"No," he said. "I changed my mind about that. I did not wish the water to divide me from my quest. I have been engaged on a most important search."
"And what was that?" she asked gently.
"I have been looking for a stick which I missed some years ago."
"I have heard you mention that before," said Mrs. Everett—the color flushed hotly into her face. "You seem to attribute a great deal of importance to that trifle."
"To me it is no trifle," he replied. "I regard it as a link," he continued slowly, "between me and a past which I have forgotten. When I find that stick I shall remember the past."
As he spoke he rose again and going to the hearth-rug stood with his back to the fire.
At that moment Margaret re-entered the room in white—she was in a soft, flowing, white robe, which covered her from top to toe—it swept about her in graceful folds, and exposed some of the lovely contour of her arms. Her face was nearly as colorless as her dress; only the wealth of thick dark hair, only the sombre eyes, relieved the monotony of her appearance. Awdrey gave her a smile and a look of approval.
"Come here," he said: "now you are good—how sweet you look. Your appearance makes me recall, recall——" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "I remember now," he said; "I recall the day we were engaged—don't you remember it?—the picnic on Salisbury Plain; you were all in white then, too, and you wore somewhat the same intense expression in your eyes. Margaret, you are a beautiful woman."
She stood close to him—he did not offer to kiss her, but he laid one emaciated hand on her shoulder and looked earnestly into her face.
"You are very beautiful," he said; "I wonder I do not love you." He sighed heavily, and removed his gaze to look intently into the fire.