A MATTER OF DUTY On the evening before George's departure, Sylvia stood with him at the entrance to the Brantholme drive.

He leaned upon the gate, a broad-shouldered, motionless figure; his eyes fixed moodily upon the prospect, because he was afraid to let them dwell upon his companion.
In front, across the dim white road, a cornfield ran down to the river, and on one side of it a wood towered in a shadowy mass against a soft green streak of light.

Near its foot the water gleamed palely among overhanging alders, and in the distance the hills faded into the grayness of the eastern sky.

Except for the low murmur of the stream, it was very still; and the air was heavy with the smell of dew-damped soil.
All this had its effect on George.

He loved the quiet English country; and now, when he must leave it, it strongly called to him.