Power had not spoken of Nancy during a month or more, and his friend thought that a sudden thrusting of her image before his eyes would startle him out of the semihypnotic condition in which he appeared to exist. But, to Dacre's chagrin and astonishment, the ruse failed utterly. Power evidently found the point thus unexpectedly raised somewhat perplexing. "Tell her?" he repeated, in a most matter-of-fact tone. "Is it necessary to tell her anything? But, of course, you will say you saw the last of me, and a woman hates to be ignored, even by the man she has discarded. Tell her, then, that in India there are Hindus of devout intent who measure two thousand miles of a sacred river by prostrations along its banks. These devotees have done no wrong to any human being, and their notion of service is sublimely ridiculous. But if, among them, was a poor wretch who had committed an unforgivable crime, and _he_ thought to expiate it by carrying sharp flints on which to fling himself each yard of the way, one could understand _him_." "That is no message to Nancy," persisted Dacre. "If she pouts, and says so, remind her of my mother's death." "Oh, I shall leave you in anger if you talk in that way." "No, you won't. You're really more than a little sorry for me. You think, perhaps, I am rather mad; but, on reflection, you will be pleased at that, because a lunatic can be contented in his folly, and I know you wish me content. Here's my train. San Francisco is a great jumping-off place. 'Last seen in San Francisco' is quite a common headline in the newspapers. Goodby! I'll look you up in Devonshire, never fear. Mind you are there to receive me." And he was gone. Dacre turned his face to the east. During the long journey to Washington, where he meant to visit some friends before crossing the Atlantic, he thought often of Power. Speaking of him one day to a man of some influence in the Department of State, he inquired if there were any means of keeping track of the wanderer without his cognizance. "Yes," said the official. "We can send out a private consular note. Have you any idea which way he is heading?" "Not the faintest. From a sort of hint he let drop, he may intend joining a Buddhist community in India or Ceylon. At any rate, he had been reading some book on India. But the assumption is too vague to be of value." "Well, I'll see what can be done." By the next mail, every United States consulate in the world was asked to report to Washington if John Darien Power, an American citizen, appeared within its jurisdiction. No report ever arrived. Long before the inquiry reached the one consul who might have learned something of his whereabouts, Power had vanished off the map; a phrase which, in this instance, happened to be literally true. Thus, Dacre's well-meant efforts to keep in touch with his friend were frustrated, and, for the time, he drops out of this history.