Lengthening shadows lay on the river and the sun hung low in the west, but they talked on. She forgot everything but the peace of the moment, which came to her sore heart like a benediction. Without knowing it, she was very near to happiness then. The Doctor's voice was soothing, as if he were talking to a child, and she did not dream that he was fighting the exquisite danger of her nearness with all the power at his command. At last she leaned forward with her eyes shining, and put her hand on his. "Thank you," she said, softly, "for helping me!" The man's blood leaped in his veins, and he sprang to his feet. He walked back and forth on the bank of the river for some time before he dared trust himself to speak. "Your happiness is very near to me," he said, trying hard to keep his voice even, "you must always remember that. And for me, it is enough to be near you, even if----" She stretched out her hands and he lifted her to her feet. "I must go," she said. "Yes, you must go, and go alone. I will stay here until you have had time to get back." The deference to circumstances jarred upon her and she did not answer. Her hat was lying by the child's grave, and as he picked it up for her, she said: "Why, there are violets all around. I never saw those before." "Didn't you?" he asked diffidently; "I thought you came often." "No," she said, in a low voice, "not very often. Who put them there?" He lowered his eyes at her question, and then she understood. "Did you plant flowers on my baby's grave?" she cried. There was a tense moment before he dared to look at her. "Yes," he answered, slowly, "because----" They were standing face to face, with the little grave between them, and the woman's heart quivered with a strange and terrible joy. There was no need of words, for, all at once, she knew why, during the four years of her marriage, he had followed her from one post to another. She saw a new meaning in his sympathy when the little lad died and her husband blamed her so bitterly; moreover, she knew that her battle was with herself, not him, for the unyielding edge of Honour lay between them, and, even if she would, he would not let her cross. For his part he, too, was uplifted, because without words she understood, and answered with love in her eyes. Undisguised and unashamed, her heart leaped toward him, but he stood with his hands clenched so tightly that the nails cut deep into the flesh. Neither had heard nor seen, but she felt an alien presence, and turned. Not six feet away from them stood Lieutenant Howard, with his face ashen grey. He had an armful of flowers--purple flags and yellow lilies from the marsh and clover from the fields. When he knew that she saw him, he came to the grave, stooped, and put the flowers upon it. The Doctor stepped back, but Howard took no note of him whatever. "It is a strange place for a tryst," he said, with forced calmness. "Katherine, will you come home?"