up to her as she wheeled. He took one of her quivering
wrists, and held it, his fingers closely pressed upon the leaping
pulse. "Sylvia!" he said, and this time there was an edge to his
voice that made her aware that he was putting force upon himself.
"I have never insulted you--or distrusted you. Everything was
against me yesterday. But when I left you, I gave all I possessed
into your keeping. It is in your keeping still. Does that look
like distrust?"

She gave, a quick, involuntary start, but he went on, scarcely
pausing.

"When a man is going into possible danger, and his wife is thinking
of--other things, is he so greatly to blame if he takes the
quickest means at his disposal of waking her up?"

"Ah!" she said. Had he not waked her indeed? But yet--but
yet--She looked at ham doubtfully.

"Listen!" he said. "We've been going round in a circle lately.
It's been like that infernal game we used to play as children.
'Snail,' wasn't it called? Where nobody ever got home and
everybody always lost their tempers! Let's get out of it, Sylvia!
Let's leave Guy and Schafen to look after things, and go to the top
of the world by ourselves! I'll take great care of you. You'll be
happy, you know. You'll like it."

He spoke urgently, leaning towards her. There was nothing terrible
about him at that moment. All the mastery had gone from his
attitude. He was even smiling a little.

Her heart gave a great throb. It was so long, so long, since he
had spoken to her thus. And then, like a blasting wind, the memory
of Guy's bitter words rushed across her. She seemed again to feel
the sand of the desert blowing in her face, sand that was blended
with ashes. Was it only a slave that he wanted after all? She
hated herself for the thought, but she could not drive it out.

"Don't you like that idea?" he said.

Still she hesitated. "What of Guy?" she said. "We must think of
him, Burke. We must."

"I'm thinking of him," he said. "A little responsibility would
probably do him good."

"But to leave him--entirely--" She broke off. Someone was
knocking at the outer door, and she was thankful for the
interruption. Burke turned away, and went to answer. He came back
with a note in his hand.

"It's Merston's house-boy," he said. "I've sent him round to the
kitchen to get a feed. Something's up there, I am afraid. Let's
see what he has to say!"

He opened the letter while he was speaking, and there f