come and talk to me?"

But the child ran away, despite his mother's coaxings, and refused to
divulge his place of hiding.

She apologized. "He's not quite eight yet--the only sweetheart I have."
Later she said, "I've been thinking of what we talked last night--I mean
his father. Would it be too far-fetched to believe that it was really he
and not your imagination, that piloted us together?"

"Not far-fetched at all. I'm sure of it. He wanted us to meet that I
might tell you----"

"What?" She bent forward, folding her hands in her lap and watching him
searchingly. "Not about his heroism; he'd take that for granted. Not
that he'd loved me; we both knew it. Not anything self-pitying or weak
that would rouse my regret----"

"You know." His assertion was almost a question. "Somehow he's got his
message across to you."

She lowered her eyes and resumed her sewing. "I couldn't sleep last
night. I lay awake puzzling and remembering--remembering the long waste
of years, the loneliness and the love that had turned to bitterness. And
now, when ordinarily there would be no chance to make amends, he sends
you to me, speaking through your lips and taking possession of your
thoughts. He's trying to do something for me--something that will blot
out my past for me, as his sacrifice has blotted out his past for him.
Something comforting and tender----"

The seconds ticked by. If she had guessed the dead man's desire, she
refused to put it into words. The silence grew painful.

Tabs looked at his watch. It was nearer six than five. He rose
reluctantly. "I suppose I should be going."

"But you're staying in the village to-night?"

"I hadn't intended. There'll be moonlight. I was planning to be in
London by morning."

"Don't do that. You'll make me think you're afraid of meeting Terry.
Dine with me to-night."

She had risen. Her gesture was almost one of pleading. He smiled
tenderly and took her hand. "Your wishes are mine. I'll run down to the
inn and dress."

By the time he returned it was nearly seven. She met him with
ill-concealed trouble. "Terry's not back. It's strange. You see I'm
responsible for her. And----"

The footman entered with a letter. "For your Lordship."

"Are you sure?" Then Tabs recollected. "Yes, of course. I left my
address with Ann."

As he took the letter he scanned the handwriting. "Odd!" When the man
had left, he turned to Lady Dawn. "It's from her. Did you guess?"

V

"But why should s