as in a
paroxysm of rebellion and resentment and remorse; but in this red
corner of the universe, from which the usual world was shut out, from
which all domestic existence, all social organization, habit or the
amenities of social intercourse were excluded, she had been able to
restore her equilibrium. Yet now here, all at once, there was an
invasion of this world of rigid, narrow organization, where there was
no play; where all men's acts were part of a deadly mortal issue; where
the human being was only part of a scheme which allowed nothing of the
flexible adaptations of the life of peace, the life of cities, of
houses: here was the sudden interposition of a purely personal life, of
domestic being--of sex. She was conscious of no reasoning, of no mental
protest which could be put into words: she was only conscious of
emotions which now shook her with their power, now left her starkly
cold, her brain muffled, or again aflame with a suffering as intense as
that of Procrustes on his bed of iron.

This it was that seized her now. The glance of his eyes at her bared
breast roused her. She knew not why, except that there was an
indefinable craving for a self respect which had been violated by
herself and others; except that she longed for the thing which she felt
he would not give her. The look in his eye offered her nothing of that.

That she mistook what really was in his eyes was not material, though
he was thinking of days when he believed he had discovered the secret
of life--a woman whose life was beautiful; diffusing beauty,
contentment, inspiration and peace. She did not know that his look was
the wistful look backward, with no look forward; and that alone. She
was living a life where new faculties of her nature were being
exercised or brought into active being; she was absorbed by it all; it
was part of her scheme for restoring herself, for getting surcease of
anguish; but here, all at once, every entrenchment was overrun, the
rigidity of the unit was made chaos, and she was tossed by the Spirit
of Confusion upon a stormy sea of feeling.

"Will you not go?" she asked in a voice of suppressed passion. "Have
you no consideration? It is past midnight."

His anger flamed, but he forced back the words upon his lips, and said
with a bitter smile: "Day and night are the same to me always now. What
else should be in war? I am going." He looked at the watch at his
wrist. "It is half-past one o'clock. At five our work