Another long break.
"So now I'm goin' to her, if I'm let; and I think I shall be," Denis wound up simply.
Wandesforde was aware that he had been no more than a communicating channel between Denis and his friend in prison. He did not guess, Denis himself did not guess, that but for his interposition this chronicle of the heart, such as it was, would never have been told. Denis had tried to put it down on paper, and had not succeeded; still less would he have succeeded by word of mouth. Gardiner knew too much, saw too much. Wandesforde was a neutral medium. It is often easier to confess to a stranger than to the friend of your bosom.
So Wandesforde, feeling shy, and a good deal more uncomfortable than Denis himself, put up his pencil and prepared to take counsel with his pillow.
"You're a rum chap, Denis," was his conclusion.
CHAPTER XXXI THE LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD
What's death?—You'll love me yet!
Pippa Passes.