re the haggard
imprint of sleepless nights, and the edges of his teeth had bitten his
under lip raw.

Athalie glanced carelessly at the crystal, then nodded.

"Yes," she said patiently. "I am sure of it, Mr. Clements. The
_Empress of Formosa_ will dock on Monday--about--nine in the morning.
She will be reported by wireless from the _Empress of Borneo_ this
evening.... They have been relaying it from the Delaware Capes....
There will be an extra edition of the evening papers. You may dismiss
all anxiety."

The man rose, stood a moment, his features working with emotion.

"I'm not a praying man," he said. "But if this is so--I'll pray for
you.... It can't hurt you anyway--" he checked himself, stammering,
and the deep colour stained him from his brow to his thick, powerful
neck as he stood fumbling with his portfolio.

But Athalie smilingly put aside the recompense he offered: "It is too
much, Mr. Clements."

"It is worth it to the Company--if the news is true--"

"Then wait until your steamer docks."

"But you say you are certain--"

"Yes, I am: but _you_ are not. My refusal of payment will encourage
you to confidence in me. You have been ill with anxiety, Mr. Clements.
I know what that means. And now your bruised mind cannot realise that
the trouble is ended--that there is no reason now for the deadly fear
that has racked you. But everything will help you now--what I have
told you--and my refusal of payment until your own eyes corroborate
everything I have said."

"I believe you now," he said, staring at her. "I wish to offer you in
behalf of the Company--"

A swift gesture conjured him to silence. She rose, listening intently.
Presently his ears too caught the faint sound, and he turned and
walked swiftly and silently to the open window.

"There is your extra," she said pleasantly. "The _Empress of Borneo_
has been reported."

* * * * *

She was still lying on the couch beside the crystal, idly watching
what scenes were drifting, mist-like, through its depths--scenes
vague, and faded in colour, and of indefinite outline; for, like the
monotone of a half-heard conversation which does not concern a
listener these passing phantoms concerned not her.

Under her indifferent eyes they moved; pale-tinted scenes grew, waxed,
and waned, and a ghostly processional flowed through them without end
under her dark blue dreaming eyes.

She had turned and dropped her head back upon