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192 the strangest accomplishments of the sorcerer Time.

'It is dreadful to let you go alone, darling, like this,' he said, standing on the foot-board and leaning in. 'At least you ought to have had Bunn with you. You might have given way in that, Gladdie.'

'No,' she whispered tremulously; 'I—I like going alone.'

'You must write at once, Gladdie.'

'To-morrow; but you could only get it latish on Monday.'

The bell was ringing. You know the clangour of a station bell; of all sounds the last that it resembles is that of the funeral knell; yet this was its echo in the heart of Gladys.

'Well, it's only for a week, after all, isn't it, Gladdie? It will be the weariest week of my life, I know. But I shan't mind—after all, it's my own doing—if only you come back with a better colour. You have been so pale, Gladdie, these last few days—pale and excitable. But it's only a week, my darling, eh?'