but yesterday. If it had been a plague-spot, she could not have
guarded it more jealously. Its presence scared her. Her every
instinct was to screen it somehow, somehow, from those keen eyes.
For he was so horribly strong, so shrewd, so merciless!

He came up to her as she wheeled. He took one of her quivering
wrists, and held it, his fingers closely pressed upon the leaping
pulse. "Sylvia!" he said, and this time there was an edge to his
voice that made her aware that he was putting force upon himself.
"I have never insulted you--or distrusted you. Everything was
against me yesterday. But when I left you, I gave all I possessed
into your keeping. It is in your keeping still. Does that look
like distrust?"

She gave, a quick, involuntary start, but he went on, scarcely
pausing.

"When a man is going into possible danger, and his wife is thinking
of--other things, is he so greatly to blame if he takes the
quickest means at his disposal of waking her up?"

"Ah!" she said. Had he not waked her indeed? But yet--but
yet--She looked at ham doubtfully.

"Listen!" he said. "We've been going round in a circle lately.
It's been like that infernal game we used to play as children.
'Snail,' wasn't it called? Where nobody ever got home and
everybody always lost their tempers! Let's get out of it, Sylvia!
Let's leave Guy and Schafen to look after things, and go to the top
of the world by ourselves! I'll take great care of you. You'll be