s, and then all the things you have for them in the
canteen. They'll not do badly, not at all badly."

He rubbed his hands together and smiled with benevolent satisfaction. He
had arranged to eat his own Christmas dinner at the unholy hour of
three in the afternoon. He meant to see that all went well at the men's
dinner, and that their tea was sufficient. He meant to look in for
an hour at the canteen festivities. He had promised to sing Christmas
carols. From three to four was the only time left at which he could
dine. But that thought did not spoil his satisfaction.

Digby saw, or thought he saw, his opportunity.

"There's one poor fellow in the guard-room, sir," he said. "Will he get
any Christmas dinner?"

He winked at Miss Willmot as he spoke. This was the time for her to back
up his charitable appeal.

"Ah," said the Major, "I'm afraid I can't do much for him. It's a
serious charge, a case of a Field General Court Martial. I'm afraid
there's no doubt about the facts. I'm sorry for him. He's quite young;
but it's a disgraceful thing for any man to do."

The Major's face hardened. For many offences and most offenders he had
some sympathy; but a man who sinned against the code of military honour
had little pity to expect from the Major.

Miss Willmot looked up.

"Is it very bad?" she asked.

"One of those cases of self-wounding," said the Major. "Shot himself in
the leg with his own rifle."

There are cases of this kind, a few of them. Some wretch, driven half
frantic by terror, worn out with hardships, hopeless of any end of his
sufferings, seeks this way out. He gains a week of rest and security in
a hospital ward. Then he faces the stern judgment of a court martial,
and pays the penalty.

"Poor fellow!" said Miss Willmot. "Poor boy! What he must have gone
through before he did that!"

"He went through no more than any other man went through," said the
Major; "but they stuck it and he shirked. There are men enough who
deserve our pity, Miss Willmot We can't afford to waste sympathy on
cowards."

Miss Willmot was of another mind. For her there was a law higher even
than the Major's lofty code of chivalry and honour. She had pity to
spare for cowards.

The Major himself was not wholly consistent As he rose to leave the
kitchen he spoke of the prisoner again.

"He doesn't look like a man who'd do it. He looks like a gentleman. That
makes it worse, of course, much worse. All the same, he doesn't loo