“I know,” said Joan wearily. “I’ve got it all worked out. It’s the easiest thing in the world. We leave for Paris to-morrow”—Peregrine started—“by the evening train. Separate sleepers, of course: he likes plenty of room. I’ve only to leave the train at some station during the night. . . . We’ve taken rooms at Paris—I took them, of course. When he gets there he finds awaiting him a letter to say I’ve gone. . . . It adds that _so long as he doesn’t molest me_ a thousand pounds a quarter will be paid into his account, but that if he tries to find me the allowance will stop. . . . It’s the easiest thing on earth. I worked it out months ago, and I’ve had chance after chance, for we’re always moving about. But I can’t do it, Perry. He’s broken my nerve.” Peregrine set his teeth. “I know what you mean, Joan. But——” “No, you don’t, Perry. No one who’s not been through it could ever understand. Why should one _need_ any nerve to step out of hell? That’s all it is. Hell can’t follow—won’t even try to follow. There’s nothing to fear. I’ve everything to gain and I can’t lose. But I can’t take the plunge. . . . ‘But there _is_ no plunge,’ you’d say. I know. But then your soul’s your own. Mine isn’t my own, Perry. . . . And that’s why you can’t understand.” “I—do—understand.” “How can you?” “Never mind how I can. I do.” The strong, almost stern tone lifted up Joan’s heart. The flax was smoking. “You’re under a sort of spell—that’s all it is.” “All?” “All. Your words betray you. Your soul, you say, isn’t your own. That’s pure fantasy—it must be. You’re under no physical restraint, and you’re mentally free. You can think out your way of escape—discuss it with me. You couldn’t do that if your soul wasn’t your own. You’re not even hypnotized. But because for years you’ve been hammered you think that you can’t hit back. The bare idea staggers you.” He leaned forward and set a hand on her arm. “_But you haven’t got to hit back_, Joan. Do get that into your head. Slipping out of the ring while he’s sleeping isn’t hitting him back.” Joan began to tremble. “But after, Perry, _after_ . . . Supposing——” The grip on her arm tightened. “There’d be no ‘after,’ dear. The spell ’d be broken. As you stood on the platform and watched the train’s lights fading, your confidence ’d come back pelting. You’d want to shout and sing. You’d wonder why on earth you’d stuck it so long. You’d find yourself laughing to think what a fool you’d been. You could afford to laugh, because you’d be free—_free_.” Joan put a hand to her head. “It’s the plunge,” she whimpered. “It’s taking the plunge, Perry. I’m afraid. If I’d someone to hold my hand . . . You know what I said just now. The sea doesn’t run so high when you’re not alone in the boat.” Peregrine pushed back his hood and wiped his face. This was streaming with sweat. “Could—could you take the plunge with me, Joan?” Joan started violently. “With you, Perry? What d’you mean?”