She was frightened, but she knew not by what or by whom. She tried to tell herself that she had been dreaming, that this breathless evening was responsible, that she would be all right very soon. But she was seized by that terrible vague uncertainty that had been with her so much lately, uncertainty as to what was real and what was not. She looked at the French novel lying upon her lap; that was real, she supposed, and yet as she touched its pages her fingers seemed to seize upon nothing, only air between them. The fits of trembling shook her from head to foot and yet she could scarcely breathe, so close and heavy was the night. "That was only a dream--only a dream. Suppose it should be true though. What if I _were_ to die--to-night?" Dorchester came to her and was alarmed. "Dinner is ready, Your Grace." Her mistress did not answer, but lay there, looking through the open window and shivering. "Your Grace will catch cold by that open window. I had better close it." "It's stifling--stifling." "Will you have dinner now?" "No--no. Why do you worry me? I can eat nothing." Dorchester was seriously alarmed; an evening like this might very easily.... She determined to send word round to Dr. Christopher. She went away, gave directions about the dinner, saw that her mistress's bedroom was warm and comfortable. She came back. The Duchess was sitting up, colour in her cheeks and her eyes sparkling. On her lap lay a note. "I've had a dream, Dorchester--a horrid dream. I was disturbed for a moment. I think I will eat something after all." "The way she goes up and down!" thought Dorchester. "Must say I don't like the look of her--not knowing her own mind, so unlike her--Who's the letter from, I wonder?" It was the letter, plainly, that had done it. Sitting up and enjoying her soup, forgetting that black sky and the Dragon's scaly menace, the Duchess knew that that dream--that dream about God--had been as silly, as futile as dreams always are. The note, brought to her by Norris and lying now beside her plate, had told her so. The note of course had been from Roddy. It said: "DEAR DUCHESS, I don't want to ask anything impossible of you, but, encouraged by your coming to me the other day and hearing that you took no harm from your expedition, I am wondering whether to-morrow afternoon about five you could come again and have tea with me. There is something about which you can help me--only you in all the world. If I don't hear from you I will conclude that you can come--five o'clock. Your affectionate friend, RODDY." That letter showed the perfection of his tactful understanding....