unconscious, and the end
was hourly expected. He remembered telegraphing to a famous surgeon
at home to come over; he recalled the faces of the consultants round
Desmond's bed, and the bald man with the keen eyes, who had brought
him the final verdict:

'Awfully sorry!--but we can do nothing! He may live a little
while--and he has been begging and praying us to send him home.
Better take him--the authorities will give leave. I'll see to
that--it can't do much harm. The morphia will keep down the
pain--and the poor lad will die happy.' And then there was much talk
of plaster bandages, and some new mechanical appliance to prevent
jolting--of the surgeon going home on leave who would take charge of
the journey--of the nurses to be sent--and other matters of which he
only retained a blurred remembrance.

The journey had been one long and bitter endurance. And now Desmond
was here--his son Desmond--lying for a few days in that white
bed--under the old roof. And afterwards a fresh grave in Fallerton
churchyard--a flood of letters which would be burnt unread--and a
world without Desmond.

Meanwhile, in a corner of the hall, Chicksands and Pamela were
sitting together--hand in hand. From the moment when he had gone
down to Folkestone to meet them, and had seen Pamela's piteous and
beautiful face, as she followed the stretcher on which Desmond lay,
across the landing-stage of the boat, Chicksands' mind had been
suddenly clear. No words, indeed, except about the journey and
Desmond had passed between them. But she had seen in his dark eyes a
sweetness, a passion of protection and help which had thawed all the
ice in her heart, and freed the waters of life. She was ashamed of
herself, but only for a little while! For in Desmond's presence all
that concerned herself passed clean out of sight and mind. It was
not till she saw Elizabeth that remorse lifted its head again; and
whatever was delicate and sensitive in the girl's nature revived,
like scorched grass after rain.

Since the hurried, miserable meal, in which Elizabeth had watched
over them all, Pamela had followed Elizabeth about, humbly trying to
help her in the various household tasks. Then when at last Elizabeth
had gone off to telephone some final orders to Captain Dell at
Fallerton for the morning Pamela and Arthur were left alone.

He came over to where she sat, and drew a chair beside her.

'Poor child!' he said, under his breath--'poor child!'

She lifted he