The voices died away, and Diana left the rose-bower. She had but one thought—she must find Jim at once. Why, oh, why, had she written the note of the morning? She stumbled across the heavy, thick sward. In the distance she could see a figure; it looked like Jim’s; he was coming from the Fairies’ Corner over the green to the entrance which in the morning had let her out on to the purple moor. Quickly she hurried to him, staining her gown and delicate slippers in the wet grass. "Jim, Jim," she called, "where are you going?" As he turned she came close to him and repeated her question. "I’m taking your advice, Diana; I’m leaving England—" "Oh no, no," she eagerly interrupted, "I thought so, but now you must stay—stay to protect your honor. I’ve just heard that the Fund—oh, it’s not you, I know, Jim, it’s not you—not you—you couldn’t be—" her despairing cry stopped. Still he made no effort to comfort her. Finally he said—"I must go." What did it mean? That he should go after the revelation she had made to him—she understood that; but now with his honor at stake it was different. Into her mind there flashed an unanswerable suspicion. Was there some reason why he had so eagerly acceded to her request; that even now, when she asked him to remain, he still stood mute at her entreaties? "Whether you go or stay, Jim, I do not expect ever to see you alone again, and I’m glad of this chance to bid you good-bye—forever. I can never, never believe that you are—Jim, if your hands are clean, if you haven’t robbed the soldiers’ widows and orphans, you may kiss me good-bye." Into his eyes came the desire of his love as she had seen it in the early morning in the Fairies’ Corner. This time she did not move; but Jim only bent low over the out-stretched arms as he answered, "I must go," and went away from her. The circle of his boyhood was complete. Again he went along the same lane that he had travelled ten years before; again the desolation brought by his departure from his home, his country, hurt and bruised his spirit. Instead of the dawn, it was midnight, with clouds sweeping sinisterly over the light of the heavens, and instead of a boy’s optimism he carried a man’s disillusions. From the park the light of the tent fires sent out flames that illumined the roadway, the swaying and rustling of the heavy trees made whispering sounds. Once at a turning he heard a boy’s voice in the camp ringing out high above the moaning of the trees: "Oh, Tommy, Tommy Atkins, you’re a good ’un, ’eart and ’and, You’re a credit to your country and to all your native land." He clutched his arms about his head to deaden the sound and hurried on out into the roadway, stumbling and half-falling over the gnarled roots of the ancient trees. *EXILE* *CHAPTER XIII*