In the grip of a problem that would not bear thinking about, Helen waited, every sense astretch, for the arrival of each post. Three and four times a day she flew to the letter box, in the vain hope of seeing the crabbed, familiar handwriting of Saul Hartz lying in it. Would no answer come? In the course of a distracted Wednesday that question became in her mind a specter. In Fate’s hourglass the sands were running out. Life was now so sharp a torment that it was hardly bearable. Strong her will yet was and, in spite of all, her faith still firm. And at the beck of some power, not herself, she was called to play a part which she believed to have the highest sanction. In the last resort, she was sure that the movements of the Colossus, whose shadow might soon be lying athwart the whole world, must be determined by Fate itself. Was God’s hand strong enough to direct this man to her house at the time she had proposed? It was the sense and the knowledge of ultimate things which kept Helen sane in the course of the intolerable hours of that Wednesday night. The next morning, after a vigil which seemed interminable, she was down before eight o’clock. That was the hour, as a rule, when the first post came. Eagerly she listened for the familiar knock. And when, just as the hour struck, the knock was plainly heard, she could hardly muster courage to go as far as the letter box in the hall. Go, however, she did. There was a mail of eight letters. And among them one, a small neat envelope, bore the unmistakable handwriting which for two days past had been stamped upon the retina of Helen’s imagination. She tore the letter open. There was a brief line: “MY DEAR HELEN: “Yes, certainly, with the greatest pleasure I will come and see your new home at four o’clock Friday afternoon. “Yours always, “S. H.” LVII The letter of the Colossus was characteristic. Such cordial simplicity was so like him. In a keen and swift recoil of feeling which cut like a knife, Helen recalled the man as he had always seemed to her. It was a case, if ever there was one, of multiple personality. To her Saul Hartz had appeared a man whose kindliness, charm, generosity it would have been hard to exaggerate. There might have been motive behind it all, but so far as Helen was concerned personally there was no reason to think so. He liked her because he liked her. The human beings for whom the Colossus had a regard were not many, but certainly she was among the chosen few admitted to the sunny side of a nature complex, enigmatic, subtle beyond analysis.