everything!
Went out into the dark! Men did sometimes--she knew--caught like this in
the full flush of passion. But surely not Miltoun, with his faith!
'If the lark's song means nothing--if that sky is a morass of our
invention--if we are pettily creeping on, furthering nothing--persuade
me of it, Babs, and I'll bless you.' But had he still that anchorage, to
prevent him slipping out to sea? This sudden thought of death to one for
whom life was joy, who had never even seen the Great Stillness, was very
terrifying. She fixed her eyes on the back of the chauffeur, in his drab
coat with the red collar, finding some comfort in its solidity. They
were in a taxi-cab, in Richmond Park! Death--incongruous, incredible
death! It was stupid to be frightened! She forced herself to look
at Miltoun. He seemed to be asleep; his eyes were closed, his arms
folded--only a quivering of his eyelids betrayed him. Impossible to tell
what was going on in that grim waking sleep, which made her feel that
she was not there at all, so utterly did he seem withdrawn into himself!

He opened his eyes, and said suddenly:

"So you think I'm going to lay hands on myself, Babs?"

Horribly startled by this reading of her thoughts, Barbara could only
edge away and stammer:

"No; oh, no!"

"Where are we going in this thing?"

"Nettlefold. Would you like him stopped?"

"It will do as well as anywhere."

Terrified lest he should relapse into that grim silence, she timidly
possessed herself of his hand.

It was fast growing dark; the cab, having left the villas of Surbiton
behind, was flying along at great speed among pine-trees and stretches
of heather gloomy with faded daylight.

Miltoun said presently, in a queer, slow voice "If I want, I have
only to open that door and jump. You who believe that 'to-morrow we
die'--give me the faith to feel that I can free myself by that jump, and
out I go!" Then, seeming to pity her terrified squeeze of his hand, he
added: "It's all right, Babs; we, shall sleep comfortably enough in our
beds tonight."

But, so desolate to the girl was his voice, that she hoped now for
silence.

"Let us be skinned quietly," muttered Miltoun, "if nothing else. Sorry
to have disturbed you."

Pressing close up to him, Barbara murmured:

"If only----Talk to me!".

But Miltoun, though he stroked her hand, was silent.

The cab, moving at unaccustomed speed along these deserted roads, moaned
dismally; and Barbara was posse