Rawson-Clew agreed, and they talked of other things. Julia held the opinion that when an evil has to be endured, not cured, there is no good in discussing it over and over again; she had a considerable gift for making the best of other things besides opportunities. But the fog did not lift soon; it did not grow denser, but it did not grow less; it just lay soft and chilly, casting a white pall of silence on all things, closing day before its time, and making it impossible to say when evening ended and night began. Gradually the two who waited for its lifting fell into silence, and Julia, tired out, at last dropped asleep, her head tilted back against the tree-trunk, her shoulder pressed close against Rawson-Clew under the shelter of his coat. He did not move, he was afraid of waking her; he sat watching, waiting in the eerie white stillness, until at last the space before him altered, and gradually between the trees he saw the faint outline of a hill, dark against the dark sky. Slowly the white mist rolled from it, a billowy, ghostly thing, that left a black, vague world, only dimly seen. He looked at the sleeping girl, then at the hill; the fog was clearing, there was no doubt about that; soon it would be quite gone, but it would be a very dark night, the stars would hardly show, and the moon was now long down. He was not at all sure of being able to find his way across this undulating country, so entirely devoid of prominent features, in a very dark night. Rather he was nearly sure that he could not do it; and though he had a by no means low opinion of Julia's abilities, he did not think that she could either. Also, with a sense of dramatic fitness equal to that of the girl's he thought their arrival in the town would be rather ill-timed if they started now. It would be wiser to wait till after it was light, though dawn was not so very early now, the summer being far advanced. So he decided, and Julia slept peacefully on, her head dropping lower and lower, till finally it reached his shoulder. But he did not move; he left it resting there, and waited, thinking of nothing perhaps, or anything; or perhaps of that unknown quantity, the natural man, which has a way of stirring sometimes even in the most civilised, at night time. So he sat and watched for the dawn. CHAPTER X TO-MORROW