dent air that promised much.

The aroma of frying bacon, the steam of brewing tea, were all but
intolerable to an empty stomach. Whitaker left the kitchen hurriedly
and, in an endeavour to control himself, made a round of the other
rooms. There were two others on the ground floor: a "parlour," a
bedroom; in the upper story, four small bedchambers; above them an
attic, gloomy and echoing. Nowhere did he discover anything to moderate
the impression made by the kitchen: it was all impeccably neat,
desperately bare.

Depressed, he turned toward the head of the stairs. Below a door whined
on its hinges, and the woman called him, her voice ringing through the
hallway with an effect of richness, deep-toned and bell-true, that
somehow made him think of sunlight flinging an arm of gold athwart the
dusk of a darkened room. He felt his being thrill responsive to it, as
fine glass sings its answer to the note truly pitched. More than all
this, he was staggered by something in the quality of that full-throated
cry, something that smote his memory until it was quick and vibrant,
like a harp swept by an old familiar hand.

"Hugh?" she called; and again: "Hugh! Where are you?"

He paused, grasping the balustrade, and with some difficulty managed to
articulate:

"Here ... coming...."

"Hurry. Everything's ready."

Waiting an instant to steady his nerves, he descended and reentered the
kitchen.

The meal was waiting--on the table. The woman, too, faced him as he
entered, waiting in the chair nearest the stove. But, once within the
room, he paused so long beside the door, his hand upon the knob, and
stared so strangely at her, that she moved uneasily, grew restless and
disturbed. A gleam of apprehension flickered in her eyes.

"Why, what's the matter?" she asked with forced lightness. "Why don't
you come in and sit down?"

He said abruptly: "You called me Hugh!"

She inclined her head, smiling mischievously. "I admit it. Do you mind?"

"Mind? No!" He shut the door, advanced and dropped into his chair, still
searching her face with his troubled gaze. "Only," he said--"you
startled me. I didn't think--expect--hope--"

"On so short an acquaintance?" she suggested archly. "Perhaps you're
right. I didn't think.... And yet--I do think--with the man who risked
his life for me--I'm a little justified in forgetting even that we've
never met through the medium of a conventional introduction."

"It isn't that, but...." He hesitated