It was empty now—when the stranger came there would be no one there to trouble his peace. She felt neither remorse nor pity. All that had been love for her husband had turned to bitterness. He had come between her and those dear to her; he had insulted her and her whole nation; he had trampled on her pride; he had deserted her, leaving her to fight her battle alone, whilst he had followed his ambition behind locked doors, which even she could not open. As she drove rapidly through the streets he stood before her mental vision, not as the lover or the husband, but as the man who had faced her on the preceding night, stern, resolute, pitiless, sweeping her from his path as he would have done a valueless toy. He had had no thought for her sufferings, he had not even tried to comfort her, but had gone to his room and—worked. And between this man of iron and routine and the immense implacable force which had revealed itself to her in the crowd, there was a resemblance, nay, an affinity of mind and purpose. Both threatened her home, her people, and her life. She hated both. Twenty minutes later she stood in the crowded railway-station. Miles was nowhere to be seen. There were only three minutes left before the train started, and she had not money enough in her purse to take her even to the coast. Tears of helpless wretchedness rushed to her eyes. She must go—she must escape. She could never return to the silent, dreary home, to the man who had become a hated stranger. On every side she heard the same words, "_Der Krieg! Der Krieg!_" They terrified her, exasperated her. A little crowd of English people, who were hurrying to the train, arrested her attention. "We should have left before," one of them said. "All the places will be taken." In her despair she could have flung herself upon their mercy, but the crowd jostled her on one side, and they were lost to sight. "_Alles einsteigen! Alles einsteigen!_" It was then she saw Miles; just for one instant she saw his face. It stood out clearly in the blur—white, aghast, full of a terrified recognition, and then, as she held out her hands, too thankful to think what it all meant, it disappeared. She stood there, stupefied, rooted to the ground. He had deserted her—he had been afraid of her. Why? What had happened? "_Alles einsteigen! Alles einsteigen!_" A sob broke from Nora’s lips, and even in that moment, in which all hope seemed lost, Arnold stood at her side. She clung to him recklessly, like a child who has been pursued by the phantom of some hideous nightmare. "Oh, take me with you, Robert!" she cried. "Don’t leave me!" He looked down at her, then, without speaking, he lifted her into the already moving train and sprang in after her. "There is nothing to be afraid of, little Nora," he said tenderly. "I will bring you home safe and sound."