The best way he could do that—and the only way he could do it effectively—was by marrying me immediately.

I had already talked with Raymond.

He understood. When had Raymond not understood?

He said: "I saw how it was with you two as soon as I arrived."

"Raymond," I said, "I'm sorry. You have been so good to me."

"I want you to be happy. That is the most important thing."

"No. It is just as important for you to be happy. No one deserves to be more so than you."

"I'll be all right. He is your sort. I see that. I was a little slow, wasn't I? Not adventurous ... as he is. Not forceful, not demanding."

"I love him," I said frankly. "I could never be happy without him."

"I know. So the only thing is to be happy with him."

"And you?"

"I shall take Felicity back to England."

"Take care of her. She needs a lot of care."

"I will," he promised.

And I knew he would.

There is little more to tell. I had travelled far since I had set out from England—and I don't mean in miles. I had broken with the past. I had come to some understanding of life, I supposed. I often thought that if I had not set out on that journey I would have lived peacefully in England, married, had children ... comfortably, possibly happy. But I had broken away. I had faced death on more than one occasion. I had plumbed the depths and soared to the heights. I could easily have died violently as Ann Alice had. But whatever I had endured I should always remember that it had brought me Milton. Life is like that. It is not smooth and easy—and never will be. Often one must take risks to win the great prizes.

I am married to Milton Harrington. Raymond and Felicity have left for England. I fully believe that before long they will marry. She is quite recovered and I believe very happy. I am ashamed to think that I once suspected her of trying to murder me. Magda is now married to George Callerby and we are the best of friends.

One day we shall return to England. It will be wonderful to see Granny M and Jan and be home again.

Milton knows this. He reminded me the other day of how cool and formal I was to him in the beginning.

"I remember I said to you that one day you would say to me, 4 I love you, Mr. Harrington.' You have never said just that."

"Well, it is true," I said.

"Soon we shall leave all this. We'll go home. Now that you have secured me I believe that is your next objective."

"I should love to see England again ... to be there, but, Mr. Harrington, home for me is where you are."

He seemed very satisfied with that observation.