“But you are not afraid of me?” he said.

“No, dear, no; not afraid.”  Her voice quivered notwithstanding.  “Only foolish, you know, and—­and—­a little doubtful lest—­lest—­when I’ve told you—­something—­you shouldn’t be quite—­pleased.”

“I am—­quite pleased, dear,” he said.

She raised her head.  “Trevor!  You know?”

He took her face between his hands.  “My darling, yes.”

She opened her eyes wide, searching his face.  “But that—­that wasn’t your reason for—­wanting me back?”

He looked straight down into her eyes, still holding her.  “I wonder if I need answer that question,” he said slowly.

She was silent for a moment, then stretched her hands to him with a gesture of complete confidence.  “No, dear, you needn’t.  Just forgive me for asking—­that’s all.”

He stooped at once without speaking, and the kiss that passed between them was the seal of a perfect understanding.

Not till some time later did the request he was expecting her to make find utterance.  He had been giving her a few details of Bertrand’s illness and death.

“He simply went in his sleep,” he said, “scarcely an hour after you left him.  Max and I were both with him, but he went so easily that we neither of us knew when it was.  There was no suffering or distress of any sort.  He just passed.”

He spoke with great gentleness.  He was keenly anxious to remove her fear of death.  But he knew by the way her arm tightened about his neck that something of the awe of it was upon her even while he spoke.

“Trevor,” she said, in a very low voice, “I almost think I would like to see him.”

“Yes, dear.”

“But—­I can’t go alone,” she said.  “Will you come too?”

“Of course,” he said.

She rose to her feet.  “Let’s go now.”

He rose also with her hand in his.  “There is some stuff here Max gave me for you,” he said.  “Drink that first.”

“Where is Max?” she asked.

“I sent him to bed, and Noel too.”

“And you have been sitting up with me ever since?”

“It was only three hours,” he said.

He gave her Max’s draught with the words, as if to check all comment on his action, and Chris submissively said no more.  But she held his hand very tightly as they went out together.

The dawn was just spreading golden over the sea when they entered the room where Bertrand lay asleep.  The light of it poured in at the open window like a benediction.  Outside, the two sentries still stood on guard.  But within was no earthly presence, only the scent and sound of the sea, only the growing splendour of the day, only the quiet dead waiting for the Resurrection....

Chris’s hand trembled within her husband’s as she drew near.  But later, when she looked upon the dear, familiar face, the awe went out of her own.

For Bertrand’s sleep was very easy, serenely natural.  It seemed to Chris that the man’s vanished youth had come back to beautify his rest.  For all the weariness she had grown accustomed to see had passed away.  She even thought he smiled.