e a guess at the
other things. I say, Gaisford, will this make me sleep?"

A hint of despair in his voice was not lost on the doctor.

"I hope so. It will tone up your nervous system. But it's only for a
week, mind! That's the limit of your reprieve before you go away. Don't
imagine that stimulants and sedatives take the place of natural food or
rest. Whatever--odds and ends you have to clear up must be cleared up
within the next week."

Eric nodded and held out his hand. Gaisford had understood, then. . . .
He wondered how long the medicine would take to "tone up" his nerves,
for he had written a telegram to Barbara the night before, as soon as
Agnes left him.

He walked to his office, trying to face the position more clearly than
he had been able to do in the night. Why fret and worry? Barbara's
"solemn promise" had already been broken in spirit; if she kept it in
form, she would be haunted by a new memory, the intrusive shadow would
take on a more terrific outline. There was no proof that Jack was alive
. . . but Eric believed without proof; no certainty that he would
present his claim . . . but Barbara would see nothing but certainty. Two
allegiances, two promises . . . and no one could tell which she would
choose.

Eric was walking blindly through streets which only his feet recognized.
Regency Theatre. . . . And he had been heading for Whitehall. He would
never go to the Regency again without seeing her--either a head leaning
against his knee at rehearsal as they sat on a platform over the
orchestra, or in their box, hand in hand, as on the first night of "The
Bomb-Shell," when his nerves were jangling like the broken wires of a
harp; he could never go to Mrs. Shelley's house without hearing her
singing Madame Butterfly's song--and without some fool's asking if he
had seen anything of Lady Barbara lately. . . .

A telegram was waiting for him, when at last he reached his office:
Barbara would come up that day and dine with him; she hoped that he had
received no bad news. . . . Eleven o'clock; and he would not see her
until eight. He was too restless to work and at one o'clock he handed
his papers to a colleague and slunk into the street. His foot-steps
were turned towards the Thespian Club; but he could not pass the
hall-porter without looking for a note, as on the night when he dined in
his triumph with Lord Ettrick; he could not see a page-boy without
expecting to find that Barbara had telephoned to him.