But it kept ringing, and, habit in the ascendency, he took down the receiver.
It was not a man's voice. It was a woman's. A faint voice—he could scarcely catch it.
And could with difficulty reply. He did not know the voice, it was too faint, too far-away, but a suggestion in it made his own voice and hand unsteady as he said: "Yes? What is it?"
"Is this—Captain Jones?"
The voice was stronger, clearer. His hand grew more unsteady.
"Yes," he replied in the best voice he could muster. "Yes—this is
Captain Jones. Who is it, please?"
There was a silence.
"Tell me, please," he managed to say. "Is it—?"
The voice came faintly back, "Why it's—Ann."
The keenest joy he had ever known swept through him. To be followed by the most piercing fear. The voice was so faint—so unreal—what if it were to die away and he would have no way to get it back!