anite of her battlements, without a throb of honest
grateful pride. An imperial singing sounds in his ears--tuned to the
measure of breaking surf--such a song as lovers sing whose single words
are no more than this, "I am yours and you are mine."

"Tonight," he said. "Tonight I shall see her again."

There was the appointment at his rooms at 11 o'clock when he would
place the concession in Mr. Torrington's hands. That would be a big
moment. He could imagine Cranbourne's unbridled enthusiasm, Lord
Almont's congratulations in the style of P. G. Wodehouse, and Cassis,
that person of dry ashes and parchment, unbending to the greatness of
the occasion. He, Barraclough, was a made man, every newspaper in the
country would send its reporters to clamour at his doors, every charity
seek his aid when the story and the magnitude of his find became known.
From an ordinary commonplace individual, he would be transformed into a
figure of the age, the observed of all eyes, the target of every
tongue. And yet, the world at his feet, the wealth, the prominence,
the power, the achievement, faded and dwindled into nothing at all
beside one absurd but adorable longing. It was the thought of Isabel
sitting on the floor, hugging her knees, resting her chin upon them,
looking at him with great wide open eyes, smiling at him with moist
trembling lips.

Over head the aerial fizzed and crackled as his message voyaged forth
into space. The tiny dots between the Eddystone and the land took form
and detail and became the brown sails of a fishing fleet lolling idly
in the bay.

A hand on his shoulder aroused him from his reverie and he turned to
find Jean Prevost standing beside him.

Barraclough pointed to the North East.

"Number fifty-seven," he said.

The old skipper focussed a pair of binoculars and steadied them against
a stay of the funnel.

"Zere," he said, and pointed at a solitary sail to the West of its
fellows. "Heem! You see?"

Barraclough nodded.

"Diamond's a reliable chap. Always as good as his word. How long
shall we be?"

"Quarter hour--ten minit."

Nothing more was said until the "Felice" came alongside the solitary
fishing boat from the bows of which a tall bronzed seaman gave them a
welcoming hail.

"Good-bye and good luck, Jean Prevost," said Barraclough. "You'll hear
from me in a day or two."

"And blerdy good luck to you," said the Frenchman gripping the extended
hand.

Barraclough dropped o