the palm of his hand he pressed back the streaming sweat from his
forehead twice and three times. Then, having wiped his hands upon his
knees, he drew the battered fragment of his sword, and using it as a
paper-knife, opened the letter carefully, as a man opens letters which
are not to be destroyed. Then his stomach turned cold and his tongue
grew thick and burred. For the letter which Margaret had written to her
lover was more cruel than the shell which had blinded his eyes and the
bullet which was taking his life.

"'Laddin--" this in a fearful voice.

"Yes."

"Thank God. I thought you'd been hit. Why don't you read?"

Aladdin's eyes, used to reading in blocks of lines rather than a word at
a time, had at one glance taken in the purport of Margaret's letter,
and his wits had gone from him. She called herself every base and cruel
name, and she prayed her lover to forgive her, but she had never had the
right to tell him that she would marry him, for she had never loved him
in that way. She said that, God forgive her, she could not keep up the
false position any longer, and she wished she was dead.

"There's a man at the bottom of this," thought Aladdin. He caught a
glimpse of Peter's poor, bloody face and choked.

"I--it--the sheets are mixed," he said presently. "I'm trying to find
the beginning. There are eight pages," he went on, "fighting for time,"
and they 're folded all wrong, and they're not numbered or anything."

Peter waited patiently while Aladdin fumbled with the sheets and tried,
to the cracking-point, to master the confusion in his mind.

Suddenly God sent light, and he could have laughed aloud. Not in vain
had he pursued the muse and sought after the true romance in the far
country where she sweeps her skirts beyond the fingers of men. Not in
vain had he rolled the arduous ink-pots and striven manfully for the
right word and the telling phrase. The chance had come, and the years of
preparation had not been thrown away. He knew that he was going to
make good at last. His throat cleared of itself, and the choking phlegm
disappeared as if before a hot flame of joy. His voice came from between
his trembling lips clear as a bell, and the thunder of battle rolled
back from the plain of his consciousness, as, slowly, tenderly, and
helped by God, he began to speak those eight closely lined pages which
she should have written.

"My Heart's Darling--" he began, and there followed a molten stream of
gold