married life was not very happy?"

"That is true, it was very unhappy."

"Is there anything in your memory of your husband, any details regarding
your married life, that may have a bearing on your present state of
mind?"

"I--I think perhaps there is," she answered hesitatingly.

"Is it something of an intimate nature that--er--you find it difficult
to tell me about?"

"I will tell you about it, doctor, but, if you don't mind," she made a
pathetic little gesture, "I would rather tell you at some other time. It
has no bearing upon my immediate trouble, that is, I don't think it
has."

"Good. We'll take that up later on. Now I want to ask another question.
I understood you to say that when you did that brave act on the battle
field you really wanted to--to have the whole thing over with?"

"Yes, I did."

"You did not go out to rescue Captain Herrick simply because you--let us
say, cared for him?"

For the first time Penelope's face lighted in an amused smile. "I
haven't said that I care for Captain Herrick, have I? I don't mind
telling you, though, that I should not have gone into that danger if I
had not known that Chris was wounded. I cared for him enough to want to
help him."

"But not enough to go on living?"

"No, I did not want to go on living."

He eyed her with the business-like tenderness that an old doctor feels
for a beautiful young patient. "Of course, you realize, Mrs. Wells, that
it will be impossible for me to help you or relieve your distressing
symptoms unless you tell me what is behind them. I must know clearly why
it was that you did not wish to go on living."

"I understand, doctor, I am perfectly willing to tell you. It is because
I was convinced that my mind was affected."

"Oh!" He smiled at her indulgently. "I can tell you, my dear lady, that
I never saw a young woman who, as far as outward appearances go, struck
me as being more sane and healthy than yourself. What gives you this
idea that your mind is affected? Not those dreams? You are surely too
intelligent to give such importance to mere dreams?"

Penelope bit her red lips in perplexed indecision, then she leaned
nearer the doctor and spoke in a low tone, glancing nervously over her
shoulder. Fear was plainly written on her face.

"No--it's not just the dreams. They are horrible enough, but I have
faith that you will help me get rid of them. There's something else,
something more serious, more uncanny. It terrifies me. I f