I began to recognize some of the fragrances. Magnolias—sweet magnolia, heady magnolia, scent tangible as the flower itself, reclining languorous on the black air.

I pulled myself on to the little wooden landing-stage, which immediately creaked. The water was heavy now that I was half out of it, and I was very chilly. I got off the landing-stage. I was now on a narrow white path, disappearing as a thin thread into logs of shrubbery. Over the patter of my feet was the silly pitter-pitter of sea-drops from my sodden self, shift, and bundled cloak containing the Diary. I wanted to stop and see whether water had got into the bundle and harmed the Diary, though it would have been too dark to discover much; I wanted to stop and take off my horrible clammy shift, but I had now noticed lights advancing from the right and I hurried on through the gardens.

The shrubberies rustled, metal and marble statues gleamed out at me, the lights came nearer. Now more lights in front of me: but they arc stationary. They are torches held by sentries in front of a great house. I pause, amazed, on the outskirts of the shrubbery. The sentries are indeed sentries, not sentinel servants, and are wearing Southern army uniform!

Of all the places to come to! I turn to dive back into the doubtful sanctuary of the shrubbery. But the other lights have come up on my right. They pass me at a distance of four or five yards. They are Northern soldiers, they are escorting the General himself home from a day at Court. He is not riding, but walking as though he were marching, as though he were one with his escort. His instincts are all soldier-instincts. Lara must have stayed later at Court, there are not even any girls with him. Eng walks beside him; they are both silent. Clor and Isad follow, talking.

They come to the marble staircase, each step a momentous scimitar-shaped sweep, on which Southern sentries stand. As the Northern soldiers approach, the sentries stiffen: they are longing at least to scowl, but they each raise their torches with a ceremonial-cry as the General passes them. He ignores them, except to salute their captain at whom he glances absent-mindedly.

Of course I understand now. I have come to the very mansion lent by the Temple-Court to the Northern General for his stay here—and as an additional mark of honour they provided him with a sentry-corps of their own soldiers. Is he exasperated, for they must spy on him and would probably try to keep him prisoner if the circumstances arose?—

He and his commanders disappeared into the great doorway.