rned to her, and for the first time she pondered them
seriously. He had dismissed ambition and success, even the strife of
nations, at a breath. He had been able to do so even then, when he was
nearing the summit of his aspirations. "What are they?" he had said.
"Only a procession that marches under the windows, only a dream in the
midst of a great Reality."

What had he meant by that? she asked herself, and searched her memory
for more. It came with a curious vividness, a winged message, straight
and sure as an arrow. "We look out above them," he had said, "you and
I"--suddenly she heard the very thrill of his voice, and it pierced her
through and through--"to the great heaven and the sun; and we know that
that is life--the Spark Eternal that nothing can ever quench." Chris did
not ask herself the meaning of that. She hid it away in her heart,
quickly, quickly, lest seeing she should also understand.

It was very early in the morning when she slipped out of bed, and crept
to the open window to watch the stars fade into the dawning. She would
have liked to pray, but no prayer occurred to her. And so she knelt quite
passive, gazing forth over the dim garden, too tired to think any longer,
yet too miserable to sleep. She did not know that her husband's eyes
gravely watched her throughout her vigil, and when presently she lay down
again she still believed him to be sleeping.

In the morning inspiration came to Chris. She believed Rupert to be out
of debt, thanks to Trevor's generosity. She would get him to raise the
money for her. She knew he must have ways and means of so doing which
were quite beyond her reach. At least, it seemed her only resource, and
she would try it.

"Are you quite well, Chris?" her husband asked her when he rose at an
early hour, as was his custom.

"Quite," said Chris. "Why?"

She looked at him nervously with heavy-lidded eyes.

He bent to kiss her before leaving the room. "Don't get up yet," he said
kindly. "Stay in bed and have a sleep."

"But I--I have slept," she stammered.

He put the hair gently back from her forehead. "I know all about it," he
said.

She started away from him in sheer panic. "About what?" she gasped, in a
whisper; then, seeing his brows go up, "Oh, Trevor, I--I'm sorry. No, I
haven't slept very well. But--"

"I thought not," he interposed quietly. "Well, sleep now, dear."

He turned to go, but impulsively she caught his hand, held it a moment,
then suddenly p