thick and choked.

"The wind shall not hurt you, or anything else," he promised. "I have
come back to take care of you."

She sighed, smiled like a tired child, and her eyes closed as her head
fell farther back amongst the cushions.

"Stay just like that, please," she begged. "Something quite new is
coming to me. I am resting. It is the sweetest rest I ever felt. Don't
move, Everard. Let my fingers stay in yours--so."

The candles burned down in their sockets, the wind rose to greater
furies, and died away only as the dawn broke through the storm clouds.
A pale light stole into the room. Still the woman slept, and still her
fingers seemed to keep their clutch upon his hand. Her breathing was all
the time soft and regular. Her silky black eyelashes lay motionless upon
her pale cheeks. Her mouth--a very perfectly shaped mouth--rested in
quiet lines. Somehow he realised that about this slumber there was a new
thing. With hot eyes and aching limbs he sat through the night. Dream
after dream rose up and passed away before that little background of
tapestried wall. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, the same
smile parted her lips as the smile which had come there when she had
passed away to sleep.

"I am so rested," she murmured. "I feel so well. I have had dreams,
beautiful dreams."

The fire had burned out, and the room was chilly.

"You must go back to your own room now," he said.

Very slowly her fingers relaxed. She held out her arms.

"Carry me," she begged. "I am only half awake. I want to sleep again."

He lifted her up. Her fingers closed around his neck, her head fell back
with a little sigh of content. He tried the folding doors, and, finding
some difficulty in opening them carried her out into the corridor, into
her own room, and laid her upon the untouched bed.

"You are quite comfortable?" he asked.

"Quite," she murmured drowsily. "Kiss me, Everard."

Her hands drew his face down. His lips rested upon her forehead. Then he
drew the bedclothes over her and fled.

CHAPTER XIII

There was a cloud on Seaman's good-humoured face as, muffled up in
their overcoats, he and his host walked up and down the terrace the
next morning, after the departure of Mr. Mangan. He disclosed his mind a
little abruptly.

"In a few minutes," he said, "I shall come to the great purpose of my
visit. I have great and wonderful news for you. But it will keep."

"The time for action has arrived?" Dominey a