“‘No,’ he said; ‘but——­’

“’Why cannot you leave me alone?  I have done with these things.  I have ceased to be anything but a private man.’

“‘Yes,’ he answered.  ’But have you thought?—­this talk of war, these reckless challenges, these wild aggressions——­’

“I stood up.

“‘No,’ I cried.  ’I won’t hear you.  I took count of all those things, I weighed them—­and I have come away.”

“He seemed to consider the possibility of persistence.  He looked from me to where the lady sat regarding us.

“‘War,’ he said, as if he were speaking to himself, and then turned slowly from me and walked away.

“I stood, caught in the whirl of thoughts his appeal had set going.

“I heard my lady’s voice.

“‘Dear,’ she said; ‘but if they have need of you—­’

“She did not finish her sentence, she let it rest there.  I turned to her sweet face, and the balance of my mood swayed and reeled.

“‘They want me only to do the thing they dare not do themselves,’ I said.  ‘If they distrust Gresham they must settle with him themselves.’

“She looked at me doubtfully.

“‘But war—­’ she said.

“I saw a doubt on her face that I had seen before, a doubt of herself and me, the first shadow of the discovery that, seen strongly and completely, must drive us apart for ever.

“Now, I was an older mind than hers, and I could sway her to this belief or that.

“‘My dear one,’ I said, ’you must not trouble over these things.  There will be no war.  Certainly there will be no war.  The age of wars is past.  Trust me to know the justice of this case.  They have no right upon me, dearest, and no one has a right upon me.  I have been free to choose my life, and I have chosen this.’

“‘But war—­’ she said.

“I sat down beside her.  I put an arm behind her and took her hand in mine.  I set myself to drive that doubt away—­I set myself to fill her mind with pleasant things again.  I lied to her, and in lying to her I lied also to myself.  And she was only too ready to believe me, only too ready to forget.

“Very soon the shadow had gone again, and we were hastening to our bathing-place in the Grotta del Bovo Marino, where it was our custom to bathe every day.  We swam and splashed one another, and in that buoyant water I seemed to become something lighter and stronger than a man.  And at last we came out dripping and rejoicing and raced among the rocks.  And then I put on a dry bathing-dress, and we sat to bask in the sun, and presently I nodded, resting my head against her knee, and she put her hand upon my hair and stroked it softly and I dozed.  And behold! as it were with the snapping of the string of a violin, I was awakening, and I was in my own bed in Liverpool, in the life of to-day.

“Only for a time I could not believe that all these vivid moments had been no more than the substance of a dream.