"Bad," she said. "I think Mummy and Daddy are just about through."

"And you?"

"I'm just about through, too, Dwight. How are you?"

"I'd say I'm much the same," he said. "I rang to say good-bye for the time being, honey. We're taking Scorpion out tomorrow morning to sink her."

"You won't be coming back?" she asked.

"No, honey. We shan't be coming back. We've just got this last job to do, and then we've finished." He paused. "I called to say thank you for the last six months," he said. "It's meant a lot to me, having you near."

"It's meant a lot to me, too," she said. "Dwight, if I can make it, may I come and see you off?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Sure," he said. "We can't wait, though. The men are pretty weak right now, and they'll be weaker by tomorrow."

"What time are you leaving?"

"We're casting off at eight o'clock," he said. "As soon as it's full daylight."

She said, "I'll be there."

He gave her messages for her father and her mother, and then rang off. She went through to their bedroom, where they were lying in their twin beds, both of them sicker than she was, and gave them the messages. She told them what she wanted to do. "I'll be back by dinnertime," she said.

Her mother said, "You must go and say good-bye to him, dearie. He's been such a good friend for you. But if we're not here when you come back, you'must understand."

She sat down on her mother's bed. "As bad as that, Mummy?"

"I'm afraid so, dear. And Daddy's worse than me today. But we've got everything we need, in case it gets too bad."

From his bed her father said weakly, "Is it raining?"

"Not at the moment, Daddy."

"Would you go out and open the stockyard gate into the lane, Moira? All the other gates are open, but they must be able to get at the hay."

"I'll do that right away, Daddy. Is there anything else I can do?"

He closed his eyes. "Give Dwight my regards. I wish he'd been able to marry you."

"So do I," she said. "But he's the kind of man who doesn't switch so easily as that."

She went out into the night and opened the gate and checked that all the other gates in the stockyard were open; the beasts were nowhere to be seen. She went back into the house and told her father what she had done; he seemed relieved. There was nothing that they wanted; she kissed them both good night and went to bed herself, setting her little alarm clock for five o'clock in case she slept.

She slept very little. In the course of the night she visited the bathroom four times, and drank half a bottle of brandy, the only thing she seemed to be able to keep down. She got up when the alarm went off and had a hot shower, which refreshed her, and dressed in the red shirt and slacks that she had worn when she had met Dwight first of all, so many months ago. She made her face up with some care and put on an overcoat. Then she opened the door of her parents' room quietly and looked in, shading the light of an electric torch between her fingers. Her father seemed to be asleep, but her mother smiled at her from the bed; they, too, had been up and down most of the night. She went in quietly and kissed her mother, and then went, closing the door sof tly behind her.

She took a fresh bottle of brandy from the larder and went out to the car, and started it, and drove off on the road to Melbourne. Near Oakleigh she stopped on the deserted road in the first grey light of dawn, and took a swig out of the bottle, and went on.

She drove through the deserted city and out along the drab, industrial road to Williamstown. She came to the dockyard at about a quarter past seven; there was no guard at the open gates and she drove straight in to the quay, beside which lay the aircraft carrier. There was no sentry on the gangway, no officer of the day to challenge her. She walked into the ship trying to remember how she had gone when Dwight had showed her the submarine, and presently she ran into an American rating who directed her to the steel port in the ship's side from which the gangway led down to the submarine.

She stopped a man who was going down to the vessel. "If you see Captain Towers, would you ask him if he could come up and have a word with me?" she said.

"Sure, lady," he replied. “I’ll tell him right away," and presently Dwight came in view, and came up the gangway to her.

He was looking very ill, she thought, as they all were. He took her hands regardless of the onlookers. "It was nice of you to come to say good-bye," he said. "How are things at home, honey?"

"Very bad," she said. "Daddy and Mummy will be finishing quite soon, and I think I shall, too. This is the end of it for all of us, today." She hesitated, and then said, "Dwight, I want to ask something."

"What's that, honey?"

"May I come with you, in the submarine?" She paused, and then she said, "I don't believe that I'll have anything at home to go back to. Daddy said I could just park the Customline in the street and leave it. He won't be using it again. May I come with you?"

He stood silent for so long that she knew the answer would be no. "I've been asked the same thing by four men this morning," he said. "I've refused them all, because Uncle Sam wouldn't like it. I've run this vessel in the navy way right through, and I'm running her that way up till the end. I can't take you, honey. We'll each have to take this on our own."

"That's all right," she said dully. She looked up at him. "You've got your presents with you?"

"Sure," he said. "I've got those, thanks to you."

"Tell Sharon about me," she said. "We've nothing to conceal."

He touched her arm. "You're wearing the same outfit that you wore first time we met."

She smiled faintly. "Keep him occupied-don't give him time to think about things, or perhaps he'll start crying. Have I done my job right, Dwight?"

"Very right indeed," he said. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she clung to him for a minute.

Then she freed herself. "Don't let's prolong the agony," she said. "We've said everything there is to say. What time are you leaving?

"Very soon," he said. "We'll be casting off in about five minutes."

"What time will you be sinking her?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Thirty miles down the bay, and then twelve miles out. Forty-two sea miles. I shan't waste any time. Say two hours and ten minutes after we cast off from here."

She nodded slowly. "I'll be thinking of you." And then she said, "Go now, Dwight. Maybe I'll see you in Connecticut one day."

He drew her near to kiss her again, but she refused him. "No-go on now." In her mind she phrased the words, "Or I'll be the one that starts crying." He nodded slowly, and said, "Thanks for everything," and then he turned and went away down the gangway to the submarine.

There were two or three women now standing at the head of the gangway with her. There were apparently no men aboard the carrier to run the gangway in. She watched as Dwight appeared on the bridge from the interior of the submarine and took the con, watched as the lower end of the gangway was released, as the lines were singled up. She saw the stern line and the spring cast off, watched as Dwight spoke into the voice pipe, watched the water swirl beneath her stern as the propellers ran slow ahead and the stern swung out. It began to rain a little from the grey sky. The bow line and spring were cast off and men coiled them down and slammed the steel hatch of the superstructure shut as the submarine went slow astern in a great arc away from the carrier. Then they all vanished down below, and only Dwight with one other was left on the bridge. He lifted his hand in salutation to her, and she lifted hers to him, her eyes blurred with tears, and the low hull of the vessel swung away around Point Gellibrand and vanished in the murk.

With the other women, she turned away from the steel port. "There's nothing now to go on living for," she said.

One of the women replied, "Well, you won't have to, ducks."

She smiled faintly, and glanced at her watch. It showed three minutes past eight. At about ten minutes past ten Dwight would be going home, home to the Connecticut village that he loved so well. There was nothing now for her in her own home; if she went back to Harkaway she would find nothing there now but the cattle and sad memories. She could not go with Dwight because of naval discipline, and that she understood. Yet she could be very near him when he started home, only about twelve miles away. If then she turned up by his side with a grin on her face, perhaps he would take her with him, and she could see Helen hopping round upon the Pogo stick.

She hurried out through the dim, echoing caverns of the dead aircraft carrier, and found the gangway, and went down on to the quay to her big car. There was plenty of petrol in the tank; she had filled it up from the cans hidden behind the hay the previous day. She got into it and opened her bag; the red carton was still there. She uncorked the bottle of brandy and took a long swallow of the neat liquor; it was good, that stuff, because she hadn't had to go since she left home. Then she started the car and swung it round upon the quay, and drove out of the dockyard, and on through minor roads and suburbs till she found the highway to Geelong.

Once on the highway she trod on it, and went flying down the unobstructed road at seventy miles an hour in the direction of Geelong, a bareheaded, white-faced girl in a bright crimson costume, slightly intoxicated, driving a big car at speed. She passed Laverton with its big aerodrome, Werribee with its experimental farm, and went flying southwards down the deserted road. Somewhere before Corio a spasm shook her suddenly, so that she had to stop and retire into the bushes; she came out a quarter of an hour later, white as a sheet, and took a long drink of her brandy.

Then she went on, fast as ever. She passed the grammar school away on the left and came to shabby, industrial Corio, and so to Geelong, dominated by its cathedral. In the great tower the bells were ringing for some service. She slowed a little to pass through the city but there was nothing on the road except deserted cars at the roadside. She only saw three people, all of them men.