hough she felt herself on the right track and
approaching a definite solution. The darkness clung about her like a
living thing. It throbbed as the air may when a wireless instrument
answers another, leagues away; it was as eloquent of communication as a
network of telephone and telegraph wires, submerged in midnight, yet
laden with portent of life and death.

She sat up in bed, straining every nerve to the point where all senses
unite in one. "Who are you?" Her lips did not move, but the thought
seemed to have the sound of thunder in its imperious demand. Tangled
fibres of communication noiselessly wove themselves through the
darkness, and again all her soul merged itself into one question--"Who?
For God's sake, who?"

[Sidenote: The Answer]

Then, after a tense instant of waiting, the answer flashed upon her,
vivid as lightning: "Alden Marsh!"

And swiftly, as though in response to a call, a definite, conscious
thought from the other personality presented itself: "Yes? What would
you have of me?"

Edith lay back among her pillows, as the clock struck the half hour. The
body, as though resentful of denial, urged itself swiftly upon her now.
Her heart beat tumultuously, her hands shook, she thrilled from head to
foot with actual physical pain. The darkness no longer seemed alive, but
negative and dead, holding somewhere in its merciful depths the promise
of rest.

Utterly exhausted, she closed her eyes and slept, to be roused by a tap
at her door.

"Yes," she answered, drowsily, "come in!"

Madame came in, pulled up the shades and flooded the room with sunshine.
"I'm sorry if I've disturbed you, dear, but I was afraid you were ill.
I've been here twice before."

[Sidenote: Aroused from Sleep]

Edith sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Half-past nine."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! You mustn't spoil me this way, for I do want to get
up to breakfast. Why didn't you call me?"

Madame sat down on the side of the bed and patted Edith's outstretched
hand with affectionate reassurance. "You're to do just as you please,"
she said, "but I was beginning to worry a bit, for you've been the soul
of punctuality."

"Did--" Edith closed her lips firmly upon the instinctive question, "Did
he miss me?" She dismissed it as the mere vapouring of a vacant brain.

"Did what?" asked Madame, helpfully.

"Did you miss me?"

"Of course. Alden did too. The last thing he said before he went to
school was that he hoped y