She was lifting the case to her mouth.  With tremendous effort Conroy caught it.  The two moved like jointed dolls, and when their hands met it was as wood on wood.

‘You must—­not!’ said Conroy.  His jaws stiffened, and the cold climbed from his feet up.

‘Why—­must—­I—­not?’ She repeated the words idiotically.

Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the hand and the case in it.

Her speech went from her altogether.  The wonderful lips rested half over the even teeth, the breath was in the nostrils only, the eyes dulled, the face set grey, and through the glove the hand struck like ice.

Presently her soul came back and stood behind her eyes—­only thing that had life in all that place—­stood and looked for Conroy’s soul.  He too was fettered in every limb, but somewhere at an immense distance he heard his heart going about its work as the engine-room carries on through and beneath the all but overwhelming wave.  His one hope, he knew, was not to lose the eyes that clung to his, because there was an Evil abroad which would possess him if he looked aside by a hair-breadth.

The rest was darkness through which some distant planet spun while cymbals clashed. (Beyond Farnborough the 10.8 rolls out many empty milk-cans at every halt.) Then a body came to life with intolerable pricklings.  Limb by limb, after agonies of terror, that body returned to him, steeped in most perfect physical weariness such as follows a long day’s rowing.  He saw the heavy lids droop over her eyes—­the watcher behind them departed—­and, his soul sinking into assured peace, Conroy slept.

Light on his eyes and a salt breath roused him without shock.  Her hand still held his.  She slept, forehead down upon it, but the movement of his waking waked her too, and she sneezed like a child.

‘I—­I think it’s morning,’ said Conroy.

’And nothing has happened!  Did you see your Men?  I didn’t see my Faces.  Does it mean we’ve escaped?  Did—­did you take any after I went to sleep?  I’ll swear I didn’t,’ she stammered.

‘No, there wasn’t any need.  We’ve slept through it.’

‘No need!  Thank God!  There was no need!  Oh, look!’

The train was running under red cliffs along a sea-wall washed by waves that were colourless in the early light.  Southward the sun rose mistily upon the Channel.

She leaned out of the window and breathed to the bottom of her lungs, while the wind wrenched down her dishevelled hair and blew it below her waist.

‘Well!’ she said with splendid eyes.  ’Aren’t you still waiting for something to happen?’

‘No.  Not till next time.  We’ve been let off,’ Conroy answered, breathing as deeply as she.

‘Then we ought to say our prayers.’

‘What nonsense!  Some one will see us.’

‘We needn’t kneel.  Stand up and say “Our Father.”  We must!’

It was the first time since childhood that Conroy had prayed.  They laughed hysterically when a curve threw them against an arm-rest.