and, still attired in
his shirt and trousers, he wrapped a dressing-gown around him, drew a
reading lamp to his side, and threw himself into an easy-chair, a book
in his hand. It was some time before he realised that the volume was
upside down, and even when he had righted it, the words he saw had no
meaning for him. All the time a queer procession of women's faces was
passing before his eyes--Caroline, with her half-flirtatious, wholly
sentimental _bon camaraderie_; Stephanie, with her voluptuous figure
and passion-lit eyes; and then, blotting the others utterly out of his
thoughts and memory, Rosamund, with all the sweetness of life shining
out of her eager face. He saw her as she had come to him last, with that
little unspoken cry upon her tremulous lips, and the haunting appeal in
her soft eyes. All other memories faded away. They were as though they
had never been. Those dreary years of exile in Africa, the day by day
tension of his precarious life, were absolutely forgotten. His heart was
calling all the time for an unknown boon. He felt himself immeshed in a
world of cobwebs, of weakness more potent than all his boasted strength.
Then he suddenly felt that the madness which he had begun to fear had
really come. It was the thing for which he longed yet dreaded most--the
faint click, the soft withdrawal of the panel, actually pushed back by a
pair of white hands. Rosamund herself was there. Her eyes shone at him,
mystically, wonderfully. Her lips were parted in a delightful smile, a
smile in which there was a spice of girlish mischief. She turned for
a moment to close the panel. Then she came towards him with her finger
upraised.

"I cannot sleep," she said softly. "Do you mind my coming for a few
minutes?"

"Of course not," he answered. "Come and sit down."

She curled up in his easy-chair.

"Just for a moment," she murmured contentedly. "Give me your hands,
dear. But how cold! You must come nearer to the fire yourself."

He sat on the arm of her chair, and she stroked his head with her hands.

"You were not afraid, then?" she asked, "when you saw me come through
the panel?"

"I should never be afraid of any harm that you might bring me, dear," he
assured her.

"Because all that foolishness is really gone," she continued eagerly.
"I know that whatever happened to poor Roger, it was not you who killed
him. Even if I heard his ghost calling again to-night, I should have no
fear. I can't think why I ever w