om wandering about if the fancy to wander
took her. She wouldn't, of course, go outside the gates, but--he now
felt sure she was somewhere in the garden.

He looked round. He was standing by the grand piano in the drawing-room,
and he now noticed for the first time that the French window which gave
on to the rose garden was open. That settled it. He put the candle down,
hurried out into the garden and called, "Mater!"

No voice replied except the fountain's voice. The purring water rose
in the darkness and fell among the lilies, rose and fell, active and
indifferent, like a living thing withdrawn from him, wrapped in its own
mystery.

"Mater!" he called again, in a louder, more resolute, voice. "Mater!
Mater!"

* * * * *

In an absolutely still night a voice can travel very far. On the highest
terrace of the garden in the blackness of the pavilion Mrs. Clarke moved
sharply. She sat straight up on the divan, rigid, with her hands pressed
palm downwards on the cushions. Dion had heard nothing, and did not
understand the reason for her abrupt, almost violent, movement.

"Why . . . ?" he began.

She caught his wrist and held it tightly, compressing her fingers on it
with a fierce force that amazed him.

"Mater!"

Had he really heard the word, or had he imagined it?

"Mater!"

He had heard it.

"It's Jimmy!"

She had her thin lips close to his ear. She still held his wrist in a
grip of iron.

"He's at the bottom of the garden. He'll come up here. He won't wait. Go
down and meet him."

"But----"

"Go down! I'll hide among the trees. Let him come up here, or bring him
up. He must come. Be sure he comes inside. While you go I'll light the
lamp. I can do it in a moment. You couldn't sleep. You came here to
read. Of course you know nothing about me. Keep him here for five or
ten minutes. You can come down then and help him to look for me. Go at
once."

She took away her hand.

"My whole future depends upon you!"

Dion got up and went out. As he went he heard her strike a match.

Scarcely knowing for a moment what he was doing, acting mechanically,
in obedience to instinct, but always feeling a sort of terrible driving
force behind him, he traversed the terrace on which the pavilion stood,
passed the great plane tree and the wooden seat, and began to descend.
As he did so he heard again Jimmy's voice crying:

"Mater!"

"Jimmy!" he called out, in a loud voice, hurrying on.

As the sound died away h