of meeting one
who moved with a haughty pride of carriage and looked like a prince in
disguise. Sometimes she stood to see a whole troop pass by, splendid boys
swinging along with laughter and careless singing. She listened to the
tramping feet and merry voices with a heart that sank ever lower and
lower. She had started the day with a quivering wonder if the end of it
might find her in his arms. But ever as the hours passed by the certainty
grew upon her that this would not be. She grew sick with the longing to
see his face. She ached for the sound of his voice. And deep in the heart
of her she knew that this futile yearning was to be her portion for many,
many days. For over a year he had waited, and he had waited in vain. Now
it was her turn.

It was growing dusk when she went again in search of Crowther. He had not
returned, but she could not endure that aimless wandering any longer. She
went in to wait for him, there in the room where Piers had found
sanctuary during some of the darkest hours of his life.

She was too utterly wearied to move about, but sat sunk in the chair
by the window, almost too numbed with misery and fatigue for coherent
thought. The dusk deepened about her. The roar of London's life came
vaguely from afar. Through it and above it she still seemed to hear the
tread of the marching feet as the gallant lines swung by. And still
with aching concentration she seemed to be searching for that one
beloved face.

What did it matter what he had done? He was hers. He was hers. And, O
God, how she wanted him! How gladly in that hour would she have yielded
him all--all that she had to offer!

There came a quiet step without, a steady hand on the door. She started
up with a wild hope clamouring at her heart. Might he not be there also?
It was possible! Surely it was possible!

She took a quick step forward. No conventional word would rise to her
lips. They only stiffly uttered the one name, "Piers!"

And Crowther answered her, just as though no interval of more than a
year lay between them and the old warm friendship. "He left for the
Front today."

With the words he reached her, and she remembered later the
sustaining strength with which his hands upheld her when she reeled
beneath the blow.

He put her down again in the chair, and knelt beside her, for she clung
to him convulsively, scarcely knowing what she did.

"He ought to have let you know," he said. "But he wouldn't be persuaded.
I beli