him, and between them they did it right enough. And when I was in the clearing station next day, I saw the two—the miner in bed, awfully smashed up, and the other sitting by him. It made one feel choky. The boy could have put down a cool hundred thousand, I suppose, if it could have done any good. But it wouldn't. I can tell you, darling, this war knocks the nonsense out of a man!'

'But Bridget is a woman!' said a dreamy voice beside him.

Sarratt laughed; but he was launched on recollections and could not stop himself. Apparently everybody in his company was a hero, and had deserved the Military Cross ten times over, except himself. He described some incidents he had personally seen, and through the repressed fire with which he spoke, the personality and ideals of the man revealed themselves—normal, strong, self-forgetting. Had he even forgotten the little creature beside him? Hardly, for instinctively he softened away some of the terrible details of blood and pain. But he had forgotten Nelly's prohibition. And when again they had entered the dark wood which lay between them and the cottage on the river-bank, suddenly he heard a trembling breath, and a sob.

He caught her in his arms.

'Nelly, darling! Oh, I was a brute to talk to you like this.'

'No,' she said, struggling with herself—'No! Wait a moment.' She lay against him trembling through every limb, while he kissed and comforted her.

'I'm—I'm not a coward, George!' she said at last, gasping,—'I'm not indeed. Only—well, this morning I had about a hundred and seventy hours left—I counted them. And now there are fifteen less. And all the time, while we talk, they are slipping away, so quick—so quick—'

But she was regaining self-control, and soon released herself.

'I won't do it again!' she said piteously, in the tone of a penitent child. 'I won't indeed. Let's go home. I'm all right.'

And home they sped, hand in hand, silently. The little room when they re-entered it was bright with firelight, because kind Mrs. Weston had thought the flight chilly, and the white table laid out for them—its pretty china and simple fare—tempted and cheered them with its look of home. But Nelly lay on the sofa afterwards very pale, though smiling and talking as usual. And through the night she was haunted, sleeping and waking, by the image of the solitary boat rocking gently on the moonlit lake, the water lapping its sides. She saw herself and George adrift in it—sailing into—disappearing in—that radiance of silver light. Sleepily she hoped that Sir William Farrell would not forget his promise.

CHAPTER III

May I come in?'

Nelly Sarratt, who was standing beside the table in the sitting-room, packing a small luncheon-basket with sandwiches and cake, looked up in astonishment. Then she went to the door which was slightly ajar, and opened it.

She beheld a very tall man standing smiling on the threshold.

'I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mrs. Sarratt—but I was on my way for a day's sketching, and as my car passed your house, I thought I would like to bring you, myself, the permission which I spoke of on Saturday. I wrote yesterday, my friend was away from home but I got a telegram this morning.'

The visitor held out a telegram, which Nelly took in some bewilderment. It fluttered her to be so much thought for by a stranger—and a stranger moreover who seemed but to wave his wand and things were done. But she thanked him heartily.

'Won't you come in, Sir William?' she asked him, shyly. 'My husband will be here directly.'

It pleased him that she had found out who he was. He protested that he mustn't stay a moment, but all the same he came in, and stood with his hands in his pockets looking at the view. He seemed to Nelly to fill the little sitting-room. Not that he was stout. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him anywhere. But he stood at least six foot four in his boots; his shoulders were broad in proportion; and his head, with its strong curly hair of a light golden brown, which was repeated in his short beard, carried itself with the unconscious ease of one who has never known anything but the upper seats of life. His features were handsome, except for a broad irregular mouth, and his blue eyes were kind and lazily humorous.

'There's nothing better than that lake,' he said, motioning towards it, with his hand, as though he followed the outlines of the hills. 'But I never try to draw it. I leave that to the fellows who think they can! I'm afraid your permit's only for a week, Mrs. Sarratt. The boat, I find, will be wanted after that.'

'Oh, but my husband will be gone in a week—less than a week. I couldn't row myself!' said Nelly, smiling.

But Sir William thought the smile trembled a little, and he felt very sorry for the small, pretty creature.

'You will be staying on here after your husband goes?'

'Oh yes. My sister will be with me. We know the Lakes very well.'

'Staying through the summer, I suppose?' 'I shan't want to move—if the war goes on. We haven't any home of our own—yet.'

She had seated herself, and spoke with the self-possession which belongs to those who know themselves fair to look upon. But there seemed to be no coquetry about her—no consciousness of a male to be attracted. All her ways were very gentle and childish, and in her white dress she made the same impression on Farrell as she had on Bridget, of extreme—absurd—youthfulness. He guessed her age about nineteen, perhaps younger.

'I'm afraid the war will go on,' he said, kindly. 'We are only now just finding out our deficiencies.'

Nelly sighed.

'I know—it's awful how we want guns and shells! My husband says it makes him savage to see how we lose men for want of them. Why are we so short? Whose fault is it?'

A spot of angry colour had risen in her cheek. It was the dove defending her mate. The change was lovely, and Farrell, with his artist's eye, watched it eagerly. But he shook his head.

'It's nobody's fault. It's all on such a scale—unheard of! Nobody could have guessed before-hand—unless like Germany, we had been preparing for years to rob and murder our neighbours. Well, Mrs. Sarratt, I must be going on. But I wanted to say, that if we could do anything for you—please command us. We live about twenty miles from here. My sister hopes she may come and see you. And we have a big library at Carton. If there are any books you want—'

'Oh, how very kind of you!' said Nelly gratefully. She had risen and was standing beside him, looking at him with her dark, frank eyes. 'But indeed I shall get on very well. There's a war workroom in Manchester, which will send me work. And I shall try and help with the sphagnum moss. There's a notice up near here, asking people to help. 'And perhaps'—she laughed and colored—'I shall try to sketch a little. I can't do it a bit—but it amuses me.'

'Oh, you draw?' said Farrell, with a smile. Then, looking round him, he noticed a portfolio on the table, with a paint box beside it. 'May I look?'

With rather red cheeks, Nelly showed her performances. She knew very well, being accustomed to follow such things in the newspapers, that Sir William Farrell had exhibited both in London and Manchester, and was much admired by some of the critics.

Farrell twisted his mouth over them a good deal, considering them carefully.

'Yes, I see—I see exactly where you are. Not bad at all,