south the baffling mist had made its appearance, and Smith found
himself bereft of landmarks, and compelled to tack to and fro in utter
uncertainty of his course. He was as much at a loss as if he were
navigating a vessel in a sea-fog. To sail through the mist was to
incur the risk of striking a tree, a chimney, or a church steeple; to
pursue his flight above it in the deepening dusk might carry him miles
out of his way, and though a southerly course must presently bring him
to the sea, he could not tell how far east or west of his intended
landing-place. Meanwhile the petrol was running short, and it was
clear that before long his dilemma would be solved by the engine
stopping, and bringing him to the ground willy-nilly, goodness knows
where.

This was vexing enough, but in the particular circumstances it was a
crowning stroke of misfortune. To-day was the twenty-first of his
twenty-eight days' leave: to-morrow he was to begin a round of what he
called duty visits among his relatives; he would have to motor, play
golf, dance attendance on girls at theatres and concerts, and spur
himself to a thousand activities that he detested. There was no escape
for him. Perhaps he could have faced this seven days' penance more
equably if he had had the recollection of three well-employed weeks to
sweeten it. Even this was denied him. Ever since he came on leave the
weather had been abominable: high wind, incessant rain, all the
elements conspiring to prevent the enjoyment of his hobby. Rodier had
suggested that he should apply for an extension of leave, but Smith,
though he did not lack courage, could not screw it to this pitch. He
remembered too vividly his interview with the captain when coming off
ship.

"Don't smash yourself up," said the captain, "and don't run things too