Again I saw her leaning down from the saddle of her great brown horse, and heard her voice, slow, emotionless, yet always with its strange power to play upon my heartstrings.

And yet, while the grey seas of despair were closing over my head, I sat there with a stereotyped smile upon my lips, fingering carelessly the stem of my wineglass, unwilling guest of an unwilling host.

I do not know how long we sat there in silence, but it seemed to me an eternity, for all the time I knew that Blenavon was watching me.

I felt like a victim upon the rack, whilst he, the executioner, held the cords.

I do not think, however, that he learnt anything from my face.
With a little shrug of the shoulders he abandoned the subject.
"By-the-bye, Ducaine," he said, "I hope you won't mind my asking you a rather personal question." "If it is only personal," I answered quietly, "not at all.