"At the Lily Lock, beyond Hong-Kong and Java?"

"Do you call it that, too?"

"You told me it was when I was lost in the continent. That was you that
showed me the way through the mountains?"

"When the islands slid? It must have been, because you're the only one I
remember. All the others were 'Them.'

"Awful brutes they were, too."

"I remember showing you the Thirty-Mile Ride the first time. You ride
just as you used to--then. You are you!"

"That's odd. I thought that of you this afternoon. Isn't it wonderful?"

"What does it all mean? Why should you and I of the millions of people
in the world have this--this thing between us? What does it mean? I'm
frightened."

"This!" said Georgie. The horses quickened their pace. They thought they
had heard an order. "Perhaps when we die we may find out more, but it
means this now."

There was no answer. What could she say? As the world went, they had
known each other rather less than eight and a half hours, but the matter
was one that did not concern the world. There was a very long silence,
while the breath in their nostrils drew cold and sharp as it might have
been a fume of ether.

"That's the second," Georgie whispered. "You remember, don't you?"

"It's not!"--furiously. "It's not!"

"On the downs the other night-months ago. You were just as you are now,
and we went over the country for miles and miles."

"It was all empty, too. They had gone away. Nobody frightened us. I
wonder why, Boy?"

"Oh, if you remember that, you must remember the rest. Confess!"

"I remember lots of things, but I know I didn't. I never have--till just
now."

"You did, dear."

"I know I didn't, because--oh, it's no use keeping anything back!
because I truthfully meant to."

"And truthfully did."

"No; meant to; but some one else came by."

"There wasn't any one else. There never has been."

"There was--there always is. It was another woman--out there--on
the sea. I saw her. It was the 26th of May. I've got it written down
somewhere."

"Oh, you've kept a record of your dreams, too? That's odd about the
other woman, because I happened to be on the sea just then."

"I was right. How do I know what you've done when you were awake--and I
thought it was only you!"

"You never were more wrong in your life. What a little temper you've
got! Listen to me a minute, dear." And Georgie, though he knew it not,
committed black perjury. "It--it isn't the kind of thing one says to
a