They found by their old footprints the gap in the cliffs through which they had first descended, and took the precaution of scrambling back farther along so that there should remain only the marks of their descent. In the first oleander thicket they hid themselves by lying flat on the marshy ground; so tired were they that they both fell asleep until they were awakened by morning and a drench of rain. "One feels more secluded and safe somehow in such weather," said Sylvia, with an attempt at optimism. "Yes, and we've got a box of Turkish-delight," said Michael. "Turkish-delight?" she repeated, in astonishment. "Yes; one of Rakoff's men gave it to me about a week ago, and I kept it with a vague notion of its bringing us luck or something. Besides, another thing in the rain's favor is that it serves as a kind of bath." "A very complete bath I should say," laughed Sylvia. They ate Turkish-delight at intervals during that long day, when for not a single moment did the rain cease to fall. Sylvia told Michael about the Earl's Court Exhibition and Mabel Bannerman. "I remember a girl called Mabel who used to sell Turkish-delight there, but she had a stall of her own." "So did my Mabel the year afterward," she said. Soon they decided it must be the same Mabel. Sylvia thought what a good opening this was to tell Michael some of her more intimate experiences, but she dreaded that he would, in spite of himself, show his distaste for that early life of hers, and she could not bear the idea of creating such an atmosphere now--or in the future, she thought, with a sigh. Nevertheless, she did begin an apostrophe against the past, but he cut her short. "The past? What does the past matter? Without a past, my dear Sylvia, you would have no present." "And, after all," she thought, "he knows already I have a past." Once their hands met by accident, and Michael withdrew his with a quickness that mortified her, so that she simulated a deep preoccupation in order to hide her chagrin, for she had outgrown her capacity to sting back with bitter words, and could only await the slow return of her composure before she could talk naturally again. "But never mind, the adventure is drawing to a close," she told herself, "and he'll soon be rid of me." Then he began to talk again about their damned relationship and to speculate upon the extent of Stella's surprise when she should hear about it. "I think, you know, when I was young," Michael said, presently, "that I must have been rather like your husband. I'm sure I should have fallen in love with you and married you." "You couldn't have been in the least like him," she contradicted, angrily.