d that may seem a long time. When Margaret
turned away from the elderly man's more enduring gaze, both felt that
there was a bond of sympathy between them which neither had quite
acknowledged till then. There was silence after that, and Margaret
looked out of the window, while her hand unconsciously played with the
book on her knee, lifting the cover a little and letting it fall again
and again.

Suddenly she turned to Griggs once more and held the book out to him
with a smile.

'I'm not an autograph-hunter,' she said, 'but will you write something
on the fly-leaf? Just a word or two, without your name, if you like.
Do you think I'm very sentimental?'

She smiled again, and he took the book from her and produced a pencil.

'It's a book I shall not throw away,' she went on, 'because the man
who wrote it is a great friend of mine, and I have everything he has
ever written. So, as I shall keep it, I want it to remind me that you
and I grew to know each other better on this voyage.'

It occurred to the veteran that while this was complimentary to
himself it was not altogether promising for Lushington, who was the
old friend in question. A woman who loves a man does not usually ask
another to write a line in that man's book. Griggs set the point of
the pencil on the fly-leaf as if he were going to write; but then he
hesitated, looked up, glanced at Margaret, and at last leaned back in
the seat, as if in deep thought.

'I didn't mean to give you so much trouble,' Margaret said, still
smiling. 'I thought it must be so easy for a famous author like you to
write half-a-dozen words!'

'A "sentiment" you mean!' Griggs laughed rather contemptuously, and
then was grave again.

'No!' Margaret said, a little disappointed. 'You did not understand
me. Don't write anything at all. Give me back the book.'

She held out her hand for it; but as if he had just made up his mind,
he put his pencil to the paper again, and wrote four words in a small
clear hand. She leaned forwards a little to see what he was writing.

'You know enough Latin to read that,' he said, as he gave the book
back to her.

She read the words aloud, with a puzzled expression.

'"Credo in resurrectionem mortuorum."' She looked at him for some
explanation.

'Yes,' he said, answering her unspoken question. '"I believe in the
resurrection of the dead."'

'It means something especial to you--is that it?'

'Yes.' His eyes were very sad again as they met her