e recurrences he had suffered from before
his memory-revival, they stood between him and sleep effectually. But
he could and would simulate sleep directly, for Rosalind's sake. He
had looked at his watch and seen that it was near two in the morning.
Yes, he would sleep; but he must ask one question, or lose his reason
if she left him alone with it unanswered.

"Rosey darling!"

"What, dearest?"

"We'll forget the old story, won't we, and only think of _now_? That's
the right way to take it, isn't it?"

She kissed his face as she answered, just as she might have kissed
a child. "Quite right, dear love," she said; "and now go to sleep. Or
if you must talk a little more, talk about Conrad and Sally."

"Ah yes!" he answered; "that's all happiness. Conrad and Sally! But
there's a thing...."

"What thing, dear? What is it?"

"I shall ask it you in the end, so why not now?" She felt in his hand
a shudder that ran through him, as his hold on her fingers tightened.

"So why not now?" she repeated after him. "Why hesitate?"

The tremor strengthened in her hand and was heard in his voice plainly
as he answered with an effort: "What became of the baby?"

"What became of the baby!" There was a new terror in Rosalind's voice
as she repeated the words--a fear for his reason. "What baby?"

"_The_ baby--_his_ baby--_his_ horrible baby!"

"Gerry darling! Gerry _dearest_! do think...." His puzzled eyes,
bloodshot in his white face, turned full upon her; but he remained
silent, waiting to hear more. "You have forgotten, darling," she said
quietly.

His free hand that lay on the coverlid clenched, and a spasm caught
his arm, as though it longed for something to strike or strangle. "No,
no!" said he; "I am all right. I mean that damned monster's baby.
There _was_ a baby?" His voice shook on these last words as though he,
too, had a fear for his own reason. His face flushed as he awaited
her reply.

"Oh, Gerry darling! but you _have_ forgotten. His baby was Sally--my
Sallykin!"

For it was absolutely true that, although he had as complete a
knowledge, in a certain sense, of Sally's origin as the well-coached
student has of the subject he is to answer questions in, he had
forgotten it under the stress of his mental trial as readily as
the student forgets what his mind has only acquiesced in for its
purpose, in his joy at recovering his right to ignorance. Sally had
an existence of her own quite independent of her origin. Sh