your books or your
public."

"Ah, I remember! Treherne, I have had the most vivid and horrid
nightmares."

"Then forget them," put in Aubrey, quickly. "Never recount a nightmare,
when it is over. You suffer all its horrors again, in the telling. Turn
your thoughts to something pleasant. When do you reach England?"

"I cross by the Hook, the day after to-morrow, reaching London early the
following morning. I shall go to my club, see my publisher, lunch in
town, and get down home to tea."

"To the moated Grange?" inquired Aubrey.

"Yes, to the Grange. Helen will await me there. But why do you call it
'moated'? We do not boast a moat."

Aubrey laughed. "I suppose my thoughts had run to 'Mariana.' You
remember? 'He cometh not,' she said; the young woman who grew tired of
waiting. They do, sometimes, you know! I believe _her_ grange was
moated. All granges should be moated; just as all old manors should be
haunted. What a jolly time you and Helen must have in that lovely old
place. I knew it well as a boy."

"You must come and stay with us," said Ronnie, with an effort.

"Thanks, dear chap. Delighted. Has Helen kept well during your absence?"

"Quite well. She wrote as often as she could, but there was a beastly
long time when I could get no letters. Hullo!--I say!"

Ronnie stood up suddenly, the light of remembrance on his thin face, and
began plunging his hands into the many pockets of his Norfolk coat.

"I found a letter from Helen at the _Poste Restante_, here; but owing to
my absorption in the Infant, I clean forgot to read it! Heaven send I
haven't dropped it anywhere!"

He stood with his back to the stove, hunting vaguely, but feverishly, in
all his pockets.

Aubrey smoked on, watching him without stirring.

Aubrey was wishing that Helen could know how long her letter had
remained unread, owing to the Infant of Prague.

At length Ronnie found the letter--a large, square foreign
envelope--safely stowed away in his pocket-book, in the inner
breast-pocket of his coat.

"Of course," he said. "I remember. I put it there when I was writing
Zimmermann's cheque. You will excuse me if I read it straight away?
There may be something requiring a wire."

"Naturally, my dear fellow; read it. Cousins need not stand on ceremony;
and the Infant now being thoroughly in tune, your mind is free to spare
a thought or two to Helen. Don't delay another moment. There may be a
message in the letter for me."

Ronnie dr