rward. His humor left him, revealing his premature
haggardness. He laid a hand on Tabs' arm and asked a question. "You're
fond of her?"

Tabs eyed him in silence, trying to divine what was intended. "At any
rate, you are," he said kindly; "I see it now."

"Not fond of her, I'm in love with her." The man's face softened as he
made the confession. "I was in love with her when she was still the wife
of Pollock. I've been through deep waters. I've had to wait for her like
Jacob did for Rachel. I've lost most things--my memory, my health, my
very likeness! but never for five minutes have I lost my love for her.
She was the only star in my darkness----" The words fell from him with
somber sincerity. "I don't know whether you understand----"

But Tabs' thoughts had turned inwards. He was living again the
englamored poignancy of the years when Terry had been for him precisely
that--the only star in his darkness. The intensity of the vision was
like a cry of warning rousing his sleeping idealism from its lethargy.
His present errand became a treachery to be swept aside by his refound
strength. He recognized the intruder with new eyes, not as an enemy, but
as a comrade--a comrade marooned on the selfsame island of loneliness
and bound to him by the common experience of a kindred adversity. He was
like Crusoe discovering the footprint. Here, quite close to him, was a
fellow waif who had drunk deep of his own bitter sense of desertion.
With a thrill of sympathy, his heart turned to him.

"The only star in the darkness!" He repeated the stranger's words. "For
most of us there's been one woman who was all of that. If she fails
us----" He stifled his pessimism. "When stars fail, one waits for the
morning."

"So you, too, had your woman!"

The stranger smiled and relaxed against the cushions. "Foolish of me!
You can't blame me. Twice I've believed that I'd lost her. First there
was Gervis and then this Lockwood. Poor devils, I cry quits on them. But
when I found you so at home here, you can guess what I dreaded. And yet
you'll never guess why I followed you into this house." He lit a
cigarette and crossed his legs. "I didn't want you to escape me till I'd
asked a question---- Has it ever entered your head that Pollock might
not be dead?"

Tabs started. Then he sat very still. It was the commonplace tone in
which the question had been asked that froze his blood. It was as though
this man had said, "I can bring him back." For a m