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 "You think so, Doctor?" George Judson in this hour was clutching at straws if ever man did. "If only I had seen them go—if only I could have kissed her and assured her that I would love her to the end of my life if I lived to be as old as Methuselah! If only Junior had held my finger again!"

"Better they didn't," opined the doctor, looking always at the practical values. "That was her consideration for you—and for herself, Did she leave you any message?"

"This!" George took from his inside coat pocket an oblong of lavender notepaper. The communication was without salutation and without signature. It was very brief and read:

"I am going, George, on the far, far journey. (You won't miss the farewell. I couldn't stand it.) I am going to search for the Garden of Eden. To search for it without you! That sounds topsy-turvy, doesn't it? But I've taken our small edition of you along, precious, precious Junior!"

That was all.

"That doesn't sound as if she went away with Sir Brian," declared the doctor, weighing the note in his hand.

"But—she's left me!" despaired George, unable to see hope anywhere in the sky. "I've lost her! Say!" and he sat up with a sudden fierceness of self-accusation. "What's the matter with