"Yes--" he encouraged her.

"Ah, well--at least you've the comfort of knowing it's a dream. But suppose, one day--you dreamt it while you were awake----?"

"Dreamt what?" He guessed her meaning, but he was deliberately forcing her to reduce her terrors into words--the more they crystallised, the easier she would find it to face and destroy them.

"Do you believe in h.e.l.l?" she flung at him.

"I should jolly well think so."

"For children?" Her tone implored comfort.

"I'm afraid so."

"But how can it be fair? They're so little. They don't know right from wrong."

"I knew a kid," he said meditatively, an eye on her tormented face, "only eight--used to act, if you please. Hung about London stage-doors, and bearded managers in their dens for a living. Quick little chap!

Father drunk or ill; incapable, anyhow. The child supported them both.

I've seen that child kept hanging about three or four hours on end. And what he knew! It made you sick and sorry. He must be twelve by now--getting on, I believe, poor kid! And a cheerful monkey! He's certainly had his h.e.l.l, though."

She had hardly listened, she was absorbed in her thoughts; but she caught at his last words----

"In this life? Oh, yes! That's cruel enough. But not afterwards? Not eternal d.a.m.nation! I don't mind it for myself so much--but for a baby that can't understand why----It isn't possible, is it?"

He began to laugh jollily.

"Alwynne--you utter fool! Don't you believe in G.o.d?"

"I suppose so," she admitted.

"Of course, if you didn't----"

"Yes," she thrust in. "Then it would be all right. I could be sure she was asleep--dead--like last year's leaves----"

"But why should G.o.d complicate matters?"

"Well--heaven follows--and h.e.l.l--don't they? _Their worm dieth not_--and all the rest."

"Oh, I follow."

"Miss Marsham--the head mistress, you know--of course she's very old--but she believes--terribly. It's an awfully religious school. It scares some of the children. I used to laugh, but now, since Louise died, it scares me, though I am grown up. I've no convictions--and she is certain--and then I get these nightmares. I hear her calling--for water."

The flat matter-of-fact tone alarmed him more than emotion would have done.

"Water?"

"_For I am tormented in this flame._ I hear her every night--wailing."

Her eyes strained after something that he could not see.

He found no words.

She returned with an effort.

"Of course, when it's over--I know it's imagination. My sense tells me so--in the daytime. Only I can't be sure. If only I could be sure! If some one would tell me to be sure. It's the reasoning it out for myself--all day--and going back to the dreams all night."

"How long has this been going on?" he asked curtly.

"Ever since--when I came home from Clare's--that night. I'd slept like a log. Then I woke up suddenly. I thought I heard Louise calling. I'd forgotten she was dead. Every night it happens--as soon as I go to sleep, she comes. Always trying to speak to me. I hear her screaming with pain--wanting help. Never any words. Do you think I'm mad? I know it's only a dream--but every night, you know----"

"You're not going to dream any more," he said, with a determination that belied his inward sense of dismay. "But go on--let's have the rest of it."

"There isn't much. Just dreams. It's been a miserable year. I couldn't be cheerful always, you know--and I used to dread going to bed so. It made me stupid all day. And Clare--Clare didn't quite understand. Oh--I did want to tell her so. But you can't worry people. I'm afraid Elsbeth got worried--she hates it if you don't eat and have a colour. She packed me off here at last."

She drew a long breath.

"This blessed place! You don't know how I love it. I feel a different girl. All this s.p.a.ce and air and freedom. What is it that the country does to one's mind? I've slept. No dreaming. Sleep that's like a hot bath. Can you imagine what that is after these months? Oh, Roger! I thought I'd stopped dreaming for good--I was forgetting----"

"Go on forgetting," he said. "You can. I'll help you. You had a shock.

It made you ill. You're getting well again. That's all."

"I'm not," she said. "I'm going mad. To-day, in that wood.... Louise came running after me--and I was awake...."

Suddenly she gave a little ripple of high-pitched laughter.

"Oh, Mr. Lumsden! Isn't this a ridiculous conversation? And your face--you're so absurd when you frown.... You make me laugh.... You make me laugh...."

She broke off. Roger, with a swift movement, had turned and was standing over her.

"Now shut up!" he said sharply. "Shut up! D'you hear? Shut up this instant, and sit down." He put his hand on her shoulder and jerked her back into the chair.

The shock of his roughness checked her hysterics, as he had intended it should. She sat limply, her head in her hand, trying not to cry. He watched her.

"Pull yourself together, Alwynne," he said more gently.

Her lips quivered, but she nodded valiantly.

"I will. Just wait a minute. I don't want to make a fool of myself."

Then, with a quavering laugh, "Oh, Roger, this is pleasant for you!"

He laughed.

"You needn't mind me," he said calmly. "Any more than I mind you. Except when you threaten hysterics. I bar hysterics. I wouldn't mind if they did any good. But we've got lots to do. No time at all for them. We've got to work this thing out. Ready?"

Alwynne waited, her attention caught.

"Now listen," he said. "First of all, get it into your head that I know all about it, and that I'm going to see you through. Next--whenever you get scared--though you won't again, I hope--that you are just to come and talk it over. You won't even have to tell me--I shall see by your face, you know. Do you understand? You're not alone any more. I'm here.

Always ready to lay your ghosts for you. Will you remember?"

He spoke clearly and patiently--very cheerful and rea.s.suring.