From the camp in the park beyond came the sound of the bugle calling the men to their early morning duties. It roused Jim and Diana to the consciousness of the workaday world. Diana was the first to move; she slipped her hands away from his shoulders, while she still had the strength to do so. Jim silently started towards her, his eyes showing the surrender of his love. She could read all that they asked; her name broke from his lips in tender reiteration.
"Di, dear—dear Di!"
But this time the out-stretched hands waved him back.
"No, no!" she cried, and down the long copse she fled from him.
Alone, Jim realized that they had been on the edge of a great precipice. Gradually it came upon him that there was only one way to save himself—to save Diana; he must go away. When, how—it all mattered little—later he would decide that. He managed to reach his room unobserved. How could he face the day's responsibilities, he asked himself, as he heard rising from below the sounds of the life of the house, and knew that the duties of the camp were awaiting him.
Towards noon in his tent a letter was brought to him. It was from Diana. Trembling he tore it open and read:
"DEAR JIM—Our meeting this morning has revealed me to myself. If you can find it in your interest, I hope you will leave England. I cannot trust myself to say anything more but good-bye. DIANA."
"Revealed me to myself," he repeated. "Oh, Diana, Diana," he whispered.
Yes, he must go.
CHAPTER XI