tion of this story, and tried to remember whether he
had ever told it to Helen.

Arrived at his club he shaved, tubbed, changed his clothes, and,
leaving his 'cello in charge of the hall porter, sallied out with his
manuscript to call upon his publisher.

In his portmanteau he had found Dr. Dick's bottle of stuff to take on
the journey. Aubrey had persuaded him to pack it away. He now took a
dose; then slipped the bottle into the pocket of his fur coat.

All went well, during the rest of the morning. His publisher was neither
pre-occupied nor vague. He gave Ronnie a great reception and his full
attention.

In the best of spirits, and looking the bronzed picture of perfect
health, Ronnie returned to his club, lunched, showed his 'cello to two
or three friends, then caught the three o'clock train to Hollymead.

The seven months were over. All nightmares seemed to have cleared away.
He was on his way to Helen. In an hour and a half he would be with her!

He began to wonder, eagerly, what Helen would say to the Infant.

He felt quite sure that as soon as he got the bow in his hand, and the
'cello between his knees, the Infant would have plenty to say to Helen.

He had kept his yearning to play, under strong control, so that she
might be there to enjoy with him the wonderful experience of those first
moments.

As the train slowed up for Hollymead, and the signal lights of the
little wayside station appeared, Ronnie took the last dose of Dick's
physic, and threw the bottle under the seat.

CHAPTER XI

THE MIRAGE

Helen awaited in her sitting-room the return of the carriage.

It had been a great effort to let it go to the station without her. In
fact she had ordered it to the front door, and put on her hat and coat
in readiness.

But at the last minute it had seemed impossible to meet Ronnie on a
railway platform.

So she sent the brougham off without her, went upstairs, put on a soft
trailing gown specially admired by Ronnie, paused at the nursery to make
sure all was quiet and ready, then came down to her sitting-room, and
tried to listen for a sound other than the beating of her own heart.

The room looked very home-like and cosy. A fire crackled gaily on the
hearth. The winter curtains were drawn; the orange lampshades cast a
soft golden light around.

The tea-table stood ready--cups and plates for two. The firelight shone
on the embossed brightness of the urn and teapot.

Ronnie's favourite