"Paul, it is _bon voyage_ for both of us," she said.

"Yes, my dear."

She looked at me thoughtfully a minute.

"Paul, when we get home----"

"Jacqueline?"

"I do not know," she said, putting her palms to her head. "Perhaps I
shall remember then. But you--you must stay with me, Paul."

Her lips quivered slightly. She turned her head away and looked out of
the window at the horrible maze of houses in the Bronx and the
disfiguring sign-boards.

New York was slipping away. All my old life was slipping away like
this--and evil following us. I slipped one of the automatics out of my
suit-case into my pocket and swore that I would guard Jacqueline from
any shadow of harm.

Each minute that I spent with her increased my passion for her. I had
ceased to have illusions on that score. One question recurred to my
mind incessantly. Could she be ignorant that she had a husband
somewhere? Would she tell me--or was this the chief of the memories
that she had laid aside?

I opened one of the newspapers that I had bought at the station
bookstand, dreading to find in flaring letters the headlines announcing