t
disturbed and puzzled because it had stopped. She was anxious to find
out whether it had come back again, but, like Lord Coombe, she realised
that Robin's apparent calm must on no account be disturbed. If her
health-giving serenity could be sustained for a certain length of time,
the gates of Heaven would open to her. But at first Nurse Jones asked
herself and Lord Coombe some troubled questions.

It came about at length that she appeared one night, in the room where
their first private talk had taken place and she had presented herself
on her way to bed, because she had something special to say.

"It came to me when I awakened this morning as if it had been told to me
in the night. Things often seem to come that way. Do you remember, Lord
Coombe, that she said they only talked about happy things?"

"Yes. She said it several times," Coombe answered.

"Do you remember that he never told her where he came from? And she knew
that she must not ask questions? How _could_ he have told her of that
hell--how could he?"

"You are right--quite!"

"I feel sure I am. When he can talk he will tell you--if he remembers. I
wonder how much they remember--except the relief and the blessed
happiness of it? Lord Coombe, I believe as I believe I'm in this room,
that when he knew he was going to face the awful risk of trying to
escape, he knew he mustn't tell her. And he knew that in crawling
through dangers and hiding in ditches he could never be sure of being
able to lie down to sleep and concentrate on sending his soul to her. So
he told her that he might not come for some time. Oh, lord! If he'd been
caught and killed he could never-- No! No!" obstinately, "even then he
would have got back in some form--in some way. I've got to the point of
believing as much as that. He was hers!"

"Yes. Yes. Yes," was all his slow answer. But there was deep thought in
each detached word and when she went away he walked up and down the room
with leisurely steps, looking down at the carpet.

* * * * *

As many hours of the day and night as those in authority would allow him
Lord Coombe sat and watched by Donal's bed. He watched from well hidden
anxiousness to see every subtle change recording itself on his being; he
watched from throbbing affection and longing to see at once any tinge of
growing natural colour, any unconscious movement perhaps a shade
stronger than the last. It was his son who lay there, he told