the danger I can guard myself," he
answered uneasily.

"Can you guard _her_?"

"That is unpardonable presumption," replied Donaldson heatedly.

"The mellow sun and the birthing flowers are ever presumptuous,"
answered the wise old clock.

"But a man may fight them off."

"I have ticked here many years and seen many things that man has prided
himself upon having the power to do and yet has failed of doing."

"I cannot help myself. I should offend her unwarrantedly if I made
further objection."

"Then you are not all-powerful."

"I have power over myself. And you are insulting her."

"Tick-tock. Tick-tock," answered the clock, jeeringly.

And Donaldson was saved from his impulse to kick the inanimate thing
into splinters by the sound of her footsteps.

CHAPTER X

_Outside the Hedge_

She came down the stairs, a vision of young womanhood, dressed in
white, with a wide turn-down collar fastened at the throat by a
generous tie of black. Her hat was a girlish affair of black straw
with a cluster of red roses gathered at the brim. She was drawing on
her black gloves as she neared him--with the background of the broad
Colonial staircase--a study for a master. She approached with the
grace of a princess and the poise of a woman twice her years. He now
could have no more bade her remain behind than he could have stopped
the progress of time. There was something almost inevitable in her
movements, as though it had been foreordained that they two should have
this day in the country, no matter under what evil auspices. Without a
word he held open the door for her to pass through and followed her
into the cab.

Into the Drive they were whirled and so towards the station, the
throbbing heart of the city. The ant-like throng was going and coming,
and now he was one of them. It was as though the strand of his life,
hanging loose, had been caught up, forced into the shuttle, and taken
again into the pattern. At her side he made his way into the depot at
the side of a hundred others; at her side he took his turn in line at
the ticket window; at her side he made his way towards the gates, a
score of others jostling him in criticism of his more moderate pace.
An old client, one of his few, bowed to him. He returned the salute as
though his position were the most matter-of-fact one in the world. Yet
he was still confused. He had been thrust upon the stage but he was
uncertain of his cue. What was the