The absent Boy drew near, and bent over, kneeling beside her. She talked to him softly. Her voice sounded far away, and unlike her own. "Be careful, Little Boy Blue," she said. "You may jolly well--what an expression!--break the record if you like; but don't break yourself; because, if you do, you will break my heart." The bromide was acting strongly now. The bird with the broken wing had gone. There was a strange rhythmical throbbing in her ears. It was the Boy's aeroplane; but it had started without him. She knew sleep was coming; merciful oblivion. Yet now she was too happy to wish to sleep. The Boy drew nearer. "Oh, Boy dear, I love you so," she whispered into the throbbing darkness; "I love you so." "I know you do, dear," said the Boy. "It is almost unbelievable, Christobel; but I know you do." Then she put up her arms, and drew him to her breast. Thus the Boy--though far away--marched round. * * * * * "_And the evening and the morning were the sixth day._" * * * * * AN INTERLUDE "AS A DREAM, WHEN ONE AWAKETH" When Miss Charteris opened her eyes, the sun was streaming into her room. The sense of having slept heavily and unnaturally lay upon her. She had not heard Martha's entry; but her blinds were up, and the tea on the tray beside her bed was still fresh and hot. She took a cup, and the after-effects of the bromide seemed to leave her. She dressed, and went downstairs. On the breakfast-table, beside her plate, lay the Professor's letter. When she had poured out her coffee and buttered her toast, she opened and read it. The letter was exactly such as she had always dreamed the Professor would write, if he ever came to the point of making her a proposal. He touched on their long friendship; on how much it had meant to them both. He said he had often hoped for the possibility of a closer tie, but had not felt justified in suggesting it, until he was in a position to offer her a suitable home and income. This was now fortunately the case; therefore he hastened to write and plead his cause, though keenly conscious of how little there was in himself calculated to call forth in a woman the affection which it was his earnest hope and desire to win. She had trusted him as a friend, an intellectual guide and comrade, during many years. If she could now bring herself to trust him in a yet more intimate relation, he would endeavour never to disappoint or fail her. The letter was signed: "_Yours in sincere devotion,_ "_KENRICK HARVEY._" A postscript requested to be allowed to call, at the usual hour, that afternoon, for a reply. Miss Charteris wrote a brief note of thanks and appreciation, and gave the Professor leave to call at three. The Professor called at three. He knocked and rang, and fumbled long over the umbrella-stand in the hall. He seemed to be taking all the umbrellas out, and putting them back again.