In my recollections of that strange night there are wide gaps.

　　Trivial incidents come back to me with extraordinary vividness;while there are hours of which I can remember nothing. What I didor where I went I cannot recall. It seems to me, looking back,that I walked without a pause till morning; yet, when day came, Iwas still in the school grounds. Perhaps I walked, as a woundedanimal runs, in circles. I lost, I know, all count of time. Ibecame aware of the dawn as something that had happened suddenly,as if light had succeeded darkness in a flash. It had been night;I looked about me, and it was day--a steely, cheerless day, like aDecember evening. And I found that I was very cold, very tired,and very miserable.

　　My mind was like the morning, grey and overcast. Conscience may beexpelled, but, like Nature, it will return. Mine, which I had castfrom me, had crept back with the daylight. I had had my hour offreedom, and it was now for me to pay for it.

　　I paid in full. My thoughts tore me. I could see no way out.

　　Through the night the fever and exhilaration of that mad momenthad sustained me, but now the morning had come, when dreams mustyield to facts, and I had to face the future.

　　I sat on the stump of a tree, and buried my face in my hands. Imust have fallen asleep, for, when I raised my eyes again, the daywas brighter. Its cheerlessness had gone. The sky was blue, andbirds were singing.

　　It must have been about half an hour later that the firstbeginnings of a plan of action came to me. I could not trustmyself to reason out my position clearly and honestly in thisplace where Audrey's spell was over everything. The part of methat was struggling to be loyal to Cynthia was overwhelmed here.

　　London called to me. I could think there, face my positionquietly, and make up my mind.

　　I turned to walk to the station. I could not guess even remotelywhat time it was. The sun was shining through the trees, but inthe road outside the grounds there were no signs of workersbeginning the day.

　　It was half past five when I reached the station. A sleepy porterinformed me that there would be a train to London, a slow train,at six.

　　* * * * *I remained in London two days, and on the third went down to Sansteadto see Audrey for the last time. I had made my decision.

　　I found her on the drive, close by the gate. She turned at myfootstep on the gravel; and, as I saw her, I knew that the fightwhich I had thought over was only beginning.

　　I was shocked at her appearance. Her face was very pale, and therewere tired lines about her eyes.

　　I could not speak. Something choked me. Once again, as on thatnight in the stable-yard, the world and all that was in it seemedinfinitely remote.

　　It was she who broke the silence.

　　'Well, Peter,' she said listlessly.

　　We walked up the drive together.