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 "Of course. Go on. Tell me exactly what she said, word for word."

"About my bad style."

"About your good sense of comradeship with her."

"She said I would write the story. Hers and Gabriel Stanton's."

I told him all she had said, word for word as well as I could remember it, keeping my eyes shut, speaking slowly, remembering well.

"She told me of the letters and diary, the notes, chapter headings, all she had prepared...."

I turned my head away, sank down amongst the pillows, and turned my head away. I didn't want him to see my disappointment, to know that I had found nothing. Now I recognised my weakness, that I was spent with feverish nights and pain.

"I can't talk any more." He put his hand upon my pulse.

"Your pulse is quite strong."

"I am not," I said shortly. I wished Ella would come back.

"You looked for them?" I did not answer.

"I am so sorry. Blundering fool that I am. You looked, and looked... that is why you kept me at arm's length, would not see me, wanted to be alone. You were searching. Why didn't I think of it before?. But how did I know she would come to you, confide in you?"