Later he dispatched a cable announcing the escape and the sending of the letter. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. Then he sensed the trap. To his relief, she nodded. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through.
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