They scribbled and exchanged ideas well into the afternoon. Darrel felt an exultation. Then annoyance, then discouragement. As the hours passed, Leyloon comprehended less until, as evening came on, she was openly incredulous. When he left the house to return to the ship, Leyloon was watching him almost with astonishment. * * * * * When the fourth day began, Darrel inspected the ship with satisfaction. He had worked on into the night and the gravity plates were all repaired. It would take only a few more hours to install them. He reflected that though today was _today_ for him, it would be _yesterday_ for Leyloon. She would know nothing, absolutely nothing, of the past three days. They were her future. What would her reactions be on this day? Not long after the sun had risen, she came walking uncertainly over the hill--backwards as usual--casting quizzical glances over her shoulder as she advanced. Darrel was absorbed by the spectacle. He understood now--understood that actually, from Leyloon's point of view, she was walking _away_ from the ship instead of toward it. This was the end of the day for her, while for him it was the beginning. Leyloon stopped and turned to face him. She wore a helpless, puzzled expression. It was disturbing. Darrel sensed--and the knowledge cut like a knife--that the girl was slipping away from him, sliding inexorably into her past. And in her past, he had no place. None whatever. He was moving to the point in her life where he did not exist for her. The idea was appalling. She was holding out a note for him to see. It read, "Night is coming on and I must retire, stranger. This has been an extraordinary day." Stranger! So he was nothing more than that now! And only yesterday ... or tomorrow ... there had been complete understanding between them. They had been in love then, had told each other so! And now ... stranger! But there was evidence of a shy, hesitant affection in the girl's face and actions. Darrel stifled a sudden impulse to swear and smash things. Every minute, every second they were moving toward Leyloon's childhood and her complete ignorance of his existence. It was horrible and it was inevitable. Frustrating. Infuriating! The minutes were precious, priceless, and they clicked by with the ruthless precision of a machine. They were going ... gone, irretrievably. It was almost noon--noon for both! Here was mutual ground. It was not one time of day for him and another for her ... it was noon for both. They moved toward the moment from opposite directions, Leyloon from afternoon and he from morning. Exactly at noon, when time coincided for them ... he would kiss her. Smack! His face stung from the reverse-motion blow. She had slapped him. But he hadn't done anything yet. Then, he kissed her.