ealing all her
throat. She had a little closefitting hat banded with flowers and a
loose veil depended from it. She put back the veil. Beauty abode in her
face as the scent within the rose, Hapgood had said; and, as perfume
deeply inhaled, her serene and tender beauty penetrated Sabre's senses,
propped up, watching her. He had something to say to her.

"How long is it since I have seen you, Nona?"

"It's a month since I was here, Marko."

"I don't remember it."

"You've been very ill; oh, so ill."

He said slowly, "Yes, I think I've been down in a pretty deep place."

"You're going to be splendid now, Marko."

He did not respond to her tone. He said, "I've come on a lot in the last
few weeks. I'd an idea you'd been about me before that. I'd an idea
you'd be coming again. There's a thing I've been thinking out to tell
you."

She breathed, "Yes, tell me, Marko."

But he did not answer.

She said, "Have you been thinking, in these weeks, while you've been
coming on, what you are going to do?"

His hands, that had been crumpling up the sheet, were now laid flat
before him. His eyes, that had been regarding her, were now averted from
her, fixed ahead. "There is nothing I can do, in the way you mean."

She was silent a little time.

"Marko, we've not talked at all about the greatest thing--of course
they've told you?--the Armistice, the war won. England, your England
that you loved so, at peace, victorious; those dark years done. England
her own again. Your dear England, Marko."

He said, "It's no more to do with me. Frightful things have happened to
me. Frightful things."

She stretched a hand to his. He moved his hands away. "Marko, they're
done. I would not have spoken of them. But shall I.... Your dear England
in those years suffered frightful things. She suffered lies, calumnies,
hateful and terrible things--not in one little place but across the
world. Those who loved her trusted her and she has come through those
dark years; and those who know you have trusted you _always_, and you
are coming through those days to show to all. Time, Marko; time heals
all things, forgets all things, and proves all things. There's that for
you."

He shook his head with a quick, decisive motion.

She went on. "There's your book--your 'England.' You have that to go to
now. And all your plans--do you remember telling me all your plans? Such
splendid plans. And first of all your 'England' that you loved writing
so."