"I am coming very soon again, Di. I must see you often--I must see you very often, while I am here. I cannot live if I do not see you. I do not see how I can live any way!" "Don't speak so." "How do _you_ expect to bear it?" he asked jealously. "I don't know. We shall find as the days come." "Life looks so long!"-- "Yes. But we have got something to do in it." "I have not. Not now." "Every one has. And a brave man, or a brave woman, will do what he has to do, Evan." "I am not brave, except in the way every man is brave. When may I come, Diana? To-morrow?" "O no!" "Why not? Then when?" "Not this week." "But this is Tuesday." "Yes. And Mrs. Reverdy is waiting for you all this while." "I have been waiting all these years. She don't know what waiting means. Mayn't I come again before Monday?" "Certainly not. You must wait till then, and longer." "I am not going to wait longer. Then Monday, Diana?" He stretched out his hand to her, and she laid hers within it. The first time that day; the first time since so many days. Hands lingered, were slow to unclasp, loath to leave the touch which was such exquisite pain and pleasure at once. Then, without looking again, slowly, deliberately, as all her movements had been made, Diana withdrew from the room; not bearing, perhaps, to stay and have him leave her, or doubting of her power to make him go, or unable to endure anything more for this time. She left him standing there, and slowly went up the stairs. But the moment she got to her room she stopped, and stood with her hands pressed upon her heart, listening; every particle of colour vanishing from her face, and her eyes taking a strained look of despair; listening to the footsteps that, also slowly, now went through the hall. When they went out and had quitted the house, she flew to the window. She watched to see the stately figure go along the little walk and out at the gate; she had hardly dared to look at him down-stairs. Now her eye sought out every well-known line and trait with an eagerness like the madness of thirst. Yes, he had grown broader in the shoulders; his frame was developed; he had become more manly, and so even finer in appearance than ever. Without meaning it, Diana drew comparisons. How well he walked! what a firm, sure, graceful gait! How beloved of old time was the officer's undress coat, and the little cap which reminded Diana so inevitably of the time when it was at home on her table or lying on a chair near! Only for a minute or two she tasted the bitter-sweet pang of associations; and then cap and wearer were passed from her sight. CHAPTER XXXII. WIND AND TIDE.