"Yes," whispered Robin, "I know." They both realised that the time had come when they must part, and when he lifted again the hand nearest to him, it was with the gesture of one who had reached the moment of farewell. "It's our garden," he said. "It's the _same_ garden. Just because there is no time--may I see you here again? I can't go away without knowing that." "I will come," she answered, "whenever the Duchess does not need me. You see I belong to nobody but myself." "I belong to people," he said, "but I belong to myself too." He paused a second or so and a strange half puzzled expression settled in his eyes. "It's only fair that a man who's looking the end of things straight in the face should have something for himself--to himself. If it's only a heavenly hour now and then. Before things stop. There's such a lot of life--and such a lot to live for--forever if one could. And a smash--or a crash--or a thrust--and it's over! Sometimes I can hardly get hold of it." He shook his head as he rose and stood upright, drawing his splendid young body erect. "It's only fair," he said. "A chap's so strong and--and ready for living. Everything's surging through one's mind and body. One can't go out without having _something_--of one's own. You'll come, won't you--just because there's no time? I--I want to keep looking into your eyes." "I want you to look into them," said Robin. "I'll come." He stood still a moment looking at her just as she wanted him to look. Then after a few more words he bent low and kissed her hands and then stood straight again and saluted and went away. CHAPTER IV There was one facet of the great stone of War upon which many strange things were written. They were not the things most discussed or considered. They were results--not causes. But for the stress of mental, spiritual and physical tempest-of-being the colossal background of storm created, many of them might never have happened; but the consequences of their occurrence were to touch close, search deep, and reach far into the unknown picture of the World the great War might leave in fragments which could only be readjusted by centuries of time. The interested habit of observation of, and reflection on, her kind which knew no indifferences, in the mind of the Duchess of Darte, awakened by stages to the existence of this facet and to the moment of the writings thereupon.