to remember, had moved much nearer to him than before. Every day brought them more within his reach.
"All these forgotten things will come back to me soon, I know," he said one day to the governess, "and then I'll tell you all about them."
"Perhaps you'll remember me too then," she answered, a shadow passing across her face.
Jimbo clapped his hands with delight.
"Oh," he cried, "I should like to remember you, because that would make you a sort of two-people governess, and I should love you twice as much."
But with the gradual return to former conditions the feelings of age and experience grew dim and indefinite, his knowledge lessened, becoming obscure and confused, showing itself only in vague impressions and impulses, until at last it became quite the exception for the child-consciousness to be broken through by flashes of intuition and inspiration from the more deeply hidden memories.
For one thing, the deep horror of the Empty House and its owner now returned to him with full force. Fear settled down again over the room, and lurked in the shadows over the yard. A vivid dread seized him of the other door in the room—the door through which the Frightened Children had disappeared, but which had never opened since. It gradually became for him a personality in the room, a staring, silent, listening thing, always watching, always waiting. One day it would open and he would be caught! In a dozen ways like this the horror of the house entered his heart and made him long for escape with all the force of his being.
But the governess, too, seemed changing; she was becoming more vague and more mysterious. Her face was always sad now, and her eyes wistful; her manner became restless and uneasy, and in many little ways the child could not fail to notice that her mind was intent upon other things. He begged her to name the day for the final flight, but she always seemed to have some good excuse for putting it off.
"I feel frightened when you don't tell me what's going on," he said to her.
"It's the preparations for the last flight," she answered, "the flight of escape. He'll try to prevent us going together so that you should get lost. But it's better you shouldn't know too much," she added. "Trust me and have patience."
"Oh, that's what you're so afraid of," he said, "separation!" He was very proud indeed of the long word, and said it over several times to himself.
And the governess, looking out of the window at the fading sunlight, repeated to herself more than to him the word he was so proud of.
"Yes, that's what I'm so afraid of—separation; but if it means your salvation——" and her sentence remained unfinished as her eyes wandered far above the tops of the trees into the shadows of the sky.
And Jimbo, drawn by the sadness of her voice, turned towards the window and noticed to his utter amazement that he could see right through her. He could see the branches of the trees beyond her body.
But the next instant she turned and was no longer transparent, and before the boy could say a word, she crossed the floor and disappeared from the room.
CHAPTER XVI
PREPARATION
Now that he was preparing to leave it, Jimbo began to realise more fully how things in this world of delirium—so the governess sometimes called it—were all terribly out of order and confused. So long as he was wholly in it and of it, everything had seemed all right; but, as he approached his normal condition again, the disorder became more and more apparent.
And the next few hours brought it home with startling clearness, and increased to fever heat the desire for final escape.
It was not so much a nonsense-world—it was too alarming for that—as a world of nightmare, wherein everything was distorted. Events in it were all out of proportion; effects no longer sprang from adequate causes; things happened in a dislocated sort of way, and there was no sequence in the order of their happening. Tiny occurrences filled him with disproportionate, inconceivable horror; and great events, on the other hand, passed him scathless. The spirit of disorder—monstrous, uncouth, terrifying—reigned supreme; and Jimbo's whole desire, though inarticulate, was to escape back into order and harmony again.
In contrast to all this dreadful uncertainty, the conduct of the governess stood out alone as the one thing he could count upon: she was sure and unfailing; he felt absolute confidence in her plans for his safety, and when he thought of her his mind was at rest. Come what might, she would always be there in time to help. The adventure over the sea had proved that; but, childlike, he thought chiefly of his own safety, and had ceased to care very much whether she escaped with him or not. It was the older Jimbo that preferred captivity to escape without her, whereas every minute now he was sinking deeper into the normal child state in which the intuitive flashes from the buried soul became more and more rare.
Meanwhile, there was preparation going on, secret and mysterious. He could feel it. Some one else besides the governess was making plans, and the boy began to dread the moment of escape almost as much as he desired it. The alternative appalled him—to live for ever in the horror of this house, bounded by the narrow yard, watched by Fright listening ever at his elbow, and visited by the horrible Frightened Children. Even the governess herself began to inspire him with something akin to fear, as her personality grew more and more mysterious. He thought of her as she stood by the window, with the branches of the tree visible through her body, and the thought filled him with a dreadful and haunting distress.
But this was only when she was absent; the moment she came into the room, and he looked into her kind eyes, the old feeling of security returned, and he felt safe and happy.
Once, during the day, she came up to see him, and this time with final instructions. Jimbo listened with rapt attention.
"To-night, or to-morrow night we start," she said in a quiet voice. "You must wait till you hear me calling——"
"But sha'n't we start together?" he interrupted.
"Not exactly," she replied. "I'm doing everything possible to put him off the scent, but it's not easy, for once Fright knows you he's always on the watch. Even if he can't prevent your escape, he'll try to send you home to your body with such a shock that you'll be only 'half there' for the rest of your life."
Jimbo did not quite understand what she meant by this, and returned at once to the main point.
"Then the moment you call I'm to start?"
"Yes. I shall be outside somewhere. It depends on the wind and weather a little, but probably I shall be hovering above the trees. You must dash out of the window and join me the moment you hear me call. Clear the wall without sinking into the yard, and mind he doesn't tear your wings off as you fly by."
"What will happen, though, if I don't find you?" he asked.
"You might get lost. If he succeeds in getting me out of the way first, you're sure to get lost——"
"But I've had long flights without getting lost," he objected.
"Nothing to this one," she replied. "It will be tremendous. You see, Jimbo, it's not only distance; it's change of condition as well."
"I don't mind what
