’Nelly, it’s hard luck!  Darling, I’d better have been patient.  In time, perhaps, I should have come back to you.  How I got away—­who planned it—­I don’t remember.  I remember nothing—­of all that time.  But Howson has heard something, through some people near Cassel—­has he told you?’

‘Yes—­but don’t try to remember.’

He smiled at her.  How strange the old sweetness on these grey lips!

’Have you missed me—­dreadfully?  Poor little Nelly!  You’re very pale—­a little shadow!  Darling!—­I would like to live!’

And at that—­at last—­the eyes of both, as they gazed at each other, filled with tears.  Tears for the eternal helplessness of man,—­the ‘tears of things.’

But he roused himself, snatching still at a little love, a little brightness—­before the dark.  The strychnine injected had given him strength.

’Give me that jelly—­and the champagne.  Feed me, Nelly!  But have you had any food?’

The stress laid on the ‘you’ the tone of his voice, were so like his old self that Nelly caught her breath.  A ray of mad hope stole in.  She began to feed him, and as she did so, the Sister, as though she had heard Sarratt’s question, came quietly in with a tray on which was some food for Nelly, and put it down beside her.  Then she disappeared again.

With difficulty, Sarratt swallowed a few mouthfuls of jelly and champagne.  Then his left hand—­the right was helpless—­made a faint but peremptory sign, and Nelly obediently took some food under his dimly smiling eyes.

‘I have thought of this so often,’ he murmured—­I knew you’d come.  It’s been like someone walking through a dark passage that was getting lighter.  Only once—­I had a curious dream.  I thought I saw Bridget’

Nelly, trembling, took away his tray and her own, and then knelt down again beside him.  She kissed his forehead, and tried to divert his thoughts by asking him if he was warm enough.  His hands were very cold.  Should she make up the fire?

’Oh, no,—­it’s all right.  But wasn’t it strange?  Suddenly, I seemed to be looking at her—­quite close—­and she at me.  And I was worried because I had seen her more distinctly than I could remember you.  Come nearer—­put your dear head against me.  Oh, if I could only hold you, as I used to!’

There was silence a little.  But the wine had flushed him, and when the bloodless lids lifted again, there was more life in the eyes.

’Nelly, poor darling, have you been very lonely?—­Were the Farrells kind to you?’

‘Yes, George, very kind.  They did everything—­everything they could.’

’Sir William promised me’—­he said, gratefully.  ’And where have you been all the time?  At Rydal?’

‘No.  I was ill—­after the news came——­’

‘Poor Nelly!’

’And Sir William lent us one of his farms—­near his cottage—­do you remember?’

’A little.  That was kind of him—­very kind.  Nelly—­I want to send him a message——­’