he was to him, she and her mother and Michael, and the hosts
of friends in this land which had become his foe. Would he have gone,
she asked herself, if he had guessed that there would be war between the
two? She thought he would, though she knew that for herself she would
have made it as hard as possible for him to do so. She would have used
every argument she could think of to dissuade him, and yet she felt that
her entreaties would have beaten in vain against the granite of his and
her nationality. Dimly she had foreseen this contingency when, a few
days ago, she had asked Michael what he would do if England went to war,
and now that contingency was realised, and Hermann was even now perhaps
on his way to violate the neutrality of the country for the sake of
which England had gone to war. On the other side was Michael, into whose
keeping she had given herself and her love, and on which side was she?
It was then that the nightmare came close to her; she could not tell,
she was utterly unable to decide. Her heart was Michael's; her heart
was her brother's also. The one personified Germany for her, the other
England. It was as if she saw Hermann and Michael with bayonet and rifle
stalking each other across some land of sand-dunes and hollows, creeping
closer to each other, always closer. She felt as if she would have
gladly given herself over to an eternity of torment, if only they could
have had one hour more, all three of them, together here, as on that
night of stars and peace when first there came the news which for the
moment had disquieted Hermann.

She longed as with thirst for Michael to come, and as her solitude
became more and more intolerable, a hundred hideous fancies obsessed
her. What if some accident had happened to Michael, or what, if in this
tremendous breaking of ties that the war entailed, he felt that he could
not see her? She knew that was an impossibility; but the whole world had
become impossible. And there was no escape. Somehow she had to adjust
herself to the unthinkable; somehow her relations both with Hermann and
Michael had to remain absolutely unshaken. Even that was not enough:
they had to be strengthened, made impregnable.

Then came a knock on the side door of the studio that led into the
street: Michael often came that way without passing through the house,
and with a sense of relief she ran to it and unlocked it. And even as
he stepped in, before any word of greeting had been exchange