LITMIR.BIZ

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hooted. It was their last breath hooting out of them--in most awful pain. Do you understand?'

      'I ought to. Go on.'

      'That's the first part. Then I hear bare feet running along the alleyway. One of the scalded men comes up behind me and says quite distinctly, "My friend! All is lost!" Then he taps me on the shoulder and I hear him drop down dead.' He panted and wiped his forehead.

      'So that is your night?' she said.

      'That is my night. It comes every few weeks--so many days after I get what I call sentence. Then I begin to count.'

      'Get sentence? D'you mean this?' She half closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and shuddered. '"Notice" I call it. Sir John thought it was all lies.'

      She had unpinned her hat and thrown it on the seat opposite, showing the immense mass of her black hair, rolled low in the nape of the columnar neck and looped over the left ear. But Conroy had no eyes except for her grave eyes.

      'Listen now!' said she. 'I walk down a road, a white sandy road near the sea. There are broken fences on either side, and Men come and look at me over them.'

      'Just men? Do they speak?'

      'They try to. Their faces are all mildewy--eaten away,' and she hid her face for an instant with her left hand. 'It's the Faces--the Faces!'

      'Yes. Like my two hoots. I know.'

      'Ah! But the place itself--the bareness--and the glitter and the salt smells, and the wind blowing the sand! The Men run after me and I run. … I know what's coming too. One of them touches me.'

      'Yes! What comes then? We've both shirked that.'

      'One awful shock--not palpitation, but shock, shock, shock!'

      'As though your soul were being stopped--as you'd stop a finger-bowl humming?' he said.

      'Just that,' she answered. 'One's very soul--the soul that one lives by--stopped. So!'

      She drove her thumb deep into the arm-rest. 'And now,' she whined to him, 'now that we've stirred each other up this way, mightn't we have just one?'

      'No,' said Conroy, shaking. 'Let's hold on. We're past'--he peered out of the black windows--'Woking. There's the Necropolis. How long till dawn?'

      'Oh, cruel long yet. If one dozes for a minute, it catches one.'

      'And how d'you find that this'--he tapped the palm of his glove--'helps you?'

      'It covers up the thing from being too real--if one takes enough--you know. Only--only--one loses everything else. I've been no more than a bogie-girl for two years. What would you give to be real again? This lying's such a nuisance.'

      'One must protect oneself--and there's one's mother to think of,' he answered.

      'True. I hope allowances are made for us somewhere. Our burden--can you hear?--our burden is heavy enough.'

      She rose, towering into the roof of the carriage. Conroy's ungentle grip pulled her back.

      'Now you are foolish. Sit down,' said he.

      'But the cruelty of it! Can't you see it? Don't you feel it? Let's take one now--before I--'

      'Sit down!' cried Conroy, and the sweat stood again on his forehead. He had fought through a few nights, and had been defeated on more, and he knew the rebellion that flares beyond control to exhaustion.

      She smoothed her hair and dropped back, but for a while her head and throat moved with the sickening motion of a captured wry-neck.

      'Once,' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped my counterpane from end to end. That takes strength. I had it then. I've little now. "All dorn," as my little niece says. And you, lad?'

      '"All dorn"! Let me keep your case for you till the morning.'

      'But the cold feeling is beginning.'

      'Lend it me, then.'

      'And the drag down my right side. I shan't be able to move in a minute.'

      'I can scarcely lift my arm myself,' said Conroy. 'We're in for it.'

      'Then why are you so foolish? You know it'll be easier if we have only one--only one apiece.'

      She was lifting the case to her mouth. With tremendous effort Conroy caught it. The two moved like jointed dolls, and when their hands met it was as wood on wood.

      'You must--not!' said Conroy. His jaws stiffened, and the cold climbed from his feet up.

      'Why--must--I--not?' She repeated the words idiotically.

      Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the hand and the case in it.

      Her speech went from her altogether. The wonderful lips rested half over the even teeth, the breath was in the nostrils only, the eyes dulled, the face set grey, and through the glove the hand struck like ice.

      Presently her soul came back and stood behind her eyes--only thing that had life in all that place--stood and looked for Conroy's soul. He too was fettered in every limb, but somewhere at an immense distance he heard his heart going about its work as the engine-room carries on through and beneath the all but overwhelming wave. His one hope, he knew, was not to lose the eyes that clung to his, because there was an Evil abroad which would possess him if he looked aside by a hair-breadth.

      The rest was darkness through which some distant planet spun while cymbals clashed. (Beyond Farnborough the 10.8 rolls out many empty milk-cans at every halt.) Then a body came to life with intolerable pricklings. Limb by limb, after agonies of terror, that body returned to him, steeped in most perfect physical weariness such as follows a long day's rowing. He saw the heavy lids droop over her eyes--the watcher behind them departed--and, his soul sinking into assured peace, Conroy slept.

      Light on his eyes and a salt breath roused him without shock. Her hand still held his. She slept, forehead down upon it, but the movement of his waking waked her too, and she sneezed like a child.

      'I--I think it's morning,' said Conroy.

      'And nothing has happened! Did you see your Men? I didn't see my Faces. Does it mean we've escaped? Did--did you take any after I went to sleep? I'll swear I didn't,' she stammered.

      'No, there wasn't any need. We've slept through it.'

      'No need! Thank God! There was no need! Oh, look!'

      The train was running under red cliffs along a sea-wall washed by waves that were colourless in the early light. Southward the sun rose mistily upon the Channel.

      She leaned out of the window and breathed to the bottom of her lungs, while the wind wrenched down her dishevelled hair and blew it below her waist.

      'Well!' she said with splendid eyes. 'Aren't you still waiting for something to happen?'

      'No. Not till next time. We've been let off,' Conroy answered, breathing as deeply as she.

      'Then we ought to say our prayers.'

      'What nonsense! Some one will see us.'

      'We needn't kneel. Stand up and say "Our Father." We must!'

      It was the first time since childhood that Conroy had prayed. They laughed hysterically when a curve threw them against an arm-rest.

      'Now for breakfast!' she cried. 'My maid--Nurse Blaber--has the basket and things. It'll be ready in twenty minutes. Oh! Look at my hair!' and she went out laughing.

      Conroy's first discovery, made without fumbling or counting letters on taps, was that the London and South Western's allowance of washing-water is inadequate. He used every drop, rioting in the cold tingle on neck and arms. To shave in a moving train balked him, but the next halt gave him a chance, which, to his own surprise, he took. As he stared at himself in the mirror he smiled and nodded. There were points about this person with the clear, if sunken, eye and the

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