For it receded as it came, leaving her, a moment later, chilled and apprehensive before their over-troubled future.

With a little muffled cry of emotion, almost animal-like in its inarticulate intensity, she turned to her husband, and strained him in her arms, in her human and unhappy and unsatisfied arms.
"Oh, love me!" she pleaded, brokenly.

"Love me! Love me--for I need it!" They seemed strangely nearer to each other, after that night, and the peacefulness of their cruise to Bari remained uninterrupted.

And once clear of that port Durkin's nervousness somewhat lightened, for he had figured out that they would be able to connect with one of the Cunard liners at Trieste.

From there, if only they escaped attention and detection in the harbor, they would be turning homeward in two days.
One thing, and one thing only, lay between Frank and her husband: She had not yet found courage to tell him of the loss of the Penfield papers.