t, he was overcome by a desire
to escape, to have done with this suffering, to forget that Rachel was
ill. He allowed himself to lapse into forgetfulness of everything. As if
a wind that had been raging incessantly suddenly fell asleep, the fret
and strain and anxiety which had been pressing on him passed away.
He seemed to stand in an unvexed space of air, on a little island by
himself; he was free and immune from pain. It did not matter whether
Rachel was well or ill; it did not matter whether they were apart or
together; nothing mattered--nothing mattered. The waves beat on the
shore far away, and the soft wind passed through the branches of the
trees, seeming to encircle him with peace and security, with dark and
nothingness. Surely the world of strife and fret and anxiety was not the
real world, but this was the real world, the world that lay beneath the
superficial world, so that, whatever happened, one was secure. The quiet
and peace seemed to lap his body in a fine cool sheet, soothing every
nerve; his mind seemed once more to expand, and become natural.

But when he had stood thus for a time a noise in the house roused him;
he turned instinctively and went into the drawing-room. The sight of the
lamp-lit room brought back so abruptly all that he had forgotten that he
stood for a moment unable to move. He remembered everything, the hour,
the minute even, what point they had reached, and what was to come.
He cursed himself for making believe for a minute that things were
different from what they are. The night was now harder to face than
ever.

Unable to stay in the empty drawing-room, he wandered out and sat on the
stairs half-way up to Rachel's room. He longed for some one to talk
to, but Hirst was asleep, and Ridley was asleep; there was no sound
in Rachel's room. The only sound in the house was the sound of Chailey
moving in the kitchen. At last there was a rustling on the stairs
overhead, and Nurse McInnis came down fastening the links in her cuffs,
in preparation for the night's watch. Terence rose and stopped her. He
had scarcely spoken to her, but it was possible that she might confirm
him in the belief which still persisted in his own mind that Rachel was
not seriously ill. He told her in a whisper that Dr. Lesage had been and
what he had said.

"Now, Nurse," he whispered, "please tell me your opinion. Do you
consider that she is very seriously ill? Is she in any danger?"

"The doctor has said--" she