you must
feel? I saw your son killed, sir. It was in the early morning, and he
went to his death as you would have had him go. As you know he did go,
Elise.'

III.

In a voice that shook with feeling he told of the fight for the bridge;
how Dick, and Mathews, who had saved him, reached the Americans; of the
desperate hand-to-hand fighting; how the groom had guarded his young
master; the impending disaster; and the death of Dick.

'It meant more than just our lives,' he concluded, in a silence so
acute that the crackling of the logs startled the air like
pistol-shots, 'for as Dick fell we went forward and gained the
brushwood. Less than three hours afterwards the French arrived, and
largely by the use of that bridge a heavy counter-attack was launched.
We buried Dick where he fell--and, Lord Durwent, it is not often that
men weep. The French general, to whom the tank officer had made his
report, pinned this on your son's breast, and then gave it to me to
have it forwarded to you. He asked me to convey his message: "That the
soil of France was richer for having taken so brave a man to its
heart."'

He handed a medal of the _Croix de Guerre_ to Lord Durwent, who held it
for several moments in the palm of his hand. From the distant parts of
the house came the noise of singing soldiers, and a gust of wind
rattled the windows as it blew about the great old mansion. Elise had
not moved, but through her tears an overwhelming triumph was shining.

'And Mathews?' asked Lord Durwent slowly.

'We found him after the attack,' the American answered. 'He must have
dragged himself several yards after he had been hit, and was lying
unconscious, with his hand stretched out to touch Dick's boot. Have
you heard nothing from him, sir?'

'Nothing.'

Again there was a silence fraught with such intensity that Selwyn
thought the very beating of his pulses could be heard. At last Lord
Durwent rose, and with an air of deepest respect placed the medal in
the hands of his wife. Her theatricalism was mute in a sorrow that was
free from shame.

'Captain Selwyn,' said Lord Durwent, 'we shall never forget.'

Feeling that his presence was making the situation only the more acute,
Selwyn pleaded the excuse of the waiting horse to hasten his departure.

'But you will stay here for the night?' said Lady Durwent.

'No--thank you very much. I have left my haversack at the inn; and,
besides, I must catch the 7.45 train to London