“No,” said Jay.  Quite irrelevantly, she had found her Secret Friend.  She found a little dark wood, burnt and broken by fire, in a grey light, and there was a wet ditch that skirted the edge of it.  She saw the hopeless and regretful sky, there was neither night nor morning in it, there was neither sun nor moon.  These things she noticed, but more than all she saw her Secret Friend, lying crouched upon his side close to the ditch, with his arms about his face.  She saw the slow leaves fall upon him from the ruined trees, she saw the damp air settle in beads upon his clothes.  His feet were in the undergrowth, and above them the dripping net of the spider was flung.  She had never seen her Friend quite still before.  All her life her Secret Friend and her Secret Sea had kept her soul awake with movement.  But her Friend was dead, and there was no more sea.  The very fine rain blew across her Secret World, and blotted it out.  The very distant sound of guns—­which was not so much a sound as an indescribable vacuum of sound—­shattered the walls of her bubble enchantment.

“Oh, darling Jay,” said Mr. William Morgan, “I wish I could help you.  I can’t go away and leave you like this.  I wish I could help you.”

She found she had her forehead on the table, and her hands were knotted in her lap.  And where once the Gate to the House had been, there was only London now.  No more would the drum of the sea beat in her heart, there was nothing left but the throbbing of distant trams.

“So it’s all lies ...” she said quietly.  “There really is a thing called death after all.  People die....”

“Jay, darling, don’t,” sobbed Mr. Morgan.  “For God’s sake marry me, and I’ll comfort you.  I won’t die—­I swear I won’t.  And after all, it’s Spring.  There’s no real death in the Spring.  Kew can’t have died.”

“Oh, what’s the use of these eternal seasons?” said Jay.  “There is a thing called death.  And death has no romance and no reason.  The rats died, and Kew died, and the secret world died, and there is nothing left....”

It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle,
Pursued his Fate, the April fields among,
Singing a song of solitary battle,
A loud mad song, for he was very young.

Vivid the air—­and something more than vivid,—­
Tall clouds were in the sky—­and something more,—­
The light horizon of the spring was livid
With a steel smile that showed the teeth of War.

It was young David mocked the Philistine. 
It was young David laughed beside the river. 
There came his mother—­his and yours and mine—­
With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver.

You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy. 
You never saw such very April eyes. 
She sang him sorrow’s song to make him wary,
She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise.

The first stone is love, and that shall fail you. 
The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you. 
The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you. 
The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you. 
The fifth stone shall not fail you.