came the reply in Bryce's tones, softer and more
persuasive than I had ever heard them, "I know more perhaps than you
think. I'm doing this out of the fullness of my knowledge in the hope
that when I'm gone...."

"Don't!" the woman interrupted sharply. "Don't talk like that!"

"It's one of the things we've got to face," Bryce said gently. "I won't
live for ever anyway, and you know as well as I do just what chance I
run of having a period put to me ... any time now." The last three words
were spoken very slowly and distinctly, as if Bryce wished them to sink
into the mind of his companion. "You're the only person in the world
that I care a hang about," he continued with a note of indescribable
pathos in his voice, "and I'm doing all this for you ... and him."

"But I tell you," the girl said with a little flash of anger, "I tell
you I won't have anything to do with him. If you bring him to the house
I'll cut him dead."

"And put yourself doubly in the wrong and make it all the harder for
everybody," Bryce told her.

There was a dogged note in the girl's voice as she replied. "I know I
was wrong, but I just can't do what you want. I can't say more than
that."

"I'm sorry you look at things that way," Bryce said. "I had hoped...." I
did not catch the nature of his hope, for his voice dropped an octave or
so and his sentence ended in whispers.

"Jimmy Carstairs," I said to myself, "you've been eavesdropping and you
know it. You mustn't be caught doing those kind of things. Get out of
the way as fast as you can," and at that I twisted round on my heel and
went back down the hall. I hadn't any desire to be caught listening to
conversations that were obviously not intended for me and that anyway
weren't of the least interest. So you can be sure that when I did return
up the hall I walked fairly heavily and coughed discreetly as soon as I
was within hearing distance of Bryce's room.

The key turned in the lock of a sudden and the door was flung wide open.
The girl stood in her own light so that the shadows masked her face, but
the sun fell full on mine and my features must have been clearly visible
to her.

"You!" she said, with a little catch in her voice.

"Shut the door, please," I said, in the most matter-of-fact tones I
could muster. "Shut the door and come out here."

I knew her now. God! Could I ever forget her? In a flash my mind flew
back through four years--or was it five?--to that evening when she had