"More likely shopping. A woman's shopping's always urgent. I'm no wiser than you are. The first I heard about her going was when I was informed she had gone."

He relapsed into thought. It wasn't difficult to conjecture the reason for Terry's errand. She'd been no more anxious to meet him just at present than he had been to meet her. She'd taken the day off in the hope that by nightfall he would have departed.

Another solution occurred to him. "Did she ever mention to you a General Braithwaite?"

Lady Dawn met his eyes with a hint of warning. Listeners were present.

"I believe she did," she admitted discouragingly.

"The only reason why I asked was that his name's in the morning papers.

She may have seen it before she started. If so, it might explain----"

"John will know." Lady Dawn turned to the footman. "Did Miss Beddow read the papers, John, this morning before she left?"

"She did, my Lady. It was after she had read them that she ordered the car."

"Then that's it." Tabs dismissed the subject as unworthy of further discussing. "She went to Gloucester to hurry off a telegram of congratulation. Braithwaite's had a stroke of luck."

"If that is all," Lady Dawn smiled mischievously, "I wonder that she didn't come back in the car. A telegram can be dispatched in five minutes."

From then on, the threat of Terry's return hung over them, urging them to make the most of their respite. Everything that had started between them was so new and uncertain. No time-limit had been set to Tabs'

visit; his original reason for coming to Dawn Castle was exhausted.

There was no sufficiently plausible excuse for prolonging his stay in the village longer. A little absence, a little carelessness of forgetting, a few new interests and who could say but that this sudden need of each other, which had rushed them together with such compelling impulse, might not subside as unaccountably as it had occurred. In both their hearts this dread was present--this distrust of the permanency of their emotions. If they parted, they might meet again to find the magic irrecoverable.

After lunch they retired to the room in the turret. She chose her favorite chair by the window and sat there sewing, with her work-basket at her feet. He sat opposite, watching the busy occupation of her hands.

He noticed that many of the garments which she mended belonged to the small boy whom he had seen in the rose-garden.

She looked up. "I always do everything for Eric."

It was later, when tea was being served, that the small boy himself peered in on them. Tabs caught his jealous eyes peering round the doorway. "Won't you come and talk to me?"

But the child ran away, despite his mother's coaxings, and refused to divulge his place of hiding.

She apologized. "He's not quite eight yet--the only sweetheart I have."

Later she said, "I've been thinking of what we talked last night--I mean his father. Would it be too far-fetched to believe that it was really he and not your imagination, that piloted us together?"

"Not far-fetched at all. I'm sure of it. He wanted us to meet that I might tell you----"

"What?" She bent forward, folding her hands in her lap and watching him searchingly. "Not about his heroism; he'd take that for granted. Not that he'd loved me; we both knew it. Not anything self-pitying or weak that would rouse my regret----"

"You know." His a.s.sertion was almost a question. "Somehow he's got his message across to you."

She lowered her eyes and resumed her sewing. "I couldn't sleep last night. I lay awake puzzling and remembering--remembering the long waste of years, the loneliness and the love that had turned to bitterness. And now, when ordinarily there would be no chance to make amends, he sends you to me, speaking through your lips and taking possession of your thoughts. He's trying to do something for me--something that will blot out my past for me, as his sacrifice has blotted out his past for him.

Something comforting and tender----"

The seconds ticked by. If she had guessed the dead man's desire, she refused to put it into words. The silence grew painful.

Tabs looked at his watch. It was nearer six than five. He rose reluctantly. "I suppose I should be going."

"But you're staying in the village to-night?"

"I hadn't intended. There'll be moonlight. I was planning to be in London by morning."

"Don't do that. You'll make me think you're afraid of meeting Terry.

Dine with me to-night."

She had risen. Her gesture was almost one of pleading. He smiled tenderly and took her hand. "Your wishes are mine. I'll run down to the inn and dress."

By the time he returned it was nearly seven. She met him with ill-concealed trouble. "Terry's not back. It's strange. You see I'm responsible for her. And----"

The footman entered with a letter. "For your Lordship."

"Are you sure?" Then Tabs recollected. "Yes, of course. I left my address with Ann."

As he took the letter he scanned the handwriting. "Odd!" When the man had left, he turned to Lady Dawn. "It's from her. Did you guess?"

V

"But why should she be writing when she'll be seeing you any minute?"

Tabs squared his lips. He began to feel the stirring of a storm of anxiety. "Perhaps, because she doesn't intend to be seeing me any minute." He looked at the postmark. It had been mailed at eleven o'clock that morning in Gloucester. He tore the envelope and commenced to read.

Before he had read far, he turned with a worried expression to Lady Dawn. "This concerns you as well." She came and stood beside his elbow.

They glanced through the pages together. It was written on commercial note-paper of _The New Inn_, Gloucester, and ran:

DEAREST TABS:

I love you very much--just as much as ever. I always want you to feel sure of that. But my love isn't the kind you've asked for. It never can be. Because of this there are so many things that I've not been able to tell you--so I've been avoiding and deceiving you ever since you came back. I know I've not been honorable. A promise once given ought to be sacred; I gave you my promise that I would marry you. But that's all I could do for you now--just marry you; I couldn't give you the other things you would have a right to expect. I ought to have said, the other things you have earned and deserved more than any man. So, though I married you, I should still be robbing you, which would be even more treacherous than not fulfilling a promise.

That I'm in love with General Braithwaite is no news to you. Love may not be the proper word. At least I'm so infatuated with him that there's no room in my heart for any other man. Do you remember that night in March, when you dined with us and asked my father for my hand, and next morning early I came round in a panic to your house? I didn't dare tell you all my trouble. The General had urged me to elope with him. I _wish, wish, wish_ that I had. I should be his now and sure of him. By delaying and suspecting I've all but lost him.

I always knew that he would be a big man--as big after the war as he was while it lasted. What this morning's papers say about him proves it. So for all these reasons and because I can't bear to face you at the Castle, I'm taking my fate in my hands. Please tell Lady Dawn that I shan't be back and excuse me in any way you can. I'm only carrying one small bag; she can send the rest of my things after me.

There's one request I have to make--that neither of you will notify my father till at least twenty-four hours have elapsed. All my future happiness may depend on your granting this request. It's the last favor I shall ever ask you.

And now, my very dear Tabs, almost my brother, if this hurts you, please take revenge by bundling me out of your mind. I was never your equal, never worthy of you, though you placed me on a pedestal that was far above you. Comfort yourself by believing that if you'd married me, you would have found this out. What a wretched quitter I appear in my own eyes after all you suffered in the trenches, to have reserved this worse suffering for you, when your life has been spared and you had counted on me for happiness. My entire body's not worth your little finger. And yet how good you've always been to me--

You'll get a better woman than I am. I think I already know who she'll be; if I'm right, I shall be so very glad.

I feel so humble--so apologetic. It's such a different ending from the one we dreamt when I saw you off on the troop-train with my hair all blowy down my back. There's nothing gained by recalling that. I meant so well by you; you've always been so much to me, my dearest, loyal Tabs.

Even though you despise me, I still insist on signing myself,

Your ever affectionate

TERRY.

"I'm sorry." It was Lady Dawn.