know. I know. Say it all through, Marko."

He stumbled through it. At the end, a little abashed, he smiled at her
and said, "Of course, no one else would think it applies. Richard was
saying it in Wales where he'd just landed, and it's about civil war, not
foreign; but where it comes to me is the loving of the soil itself, as
if it were a living thing that knew it was being loved and loved back in
return. Our England, Nona. You remember Gaunt's thing in the same play:

"This royal throne of kings, this sceptre'd isle,
This other Eden, demi-paradise....
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea....
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England...."

She nodded again. He saw that her dear eyes were brimming. She said,
"Yes--yes.--Our England. Rupert Brooke said it just perfectly, Marko:

"And think, this heart, all evil shed, away....
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven."

She touched his hand. "Dear Marko--" She made approach to that which lay
between them. "'This heart, all evil shed away.' Marko, in this
frightful time we couldn't have given back the thoughts by England given
if we had.--And that was you, Marko."

He shook his head, not trusting himself to look at her. He said, "You.
Not I. Any one can know the right thing. But strength to do it--Strength
flows out of you to me. It always has. I want it more and more. I shall
want it. Things are difficult. Sometimes I've a frightful feeling that
things are closing in on me. There's Shelley's 'Ode to the West Wind.'
It makes me--I don't know--wrought up. And sometimes I've the feeling
that I'm being carried along like that and towards that frightful cry at
the end, 'O Wind, if winter comes-'"

He stopped. He said, "Give me your handkerchief to keep, Nona. Something
of your own to keep. There will be strength in it for me--to help me
hold on to the rest--to believe it--'If Winter comes--Can Spring be far
behind?'"

She touched her handkerchief to her lips and gave it to him.

V

After October, especially, he spent never less than two evenings a week
with old Mrs. Perch. In October Young Perch went to France and on his
draft-leave took from Sabre the easy promise to "keep an eye on my
mother." Military tra