Then she said, very carefully: "Some one thought--some one thought
that they had seen him--quite lately."
Robin laughed comfortingly. "No use looking so scared about it, my
blessed child. Perhaps they did. The War Office made all kinds of
ghastly blunders--it was a quick step from 'missing in action' to
'killed.' And he'd probably would have been jolly glad of a chance to
drop out quietly and have every one think he was done for."
Daphne never took her eyes from the gate. "Yes," she said quietly, "I
suppose he would. Will you get my basket, Robin? I left it by the
beehive. There are some cushions that belong in the East Indian room,
too. The south door is open."
When he had gone, she stood shaking for a moment, listening to his
footsteps die away, and then she flew to the gate, searching the
twilight desperately with straining eyes. There was no one there--no one
at all--but then the turn in the lane would have hidden him by now. And
suddenly terror fell from her like a cloak.
She turned swiftly to the brick wall, straining up, up on tiptoes, to
lay her cheek against its roughened surface, to touch it very gently
with her lips. She could hear Robin whistling down the path but she did
not turn. She was bidding farewell to Green Gardens--and the last
adventurer.
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