ging your bell for Marigold to take me away? I've kept you
up abominably." He rose and held out his hand and I had to direct him
how it could reach mine. When it did, he gripped it firmly.

"It's impossible," said he, "for you to realise what you've done for me
to-night. You've made my way absolutely clear to me--for the first time
for two years. You're the truest comrade I've ever had, Meredyth. God
bless you."

Marigold appeared, answering my summons, and led Boyce away. Presently
he returned.

"Do you know what time it is, sir?" he asked serenely.

"No," said I.

"It's half-past one."

He busied himself with my arrangements for the night, and administered
what I learned afterwards was a double dose of a sleeping draught which
Cliffe had prescribed for special occasions. I just remember surprise
at feeling so drowsy after the intense excitement of the evening, and
then I fell asleep.

When I awoke in the morning I gathered my wits together and recalled
what had taken place. Marigold entered on tiptoe and found me already
aroused.

"I'm sorry to tell you, sir," said he, "that an accident happened to
Colonel Boyce after he left last night."

"An accident?"

"I suppose so, sir," said Marigold. "That's what his chauffeur says. He
got out of the car in order to sit by the side of the canal--by the
lock gates. He fell in, sir. He's drowned."

CHAPTER XXIV

It is Christmas morning, 1916, the third Christmas of the war. The
tragedy of Boyce's death happened six months ago. Since then I have
been very ill. The shock, too great for my silly heart, nearly killed
me. By all the rules of the game I ought to have died. But I suppose,
like a brother officer long since defunct, also a Major, one Joe
Bagstock, I am devilish tough. Cliffe told me this morning that, apart
from a direct hit by a 42-centimetre shell, he saw no reason, after
what I had gone through, why I should not live for another hundred
years. "I wash my hands of you," said he. Which indeed is pleasant
hearing.

I don't mind dying a bit, if it is my Maker's pleasure; if it would
serve any useful purpose; if it would help my country a myriadth part
of a millimetre on towards victory. But if it would not matter to the
world any more than the demise of a daddy-long-legs, I prefer to live.
In fact, I want to live. I have never wanted to live more in all my
life. I want to see this fight out. I want to see the Light that is
coming after the Darkne