dered Carfax but
because he was now absolutely conscious of God that he was so alone. He
could not touch his human companions, he could scarcely see them. It was
through this isolation that God was driving him to confession. Now, in
the outer Court, huge against the white dazzling snow, the great shadow
was hovering, its head piercing the stars, its arms outstretched.
Let him surrender and at once there would be infinite peace, but with
surrender must come submission, confession . . . with confession he must
lose the one thing that he desired--Margaret Craven . . . that he might
go and talk to her, watch her, listen to her voice. Meanwhile he must
not think. If he allowed his brain, for an instant, to rest, it was
flooded with the sweeping consciousness of the Presence--always he must
be doing something, his football, his companions, and often at the end
of it all, calmly, quietly, betrayed--hearing above all the clatter that
he might make the gentle accents of that Voice. He remembered that peace
that he had had in St. Martin's Chapel on the day of the discovery of
the body. What he would give to reclaim that now!

Meanwhile he must battle; must quiet Craven's suspicions, must play
football, join company with men who seemed to him now like shadows.
As he glanced round at them--at Lawrence, Bunning, Galleon
Cardillac--they seemed to have far less existence than the grey shadow
in the outer Court. Sounds passed him like smoke--the lights grew faint
in his eyes . . . he was being drawn out into a world that was all of
ice--black ice stretching to every horizon; on the edge of it, vast
against the night sky, was the Grey Figure, waiting.

"Come to Me. Tell Me that you will follow Me. I spoke to you in the
wood. You have broken My law. . . ."

"Lot of piffle," he heard Cardillac's voice from a great distance.
"These freshers are always gassing." The electric light, seen through a
cloud of tobacco smoke, came slowly back to him, dull globes of colour.

"It's so hot--I'm cutting," he whispered to Cardillac, and slipped out
of the room.

He climbed to his room, flung back his door and saw that his light was
turned on.

Facing him, waiting for him, was Bunning.

3

"If you don't want me----" he began with his inane giggle.

"Sit down." Olva pulled out the whisky and two siphons of soda. "If I
didn't want you I'd say so."

He filled himself a strong glass of whisky and soda and began feverishly
to drink.

Bunnin