rd of any of your conversations about me."

"Then what in the world makes you think that there's no chance?"

"The voice of every doctor who has encouraged me to hope. Their
words--yes--their words tell me to visit specialists in Europe, and not
lose heart, but their voices give the lie to their words. If one cannot
see, one can at all events hear."

Calder looked thoughtfully at his friend. This was not the only occasion
on which of late Durrance had surprised his friends by an unusual
acuteness. Calder glanced uncomfortably at the letter which he was still
holding in his hand.

"When was that letter written?" said Durrance, suddenly; and
immediately upon the question he asked another, "What makes you jump?"

Calder laughed and explained hastily. "Why, I was looking at the letter
at the moment when you asked, and your question came so pat that I could
hardly believe you did not see what I was doing. It was written on the
fifteenth of May."

"Ah," said Durrance, "the day I returned to Wadi Halfa blind."

Calder sat in his chair without a movement. He gazed anxiously at his
companion, it seemed almost as though he were afraid; his attitude was
one of suspense.

"That's a queer coincidence," said Durrance, with a careless laugh; and
Calder had an intuition that he was listening with the utmost intentness
for some movement on his own part, perhaps a relaxation of his attitude,
perhaps a breath of relief. Calder did not move, however; and he drew no
breath of relief.

CHAPTER XIII

DURRANCE BEGINS TO SEE

Ethne stood at the drawing-room window of the house in Hill Street. Mrs.
Adair sat in front of her tea-table. Both women were waiting, and they
were both listening for some particular sound to rise up from the street
and penetrate into the room. The window stood open that they might hear
it the more quickly. It was half-past five in the afternoon. June had
come round again with the exhilaration of its sunlight, and London had
sparkled into a city of pleasure and green trees. In the houses
opposite, the windows were gay with flowers; and in the street below,
the carriages rolled easily towards the Park. A jingle of bells rose
upwards suddenly and grew loud. Mrs. Adair raised her head quickly.

"That's a cab," she said.

"Yes."

Ethne leaned forward and looked down. "But it's not stopping here;" and
the jingle grew fainter and died away.

Mrs. Adair looked at the clock.

"Colonel Durrance is late