There were times during their rapid journey when Seaman, studying his companion, became thoughtful.

Dominey seemed, indeed, to have passed beyond the boundaries of any ordinary reserve, to have become like a man immeshed in the toils of a past so absorbing that he moved as though in a dream, speaking only when necessary and comporting himself generally like one to whom all externals have lost significance.

As they embarked upon the final stage of their travels, Seaman leaned forward in his seat in the sombrely upholstered, overheated compartment.
"Your home-coming seems to depress you, Von Ragastein," he said.
"It was not my intention," Dominey replied, "to set foot in Germany again for many years." "The past still bites ?" "Always." The train sped on through long chains of vineyard-covered hills, out into a stretch of flat country, into forests of pines, in the midst of which were great cleared spaces, where, notwithstanding the closely drawn windows, the resinous odour from the fallen trunks seemed to permeate the compartment.

Presently they slackened speed.

Seaman glanced at his watch and rose.
"Prepare yourself, my friend," he said.