He began to talk to
me about dreaming. When your body's not fed--you begin to see clear--if
your spirit is not held down."

He was getting tired and panting a little. Coombe bent nearer to him.

"I can guess the rest. I have been reading books on such subjects. He
told you how to concentrate on dreaming and try to get near her. He
helped you by suggestion himself--"

"He used to lie awake night after night and do it--and I began to
dream-- No, it was not a dream. I believe I got to her-- He did it--and
they killed him!"

"Hush! hush!" cried Coombe. "Of all men he would most ardently implore
you to hold yourself still--"

Donal made some strange effort. He lay still.

"Yes, he would! Yes--of all the souls in the other world he'd be
strongest. He saved me--he saved Robin--he saved the child--you--all of
us! Perhaps he's here now! He said he'd come if he could. He believed he
could."

He lay quiet for a few seconds and then the Donal smile they had all
adored lighted up his face.

"Jackson, old chap!" he said. "I can't see you--but I'll do what you
want me to do--I'll do it."

He fainted the next minute and the doctors came to him.

The facts which came later still were that Jackson had developed
consumption, and exposure and brutality had done their worst. And Donal
had seen his heart wringing end.

"But he knew America would come in. I believed it too, because he did.
Just at the right time. 'All the rest have fought like mad till they're
tired--though they'll die fighting,' he said. 'America's not tired.
She's got everything and she sees red with frenzy at the bestiality.
She'll _burst_ in--just at the right time!' Jackson _knew_!"

* * * * *

"I must not go trembling to her," Donal said on the morning when at
last--long last, it seemed--he drove with Coombe up the moor road to
Darreuch. "But," bravely, "what does it matter? I'm trembling because
I'm going to her!"

He had been talking about her for weeks--for days he had been able to
talk of nothing else-- Coombe had listened as if he heard echoes from a
past when he would have so talked and dared not utter a word. He had
talked as a boy lover talks--as a young bridegroom might let himself
pour his joy forth to his most sacredly trusted friend.

Her loveliness, the velvet of her lifting eyes--the wonder of her
trusting soul--the wonder of her unearthly selfless sweetness!

"It was always the same kind of marvel every