No—she would not appeal.... He must be free, as she had learned to be free.... In her garden she had flowers for him—thornless roses, fruits to satisfy a man’s hunger and thirst.... But he must pluck them for himself.... She would proffer nothing.... Yet she felt his intensity of unrest as if it were her own. In that hour a sixth sense was love-lent to her, so that she saw his mind, with its crowded, conflicting thoughts that ran hither and thither like ants, with stumblings and bewilderments, with futile crossings and re-crossings, yet always with a definite surge forward in one direction, in her direction. His turmoil affected her strangely: she found herself watching him placidly, with a sort of amused sympathy. She knew how indignantly he disliked not being sure about everything in the world. Poor Justin! It must be maddening to him not to be sure about himself.... All this on the surface of her mind: underneath, her whole soul was crying out to him, “Justin!—Justin!” calling his name, passionately, with insistent iteration, as a bird calls to its delaying mate. And he, as if he heard, turned to her— “Laura——” “Yes, Justin?” After all, he _was_ very fond of her.... She belonged in.... The war had swept away so much ... only the bare verities survived—duty—sleep—home—and Laura.... Surely he meant Laura too, when he thought, out there, of coming home? Suppose he came home one day and found her gone?... His keen annoyance at the notion was queerly familiar. He had utterly forgotten the incidents of their engagement-day, and that she had ever told him that she might leave Brackenhurst; but he was certainly aware of an old annoyance, and of something newer, stronger than annoyance—a chill, snaky pang that was very like fear. Laura gone? _Flower o’ the quince_.... How the catches rang in his head! _Flower o’ the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good in life since?_ Oh, if it came to that! He must have spoken aloud, for she lifted her eyes. She was startled to see him coming to her across the room, hard-pressed, in desperate fashion, like a man who would shake off his own shadow. She half rose. She was suddenly frightened. She put out her hands, fending him off. “Justin—Justin—be sure——” She fell back in her chair because he was so near. “Justin—wait. Be sure. Be very, very sure.” Her lips trembled childishly. “You must be sure. If you found out, afterwards——I couldn’t stand it—twice.” It was so unlike her that he was shocked. He thought she must have suffered beyond belief to say such a thing to him. Sure? He would show her!... For an instant he was a man enlightened—forgetting all himself in an impulse of pure tenderness. He would show her!... “Laura——” ‘One! two! three! four!’ The clock chimed in—sweet, icy, maliciously sedate. ‘And your train, Justin? And your train?’ Its echoes were lost in the crunch of the punctual wheels on the drive.