little graveyard on the hill, and
thought of going there, then shook his head and pressed his lips
together. He was old, and now, when he could, he evaded woe. The young
had fibre and nerve to squander; brittle folk must walk lightly. The
Major stared at the feathery trees that marked the place. The green
became a blur; he stamped his foot upon the floor with violence, said
something between his teeth, and turned from the window to a desolate
contemplation of the backs of books.

It was after midday when Fairfax Cary returned. He came in, white and
steady, apologized for his absence, and ordered dinner. The two ate
little, hardly spoke, but drank their wine. As they passed out of the
dining-room, the elder said, "You have been--"

"Yes. The river road."

They reentered the library and, at Cary's suggestion, sat down again at
the chess-table. They played one game, then fell idle, the young man
staring straight before him at some invisible object, the elder watching
him covertly but keenly.

"When," said the Major at last,--"when will you come with me, Fair, to
Fontenoy?"

The other shook his head. "I do not know. Not now. I must not keep you
here, sir."

"I have little to occupy me at home. You will tell me when I can do
nothing for you here. You must remember, Fair, that Dick and Nancy and
Unity and I and even little Deb want you, very heartily and lovingly
want you, with us there. Unity--"

The young man took from his breast a folded note. "I have this from
Unity. Read it. It is like her."

He unfolded it and gave it to the Major, who read the line it contained.

FAIRFAX,--I will marry you to-morrow if you wish. I know--I know it
is lonely at Greenwood. UNITY.

Major Churchill cleared his throat. "Yes, it is like her. And why not,
Fair? Upon my soul, I do advise it! I advise it strongly. Not to-morrow,
perhaps, but next day or the next. It can be quietly arranged--there
could have been no wiser suggestion! Take her at her word, Fair."

Cary shook his head, thrust the note back in its place, and, rising with
a quivering sigh, walked to the window. He stood there for some moments,
his brow pressed to the pane, then returned to the table and, standing
before the Major, spoke with harsh passion "Is marriage, sir, a thing
for me to think of now? No! not even marriage with Unity Dandridge. To
marry now--to forget with all possible haste--to lie close and warm and
happy and leave him there, cold, alon