Rudyard and
Jasmine were not the same as of yore.

"Naturally she was upset," he repeated. "She made Al'mah go and nurse
Byng."

"Al'mah," repeated Stafford mechanically. "Al'mah!" His mind rushed
back to that night at the opera, when Rudyard had sprung from the box
to the stage and had rescued Al'mah from the flames. The world had
widened since then.

Al'mah and Jasmine had been under the same roof but now; and Al'mah was
nursing Jasmine's husband--surely life was merely farce and tragedy.

At this moment an orderly delivered a message to Barry Whalen. He rose
to go, but turned back to Stafford again.

"She'd be glad to see you, I'm certain," he said. "You never can tell
what a turn sickness will take in camp, and she's looking pretty frail.
We all ought to stand by Byng and whatever belongs to Byng. No need to
say that to you; but you've got a lot of work and responsibility, and
in the rush you mightn't realize that she's more ill than the chill
makes her. I hope you won't mind my saying so in my stupid way."

Stafford rose and grasped his hand, and a light of wonderful
friendliness and comradeship shone in his eyes.

"Beau chevalier! Beau chevalier!" was all he said, and impulsive Barry
Whalen went away blinking; for hard as iron as he was physically, and a
fighter of courage, his temperament got into his eyes or at his lips
very easily.

Stafford looked after him admiringly. "Lucky the man who has such a
friend," he said aloud--"Sans peur et sans reproche! He could not
betray a "--the waving of wings above him caught his eye--"he could not
betray an aasvogel." His look followed the bird of prey, the servitor
of carrion death, as it flew down the wind.

He had absorbed the salt of tears and valour. He had been enveloped in
the Will that makes all wills as one, the will of a common purpose; and
it had changed his attitude towards his troubles, towards his past,
towards his future.

What Barry had said to him, and especially the tale of the New
Zealander, had revealed the change which had taken place. The War had
purged his mind, cleared his vision. When he left England he was
immersed in egoism, submerged by his own miseries. He had isolated
himself in a lazaretto of self-reproach and resentment. The universe
was tottering because a woman had played him false. Because of this
obsession of self, he was eager to be done with it all, to pay a price
which he might have paid, had it been possible to meet Rudya