“You wouldn’t! You made up your mind to be patient with me at all costs. You just _wouldn’t_ lose your temper! Dear God, why didn’t you, George? I deserved it. We could have been friends if you’d dropped your hateful superiority for a moment, if you’d ever become human! You _can_ be! You were marvellously sympathetic when all was going well; but, after the crash, you behaved like a stone god. I was wrong. I _told_ you I was wrong. You didn’t blame me. You know I’m jealous through and through, but you wouldn’t punish me by falling in love with some one else. You didn’t even complain of this ghastly two years’ imprisonment. Won’t you ever meet me half way? I told you my love for Eric was dead; you know I never loved any one else. What more do you want? Must I apologize? I will! I’m sorry. I love you, I need you! I wouldn’t say it the other night, because I was trying to hold together the rags of my pride. Isn’t that enough? If you’ll stay, I’ll make up for all my wickedness and cruelty. You’re all I have in the world. I didn’t know it before; but now I can feel death hovering over you like some great black bird. If you go . . . If you go . . .” Suddenly turning, she clung to me, laughing and crying. I stood without speaking because her intensity of feeling overwhelmed me. I remember stroking her hands. I believe I told her that I should be back before she had time to miss me. “But you’re not going _now_?,” she cried. “Darling, I must. I shan’t be in any more danger than I am now; but, if it were a question of bombs and machine-guns, you wouldn’t ask me to let Raney down. He wouldn’t have asked me if he didn’t need me.” Barbara’s hands disengaged themselves from mine and rose to draw me into her embrace. As our lips met, I felt that she belonged to me, at last, heart and soul; but, when I looked into her eyes, I read her frantic certainty that we should never kiss again. “I’m coming back, sweetheart,” I promised her. “Good-bye,” she whispered. Then, still gripping my shoulders, she looked wildly about the room as though to face and drive away this black presence of death that was haunting her. “It’s . . . come too late. Good-bye . . . and forgive me.” “I’m coming back,” I told her again; but Barbara was now kneeling with eyes closed and folded hands. If she heard me, she made no sign; I fancy she heard nothing but her own passionate prayers. As I stumbled into the choking fog, the door slammed behind me; and for the first time in these bewildering five minutes I realized that I was awake. CHAPTER THREE TWO IN THE FIELD “The one shall be taken, and the other left.” _S. Matthew_: XXIV, 40. 1