Janiculum. During the eighteen
years which had elapsed since their adventure, he had quite made it up
with her, and had often called at the Janiculan villa, with its
antiques, its window to the view, and the great Judas tree between it
and Rome. His sense of escape--which grew upon him--was always tempered
by a keen respect for the lady's disinterestedness, and those high
ideals which must have led her--for what else could?--to prefer the
German professor, who had so soon become decrepit, to himself. But the
result of it all had been that the period of highest susceptibility and
effervescence had passed by, leaving him still unmarried. Since then he
had had many women-friends, following harmlessly a score of 'chance
desires'! But he had never wanted to marry anybody; and the idea of
surrendering the solitude and independence of his pleasant existence had
now become distasteful to him. Renan in some late book speaks of his
life as 'cette charmante promenade a travers la realite.' Farrell could
have adopted much the same words about his own--until the war. The war
had made him think a good deal, like Sarratt; though the thoughts of a
much travelled, epicurean man of the world were naturally very
different from those of the young soldier. At least 'the surge and
thunder' of the struggle had developed in Farrell a new sensitiveness, a
new unrest, as though youth had returned upon him. The easy, drifting
days of life before the catastrophe were gone. The 'promenade' was no
longer charming. But the jagged and broken landscape through which it
was now taking him, held him often--like so many others--breathless with
strange awes, strange questionings. And all the more, because, owing to
his physical infirmity, he must be perforce a watcher, a discontented
watcher, rather than an actor, in the great scene.

* * * * *

That night Nelly, sitting at her open window, with starlight on the
lake, and the cluster rose sending its heavy scent into the room--wrote
to her husband.

'My darling--it is just a little more than eight hours since I got your
telegram. Sometimes it seems like nothing--and then like _days_--days of
happiness. I was _very_ anxious. But I know I oughtn't to write about
that. You say it helps you if I keep cheerful, and always expect the
best and not the worst. Indeed, George, I do keep cheerful. Ask Miss
Martin--ask Bridget--'

At this point two splashes fell, luckily not on the l