purple and yellow flowers. He drank as many cups of tea as Elizabeth gave him, and she talked a little in a manner, until he had finished, and then sat in a silence that was not awkward, but companionable.
 
David made no effort to move, or speak. This was a pleasant room of Elizabeth’s. The brown panels were warm in the firelight. They made a soft darkness that had nothing gloomy about it, and the room was full of flowers. The great brown crock full of daffodils stood on the window-ledge, and on the table which filled the angle between the window and the fireplace was another, in which stood a number of the tall yellow tulips which smell like Maréchal-Niel roses. Elizabeth’s dress was brown, too. It was made of some soft stuff that made no sound when she moved. The room was very still, and very sweet, and the sweetness and the stillness were very grateful to David Blake. The thought came to him suddenly, that it was many years since he had sat like this in Elizabeth’s room, and the silence had companioned them. Years ago he had been there often enough, and they had talked, read, argued, or been still, just as the spirit of the moment . They had been good comrades, then, in the old days—the happy days of youth.
 
He looked across at Elizabeth and said suddenly:
 
“You are a very restful woman, Elizabeth.”
 
She smiled at him without moving, and answered:
 
“I am glad if I rest you, David—I think you need rest.”
 
“You sit............