ou'll write me as soon as you've seen him?"

"Yes ... yes," she answered eagerly. "And you ... you'll write to me ...
every day, won't you?... That will be my only comfort ... my only...."

She choked and could not go on.

He asked her where he should address his letters, and she answered "to
Breene."

"They will be forwarded to me wherever I am ... you see.... I don't know
yet where I shall be ... just at first...."

Again she broke off.

They had reached the station. It was now a quarter to ten. Only fifteen
minutes more and they would be parted--for how long?

But even for these fifteen minutes they could not be together. Amaldi
had still to see to things--to find out whether her luggage was all on
board. She watched him as he went to and fro with his light, nervous
step. It was all so unreal. Even he looked unreal. She could not see his
face plainly at this distance. She tried to recall it, and it frightened
her when she found that she could not imagine it clearly though she had
looked at it so often and so earnestly during the past hour. Would she
be unable to see his face in her thought when they were really parted?
Then she began to watch the station clock. Only ten minutes more
now--only nine ... eight----

He came back with a _fachino_, who gathered up her bags, and went off
towards the train with them. Seven minutes now....

She sprang to her feet.

"Let us walk together...." she said, "somewhere away from all these
people...."

They went slowly down the long station, beside the rails over which her
train would soon be rolling. Their white, drawn faces would have
attracted more attention were not such faces often seen at railway
stations. One or two people gave them a passing glance of curiosity.
About them sounded voices and footsteps, trundling wheels, sharp
whistlings, the clang of testing hammers, the stridor of escaping steam,
all made harsher and more echoing by the vaulted roof and stone walls of
the station.

He offered her his arm, and she clung to it faint with pain. The
clattering, grinding, sibilant din added to her misery. The acrid smell
of coal-smoke recalled hateful memories. She had so many things she
wished to say. They jostled in her mind. She could not choose which one
to say first. And with him it was much the same. Then he murmured
something that she could not catch. She clutched his arm, saying, "What
is it?... Tell me again.... I didn't hear."

The scream of an engine d