“The New Year, my husband,” she said, and rose as she said it, drawing him after her.

“I wish you a happy New Year,” she said.  “Oh help me, Oliver.”

She kissed him, and drew back, still holding his hands, looking at him with bright tearful eyes.

“Oliver,” she cried again, “I must tell you this....  Do you know what I thought before you came?”

He shook his head, staring at her greedily.  How sweet she was!  He felt her grip tighten on his hands.

“I thought I could not bear it,” she whispered—­“that I must end it all—­ah! you know what I mean.”

His heart flinched as he heard her; and he drew her closer again to himself.

“It is all over! it is all over,” she cried.  “Ah! do not look like that!  I could not tell you if it was not."’

As their lips met again there came the vibration of an electric bell from the next room, and Oliver, knowing what it meant, felt even in that instant a tremor shake his heart.  He loosed her hands, and still smiled at her.

“The bell!” she said, with a flash of apprehension.

“But it is all well between us again?”

Her face steadied itself into loyalty and confidence.

“It is all well,” she said; and again the impatient bell tingled.  “Go, Oliver; I will wait here.”

A minute later he was back again, with a strange look on his white face, and his lips compressed.  He came straight up to her, taking her once more by the hands, and looking steadily into her steady eyes.  In the hearts of both of them resolve and faith were holding down the emotion that was not yet dead.  He drew a long breath.

“Yes,” he said in an even voice, “it is over.”

Her lips moved; and that deadly paleness lay on her cheeks.  He gripped her firmly.

“Listen,” he said.  “You must face it.  It is over.  Rome is gone.  Now we must build something better.”

She threw herself sobbing into his arms.

CHAPTER VIII

I

Long before dawn on the first morning of the New Year the approaches to the Abbey were already blocked.  Victoria Street, Great George Street, Whitehall—­even Millbank Street itself—­were full and motionless.  Broad Sanctuary, divided by the low-walled motor-track, was itself cut into great blocks and wedges of people by the ways which the police kept open for the passage of important personages, and Palace Yard was kept rigidly clear except for one island, occupied by a stand which was itself full from top to bottom and end to end.  All roofs and parapets which commanded a view of the Abbey were also one mass of heads.  Overhead, like solemn moons, burned the white lights of the electric globes.