`Good-bye,' said Gerald, taking the warm hand of his friend in a firm grasp. `I shall come again. I miss you down at the mill.'

`I'll be there in a few days,' said Birkin.

The eyes of the two men met again. Gerald's, that were keen as a hawk's, were suffused now with warm light and with unadmitted love, Birkin looked back as out of a darkness, unsounded and unknown, yet with a kind of warmth, that seemed to flow over Gerald's brain like a fertile sleep.

`Good-bye then. There's nothing I can do for you?'

`Nothing, thanks.'

Birkin watched the black-clothed form of the other man move out of the door, the bright head was gone, he turned over to sleep.