Closing the door noiselessly behind him, the boy went out again.  I stood there for a little while looking about me; then pulling up a chair I was just sitting down when a slight sound attracted my attention.  A moment later a curtain at the end of the room was drawn slowly aside, and there, standing in the gap, I saw the slim figure of a girl, dressed in a kind of long dark Eastern tunic.

I jumped to my feet, and as I did so an exclamation of amazement broke involuntarily from my lips.  For an instant I remained quite still, clutching the back of the chair and staring like a man in a trance.  Unless I was mad the girl in front of me was Joyce.

CHAPTER XI

BRIDGING THREE YEARS OF SEPARATION

It was the unexpectedness of the thing that threw me off my guard.  With a savage effort I recovered myself almost at once, but it was too late to be of any use.  At the sound of my voice all the colour had left Joyce’s face.  Her hands went up to her breast, and with a low cry she stepped forward and then stood there white and swaying, gazing at me with wide-open, half-incredulous eyes.

“My God!” she whispered; “it’s you—­Neil!”

I think she would have fallen, but I came to her side, and putting my arm round her shoulders gently forced her into one of the chairs.  Then I knelt in front of her and took her hands in mine.  I saw it was no good trying to deceive her.

“I didn’t know,” I said simply; “I followed George here.”

“What have they done to you?” she moaned.  “What have they done to you, my Neil?  And your hands—­oh, your poor dear hands!”

She burst out crying, and bending down pressed her face against my fingers.

“Don’t, Joyce,” I said, a little roughly.  “For God’s sake don’t do that.”

Half unconsciously I pulled away my hands, which three years in Dartmoor had certainly done nothing to improve.

My abrupt action seemed to bring Joyce to herself.  She left off sobbing, and with a sudden hurried glance round the room jumped up from her chair.

“I must speak to Jack—­now at once,” she whispered.  “He mustn’t let any one else into the flat.”

She stopped for a moment to dry her eyes, which were still wet with tears, and then walking quickly to the door disappeared into the passage.  She was only gone for a few seconds.  I just had time to get to my feet when she came back into the room, and shutting the door behind her, turned the key in the lock.  Then with a little gasp she leaned against the wall.  For the first time I realized what an amazingly beautiful girl she had grown into.

“Neil, Neil,” she said, stretching out her hands; “is it really you!”

I came across, and taking her in my arms very gently kissed her forehead.

“My little Joyce,” I said.  “My dear, brave little Joyce.”

She buried her face in my coat, and I felt her hand moving up and down my sleeve.