w quite suddenly that the journey was over, and he
could lie down and rest.

Her voice came to him very softly, with a hushing tenderness through the
miniature rush and gurgle of the water. As usual she sought to comfort
him, but he heard a thrill of triumph as well as sympathy in her words.

"He hath broken the gates of brass," she said. "And smitten the bars of
iron in sunder."

His fingers closed upon the edge of the pool. He felt the water splash
his face as he sank down; and though he was too spent to drink he thanked
God for bringing him thither.

Later it seemed to him that a Divine Presence came through the garden,
that Someone stooped and touched him, and lo, his chains were broken and
his burden gone! And he roused himself to ask for pardon; which was
granted to him ere that Presence passed away.

He never knew exactly what happened after that night in the garden of the
ruined chateau. There were a great many happenings, but none of them
seemed to concern him very vitally.

He wandered through great spaces of oblivion, intersected with terrible
streaks of excruciating pain. During the intervals of this fearful
suffering he was acutely conscious, but he invariably forgot everything
again when the merciful unconsciousness came back. He knew in a vague way
that he lay in a hospital-tent with other dying men, knew when they moved
him at last because he could not die, suffered agonies unutterable upon
an endless road that never seemed to lead to anywhere, and finally awoke
to find that the journey had been over for several days.

He tried very hard not to wake. Waking invariably meant anguish. He
longed unspeakably for Death, but Death was denied him. And when someone
came and stooped over him and took his nerveless hand, he whispered with
closed eyes an earnest request not to be called back.

"It's such--a ghastly business--" he muttered piteously--"this waking."

"Won't you speak to a friend, Piers?" a voice said.

He opened his eyes then. He had not heard his own name for months. He
looked up into eyes that gleamed hawk-like through glasses, and a throb
of recognition went through his heart.

"You!" he whispered, striving desperately to master the sickening pain
that that throb had started.

"All right. Don't speak for a bit!" said Tudor quietly. "I think I can
help you."

He did help, working over him steadily, with the utmost gentleness, till
the worst of the paroxysm was past.

Piers was path