iage, but Donal, who held her trembling in his arms as they drove
through the crowded streets in the shabby neighbourhood she had never
seen before, to the house crowded between others all like itself. She
had actually not heard the young chaplain's name in her shyness and
tremor. He would scarcely have been an entity but for the one moving
fact that he himself had just hastily married a girl he adored and must
leave, and so sympathised and understood the stress of their hour. On
their way home they had been afraid of chance recognition and had tried
to shield themselves by sitting as far back as possible in the cab.

"I could not think. I could not see. It was all frightening--and
unreal."

She had not dreamed of asking questions. Donal had taken care of her and
tried to help her to be less afraid of seeing people who might recognise
her. She had tilted her hat over her face and worn a veil. She had gone
home to Eaton Square--and then in the afternoon to the cottage at
Mersham Wood.

They had not written letters to each other. Robin had been afraid and
they had met almost every day. Once Lord Coombe thought himself on the
track of some clue when she touched vaguely on some paper Donal had
meant to send her and had perhaps forgotten in the haste and pressure of
the last few hours because his orders had been so sudden. But there was
no trace. There had been something he wished her to have. But if this
had meant that his brain had by chance cleared to sane reasoning and he
had, for a few moments touched earth and intended to send her some proof
which would be protection if she needed it--the moment had been too late
and, at the last, action had proved impossible. And Death had come so
soon. It was as though a tornado had swept him out of her arms and
dashed him broken to earth. And she was left with nothing because she
asked nothing--wanted nothing.

The obviousness of this, when he had ended his questioning and exhausted
his resources, was a staggering thing.

"Do you know," he said grimly, after it was all over, "--that no one
will believe you?"

"Donal knew," she said. "There is no one--no one else."

"You mean that there is no one whose belief or disbelief would affect
you?"

The Wood was growing darker still and she had ceased crying and sat
still like a small ghost in the dim light.

"There never _was_ any one but Donal, you know," she said. To all the
rest of the world she was as a creature utterly unawa