e hung
overboard, ready to lower instantly. On the horizon a British destroyer
steamed leisurely. Henri stood for a long time on the deck. The land
fell away quickly. From a clear silhouette of the town against the
sky--the dunes, the spire of the cathedral, the roof of the _mairie_--it
became vague, shadowy--the height of a hand--a line--nothing.

Henri roused himself. He was very thirsty, and the wound in his arm
ached. When he raised his hand to salute the movement was painful.

It was a very grave Sara Lee he found in the officer's cabin when he
went inside later on. She was sitting on the long seat below the open
port, her hat slightly askew and her hands folded in her lap. Her bag
was beside her, and there was in her eyes a perplexity Henri was too
wretched to notice.

For the first time Sara Lee was realizing the full value of the thing
she was throwing away. She had persistently discounted it until now.
She had been grateful for it. She had felt unworthy of it. But now,
on the edge of leaving it, she felt that something infinitely precious
and very beautiful was going out of her life. She had already a sense
of loss.

For the first time, too, she was allowing herself to think of certain
contingencies that were now forever impossible. For instance, suppose
she had stayed with Mrs. Cameron? Suppose she had broken her promise
to Harvey and remained at the little house? Suppose she had done as
Henri had so wildly urged her, and had broken entirely with Harvey?
Would she have married Henri?

There was a certain element of caution in the girl. It made the chances
she had taken rather more courageous, indeed, because she had always
counted the cost. But marriage was not a matter for taking chances. One
should know not only the man, but his setting, though she would not have
thought of it in that way. Not only the man, but the things that made up
his life--his people, his home.

And Henri was to her still a figure, not so much now of mystery as of
detachment. Except Jean he had no intimates. He had no family on the
only side of the line she knew. He had not even a country.

She had reached that point when Henri came below and saluted her stiffly
from the doorway.

"Henri!" she said. "I believe you are ill!"

"I am not ill," he said, and threw himself into the corner of the seat.
"You have read it?"

She nodded. Even thinking of it brought a lump into her throat. He
bent forward, but he did not touch her.