e none the wiser--except that on the ninth of October he drew, dated
and signed a cheque. I think that's certain. There's no doubt about the
signature, and no one would trouble to forge a cheque for ten pounds. . . .
I always promised to let you know as soon as I had any news, Babs."

She nodded and pressed her knuckles into her eyes.

"October to June . . . instead of August to June," she murmured at
length. "And not a word of any kind. What do his people . . .?"

"He'll now be published as 'Previously reported missing, now reported to
be missing and a prisoner.' _They_ don't know what to think any more
than we do."

She sighed and then looked up to him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you for telling me, Eric."

He turned away and moistened his lips.

"You mustn't forget that it affects my own position," he warned her.

The smile faded from her face, and she looked at him with startled eyes.

4

It was a silent dinner, for Eric was exhausted and Barbara was thinking
deeply. Nearly a year ago, when Jack was first missing, she seemed to
have lived through all these emotions, to have been tossed backwards and
forwards in her dreams like a plaything of the gods at sport. For twelve
months she had been sick with longing to know whether he still wanted
her; and, when the gods had tortured her to madness, they let her think
that the cruel game was over. She dreamed again of happiness, seeing
herself as a child; another child, the very symbol of love and
forgiveness, came to bring her peace, and they played together in the
sun-drenched loveliness of a dream. Then the gods flung a shadow before
her feet. In dream after dream her child-lover begged her to stay, but
the shadow parted them and urged her forward. In time she realized that
it was Jack's shadow. . . .

Never were dreams more vivid. She knew each note of her lover's voice as
he begged her to stay and let him make her happy; and night after night
she awoke to find herself stifling in the embrace of the shadow. Every
one thought that she was dying; she herself knew that she was being
driven mad; and, when the gods saw that she could bear no more, they
filled the world with a blaze of light which banished dream and shadow.

"I hoped God had forgotten me," she whispered. "I've been happy too
long. What am I to do, Eric?"

"You must follow your inclination."

She sighed and looked away into the shadows beyond the table.

"My inclination's always to do wha