"Darling," he said, "I know I have been very bad. I was ill in Leipzig, though I didn't know it. But Dick Cameron told me I ought not to have been going about there. I suppose since then I have been quite off my head. But, oh, Helen, can't you see--- can't you _see_, darling--that I am all right again now? I can remember practically nothing which has happened since I played my 'cello in front of the mirror in the studio. But, up to that moment, I remember everything quite clearly; my travels, my manuscript, the time when I began to get feverish and lost my sleep--I can see now the very spot where I camped when I had my first nightmare. Then working night and day on board ship, then Leipzig, the Hague, London in a fog; then home--to you. Helen, it has all come back. Can't you realise that the clouds have lifted; can't you believe, my own dear girl, that my mind is clear again? Look at the sunshine on the sea, dispelling the morning mists. _In hoc signo vinces!_ You said the path of clear shining was the way to victory. Well, I have conquered whatever it was which poisoned my brain for a while. I am absolutely myself again now. Can't you believe it, Helen?" The tears were running down her cheeks. She looked full into his earnest eyes. "Oh, Ronnie, you do look different! You do look your own dear self. Oh, Ronnie, my own! But Dick is coming back to-morrow. He went up to town only this morning. He will tell us what to do. Till then, don't you think we had better just talk about the sea, and the little houses, and--and how happy we are?" "No, Helen," he said firmly. "We are not happy yet. I must know more. How long is it since that evening in the studio?" "About a month, darling. This is Christmas week. To-morrow will be Christmas Eve." Ronnie considered this in silence. Then: "Let's walk up and down," he said. "It ought to be too cold to sit about in Christmas week." She rose and they walked along the sea-front together. Ronnie glanced behind them. The man on the seat had risen also and was following at a little distance. "What cheek of that chap," he said. "He seems determined to overhear our conversation. Shall I tell him to be off?" "No, dear; please don't," she answered hurriedly. "He cannot possibly overhear us." Presently she dropped her muff and stooped to pick it up. But Ronnie turned also, and saw her make a sign to the man following them, who at once sat down on the nearest seat. Then poor Ronnie knew. "I suppose he is a keeper," he said. "Oh, no, darling! He is only a trained attendant; just a sort of valet for you. Such a nice man and so attentive. He brushes your clothes." "I see," said Ronnie. "Valets are quite useful people. But they do not as a rule sit reading in the middle of the morning, on the next seat to their master and mistress! Do they? However, if Dick is coming to-morrow, we can discuss the valet question with him. Take my arm, Helen. I feel a bit shaky when I walk. Now tell me--why did we come here?"