rment of constant
half-revivals of memory, would it not almost be safer to face the
acute convulsion of a sudden _eclaircissement_--to put happiness
to the touch, and win or lose it all? Sally could be got out of the
way for long enough to allow of a resumption of equilibrium after
the shock of the first disclosure and a completely established
understanding that she _must not be told_, come what might. Supposing
that she could tell, and he could hear, the whole story of twenty
years ago better than when a terrible position warped it for
teller and hearer in what had since become to her an intolerable
dream--supposing this done, and each could understand the other, might
not the very strangeness of the fact that the small new life that
played so large a part in that dream had become Sally since, and was
the only means by which Sally could have been established, might not
this tell for peace? Might it not even raise the question, "What does
a cloud of twenty years ago matter at all?" and suggest the answer,
"Nothing? For did not Sally come to us out of the cloud, and could
we do without her?"

But Rosalind's half-insight into the patchwork of her husband's
perceptions warranted no step so decisive. Rather, if anything, it
pointed to a gradual resumption of his _status quo_ of a few days ago.
After all, had he not had (and completely forgotten) recurrences like
that of the Baron and the fly-wheel? Well, perhaps the last was a
shade more vivid than the others. But then see now, had he not
forgotten it already to all outward seeming?

So that the minds of the two of them worked to a common end--silence.
Hers in the hope that the effects of the galvanic current--if that did
it--would die away and leave him rest for his; his in the fear that
behind the unraised curtain that still hid his early life from himself
was hidden what might become a baleful power to breed unrest for hers.

But it all depended on his own mastery of himself. Except he told it,
who should know that he was Harrisson? And _how_ he felt the shelter
of the gold! Who was going to suspect that a man who could command
wealth in six figures by disclosing his identity, would keep it
a secret? And for his wife's sake too! A pitiful four-or five-figure
man might--yes. But hundreds of thousands!--think of it!

CHAPTER XXXVIII

OF AN EXPEDITION AGAINST A GOODY, AND THE WALK BACK TO LOBJOIT'S. AND
THE WALK BACK AGAIN TO IGGULDEN'S. HOW FENWICK TOOK VEREK