Six or seven years! At eighteen it seemed a lifetime. Five years ago she had been at the Convent, and one day passing the auberge she had dropped her sabot at the feet of an Englishman; she had thought of that as the beginning.

Now they would take her away to her cell and she would wear the prison clothes, eat the prison food for what would seem a lifetime.

"It will pass," they told her. "You're lucky. Don't you see how lucky? A little while ago they would have sent you to a transport ship. Besides, you've got friends outside to make your lot easy while you're inside ... and friends who'll be waiting for you when you go out."

There were years in which to think about the future.

Sir Charles had said to her: "You mustn't be afraid any more. I'll do everything I can to make your stay ... there ... as comfortable as possible. And when it's over, I'll be there ... waiting for you ... waiting to make up ... waiting with a home for you to come to... ."

So she had a father waiting for her; she was indeed one of the lucky ones.

Leon had said: "I will wait for you. The time will soon pass. We'll be married. We'll go to America as we always said we would. I shall be there at the end ... waiting... ."

There were not many who were so loved, who had a home and a husband waiting for them.

Fermor had said: "Don't think I shall let this rest. I shall do everything I can to get you freed. And you know ... when it's over ... I'll be waiting. ..."

It was comforting to think of them.

To be shut away from the world for many years! In a way it would be like being buried alive ... but not in a granite coffin. She would breathe and eat and think during those years. During them she would leave her girlhood behind and become a woman. Years to live through, to try to understand all those people who had had such an effect on her life.

"Come along," said the woman in uniform.

And they went, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the stone corridor.

It would be like passing through a dark tunnel and it would take her many years to pass through it. But at the end would be waiting those who loved her.

She could not know what would happen to her during those years, but when she was free, one of three ways of life would be open to her. Which would she take?

She felt vaguely comforted. There was no need for impulsive action now. Was there good in everything then? Because of the years she must spend in prison, she would have time to think of the future and the people who loved her.

She seemed to hear their voices echoing in the stone corridor, those who loved her, those who, in their way, had played their parts in putting her where she was—and in saving her life.

Charles, the father who offered his daughter a home; L£on who would be her husband; Fermor who would be her lover.

A wardress opened a cell door.

This was her new home. Here she would sit and dream and think of the past, the present and the future.

The door clanged behind her; the key was turned in the lock.

She closed her eyes and seemed to hear their voices all about her: "Melisande! We are waiting, Melisande."