“I hate going!” declared Mrs. Ralston almost tearfully.  “I shouldn’t have promised if I could have foreseen all that was going to happen.”

He squeezed her arm.  “All the same—­you promised.  So don’t be silly!”

She turned suddenly and clung to him.

“Gerald!  I want to stay with you.  Let me stay!  I can’t bear the thought of you alone and in danger.”

He stared for a moment in astonishment.  Demonstrations of affection were almost unknown between them.  Then, with a shamefaced gesture, he bent and kissed her.

“What a silly old woman!” he said.

That ended the discussion and she knew that her plea had been refused.  But the fashion of its refusal brought the warm colour to her faded face, and she was even near to laughing in the midst of her woe.  How dear of Gerald to put it like that!  She did not feel that she had ever fully realized his love for her until that moment.

Seeing that her presence in her own bungalow was not needed just then, she betook herself once more to Stella, and again the afternoon silence fell like a spell of enchantment.  That there could be any element of unrest anywhere within that charmed region seemed a thing impossible.  The peace of Eden brooded everywhere.

The evening was drawing on ere Bernard slowly emerged from his serene slumber and looked at the child beside him.  Some invisible influence—­or perhaps some bond of sympathy between them—­had awakened her at the same moment, for her eyes were fixed upon him.  They shone intensely, mysteriously blue in the subdued light, wistful, searching eyes, wholly unlike the eyes of a child.

Her hand came out to his.  “Have you been here all the time, dear?” she said.

She seemed to be still half-wrapped in the veil of sleep.  He leaned to her, holding the little hand up against his cheek.

“Almost, my princess,” he said.

She nestled to him snuggling her fair head into his shoulder.  “I’ve been dreaming,” she whispered.

“Have you, my darling?” He gathered her close with a compassionate tenderness for the frailty of the little throbbing body he held.

Tessa’s arms crept round his neck.  “I dreamt,” she said, “that you and I, Uncle St. Bernard, were walking in a great big city, and there was a church with a golden spire.  There were a lot of steps up to it—­and Scooter—­” a sob rose in her throat and was swiftly suppressed—­“was sunning himself on the top.  And I tried to run up the steps and catch him, but there were always more and more and more steps, and I couldn’t get any nearer.  And I cried at last, I was so tired and disappointed.  And then—­” the bony arms tightened—­“you came up behind me, and took my hand and said, ’Why don’t you kneel down and pray?  It’s much the quickest way.’  And so I did,” said Tessa simply.  “And all of a sudden the steps were gone, and you and I went in together.  I tried to pick up Scooter, but he ran away, and I didn’t mind ’cos I knew he was safe.  I was so happy, so very happy.  I didn’t want to wake again.”  A doleful note crept into Tessa’s voice; she swallowed another sob.