ound all his thoughts absorbed by the struggle
which was being fought out in the bedchamber above. The old doctor came
down and joined him at dinner time. He met Dominey's eager glance with a
little nod.

"She's doing all right," he declared.

"No fever or anything?"

"Bless you, no! She's as near as possible in perfect health physically.
A different woman from what she was this time last year, I can tell
you. When she wakes up, she'll either be herself again, without a single
illusion of any sort, or--"

The doctor paused, sipped his wine, emptied his glass and set it down
approvingly.

"Or?" Dominey insisted.

"Or that part of her brain will be more or less permanently affected.
However, I am hoping for the best. Thank heavens you're on the spot!"

They finished their dinner almost in silence. Afterwards, they smoked
for a few minutes upon the terrace. Then they made their way softly
upstairs. The doctor parted with Dominey at the door of the latter's
room.

"I shall remain with her for an hour or so," he said. "After that I
shall leave her entirely to herself. You'll be here in case there's a
change?"

"I shall be here," Dominey promised.

The minutes passed into hours, uncounted, unnoticed. Dominey sat in
his easy-chair, stirred by a tumultuous wave of passionate emotion. The
memory of those earlier days of his return came back to him with
all their poignant longings. He felt again the same tearing at the
heart-strings, the same strange, unnerving tenderness. The great world's
drama, in which he knew that he, too, would surely continue to play his
part, seemed like a thing far off, the concern of another race of men.
Every fibre of his being seemed attuned to the magic and the music of
one wild hope. Yet when there came what he had listened for so long, the
hope seemed frozen into fear. He sat a little forward in his easy-chair,
his hands griping its sides, his eyes fixed upon the slowly widening
crack in the panel. It was as it had been before. She stooped low, stood
up again and came towards him. From behind an unseen hand closed the
panel. She came to him with her arms outstretched and all the wonderful
things of life and love in her shining eyes. That faint touch of the
somnambulist had passed. She came to him as she had never come before.
She was a very real and a very live woman.

"Everard!" she cried.

He took her into his arms. At their first kiss she thrilled from head to
foot. For a mo