“Without a glance at me she helped him from the room and left me standing there. I heard their voices—hers clear and strong, his barely audible. And not for the first time in my life I marvelled at the wonder of a woman who loves. I was to marvel more in a moment or two. “She came back and shut the door. Then she stood facing me. “‘There’s only one way, Mr. Trayne, though I think it’s going to break my heart. I must go to the theatre.’ “‘But—your husband . . .’ I stammered. “‘Oh! I’m not really going. I shall be here—at hand—the whole time. Because if the end did come—why then—I _must_ be with him. But he’s got to think I’ve gone; I’ve got to hide from him until after the matinée is over. And then I must tell him’—she faltered a little—‘of my success. I’ll keep the papers from him—if it’s necessary. . . .’ She turned away and I heard her falter: ‘Three hours away from him—when he’s dying. Oh, my God!’” The Actor paused, and the Soldier stirred restlessly in his chair. “I left shortly after,” he went on at length, “I saw she wanted me to. “All through the play that afternoon it haunted me—the pathos of it—aye, the horror of it. I pictured that girl hiding somewhere, while in the room above the sands were running out. Longing with all the power of her being to go to him—to snatch every fleeting minute with him—and yet condemned by my stupidity to forfeit her right. And then at last the show was over, and I went to her room again. “She was by his side, kneeling on the floor, as I came in. As he saw me he struggled up on his elbow, and one could see it was the end. “‘Dear fellow,’ I said, ‘she was wonderful—just wonderful!’ “And the girl looked up at me through her blinding tears. “‘Just wonderful,’ I said again. Five minutes later he died. . . .” The Actor fell silent. “Did you ever see her again?” asked the Soldier thoughtfully. “Never: she disappeared. Just a patch on the quilt as I said. But there was one thread missing. Three years later I received a registered envelope. There was no letter inside, no word of any sort. Just these.” He fumbled in his pocket. “There are twenty of them.” He held out his hand, and the Soldier leaning forward saw that it contained a little bundle of five-pound notes. _II_ _The Barrister’s Story, being The Decision of Sir Edward Shoreham_