ts and cities can do without you, and Selingman
can do without me. We'll take a cottage somewhere and live through
these evil days."

She shook her head.

"You and I are not like that, Francis," she declared. "When the storm
breaks, we mustn't be found hiding in our holes. You know that quite
well. It is for us to decide what part we may play. You have chosen. So,
in a measure, have I. Tomorrow I am going on a secret mission to Italy."

"Anna!" he cried in dismay.

"Alas, yes!" she repeated, "We may not even meet again, Francis, till the
map of Europe has been rewritten with the blood of many of our friends
and millions of our country-people. But I shall think of you, and the
kiss you will give me now shall be the last upon my lips."

"You can go away?" he demanded. "You can leave me like this?"

"I must," she answered simply. "I have work before me. Good-by, Francis!
Somehow I knew what was coming. I believe that I am glad, dear, but I
must think about it, and so must you."

Norgate left the hotel and walked out amid the first mutterings of the
storm. He found a taxi and drove to his rooms. For an hour he sat before
his window, watching the lightning play, fighting the thoughts which beat
upon his brain, fighting all the time a losing battle. At midnight the
storm had ceased. He walked back through the rain-streaming streets. The
air was filled with sweet and pungent perfumes. The heaviness had passed
from the atmosphere. His own heart was lighter; he walked swiftly.
Outside her hotel he paused and looked up at the window. There was a
light still burning in her room. He even fancied that he could see the
outline of her figure leaning back in the easy-chair which he had wheeled
up close to the casement. He entered the hotel, stepped into the lift,
ascended to her floor, and made his way with tingling pulses and beating
heart along the corridor. He knocked softly at her door. There was a
little hesitation, then he heard her voice on the other side.

"Who is that?"

"It is I--Francis," he answered softly. "Let me in."

There was a little exclamation. She opened the door, holding up
her finger.

"Quietly," she whispered. "What is it, Francis? Why have you come back?
What has happened to you?"

He drew her into the room. She herself looked weary, and there were
lines under her eyes. It seemed, even, as though she might have been
weeping. But it was a new Norgate who spoke. His words rang out with a
fierce vig