"Whatever you decide," she repeated. "You will not--you will not let
them call you a deserter? You couldn't do that."

"There isn't anything in the world," he told her quietly, "which has the
power to tempt me from doing the thing which I think best. I cannot
promise that it will be always the thing which seems right to this
committee of men," he added, touching the envelope with his forefinger.
"I cannot promise you that, but it should not worry you. You yourself
are different. It is my hope that soon you will understand me better.
I think that when that time comes you will cease to fear."

The light in her face was wonderful.

"Oh, I want to!" she murmured. "I want to understand you better. There
hasn't been anything in life to me like the sound of your name, like the
thought of you, since first I understood. Perhaps I am as bad as
Aaron," she sighed. "I, too, alas! am your hopeless slave."

He moved a step nearer. This time she made no effort to retreat. Once
more she was trembling a little, but her face was soft and sweet. All
the pallor, the hard lines, the suffering seemed to have passed
miraculously out of it. A soul--a woman's soul--was shining at him out
of her eyes. It wasn't her physical self that spoke--in a way he knew
that. Yet she was calling to him, calling to him with all she
possessed, calling to him as to her master.

He succeeded in persuading her to eat and drink, and she departed, a
little grim and unpleased, in the motor car which Mr. Foley had
insisted upon ordering round. Then Maraton strolled into the garden to
take his delayed coffee. Elisabeth came noiselessly across the turf to