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Updated: June 16, 2025
Sylvia had written the letter in haste on the very evening of Chayne's visit, and had hurried out to post it in fear lest she might change her mind in the morning. But in the morning she was only aware of a great lightness of spirit. She could now devote herself to the work of her life; and for two long tiring days she kept Walter Hine at her side. But now he sought to avoid her.
"Pierre Delouvain"; and so once again Chayne's fears were allayed. He turned to Sylvia. "A good name, sweetheart. I never climbed with him, but I know him by report. A prudent man, as prudent as he is skilful. He would run no risks." The name gave him indeed greater comfort than even his words expressed. Delouvain's mere presence would prevent the commission of any crime.
"I shall hardly know whether I sleep or wake, with the noise of that stream rising through my window. For so far back as I can remember I always dream of running water." The words laid hold upon Chayne's imagination and fixed her in his memories. He knew nothing of her really, except just this one curious fact. She dreamed of running water. Somehow it was fitting that she should.
He left in Chayne's mind a definite suspicion that he was speaking no longer out of books, but from an intimate personal knowledge, the knowledge of actual experience. The suspicion had grown up gradually, but it had strengthened almost into a conviction.
The evident anxiety of Chayne's words, and the silence which since had fallen upon one and all were alone enough to assure her that here was serious work.
"So many guides came of their own accord to search for him." Again Chayne's face was turned quickly toward her. Here indeed was a sign of the people amongst whom she lived, and of their unillumined thoughts. There must be the personal reason always, the personal reason or money. Outside of these, there were no motives. He answered her gently: "No; I think that was not the reason.
Then in a small trembling voice, like a child's, she pleaded, still holding her face averted: "Don't go away from me, Hilary! Oh, please! Don't go away from me now!" Her voice, her words, went to Chayne's heart. He knew that pride and a certain reticence were her natural qualities.
She had thought to cry out, now she was fascinated. A spell of terror constrained her to silence. And then, suddenly, behind Walter Hine there stood out clearly in the light the head and shoulders of Garratt Skinner. "My father," said Sylvia, in relief. Her clasp upon Chayne's arm relaxed; her terror passed from her. In the revulsion of her feelings she laughed quietly at her past fear.
"I'll come with you," said Barbara. So once more, on altruistic errand, I motored post-haste to London. We alighted at St. Quentin's Mansions. My friend the porter came out to receive us. "Has a lady been here with a key of Mr. Chayne's flat?" "No, sir, not to my knowledge." We drew breaths of relief. Our journey had been something of a strain. "Thank goodness!" said Barbara.
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