He threw himself into it. She brought him a rug, for the night was
chilly, and he submitted.

Then she was going away, for it was past midnight, but something in
his fixed look, his dull suffering, checked her. She took an old
stool and sat down near him. Neither spoke, but his eyes gradually
turned to hers, and a strange communion arose between them. Though
there were no words, he seemed to be saying to her--'My boy!--my
boy!'--over and over again--and then--'Stay there!--for God's sake,
stay!'

And she stayed. The failing lamp showed her upturned face, with its
silent intensity of pity, her hands clasped round her knees, and the
brightness of her hair. The long minutes passed. Then suddenly the
Squire's eyelids fell, and he slept the sleep of a man physically
and mentally undone.

Aubrey Mannering sat by his brother all night. With the first dawn
Desmond awoke, and there was an awful interval of pain. But a fresh
morphia injection eased it, and Aubrey presently saw a smile--a look
of the old Desmond. The nurse washed the boy's hands and face,
brought him a cup of tea, took pulse and temperature.

'He's no worse,' she said in a whisper to Aubrey, as she passed him.

Aubrey went up to the bed.

'Aubrey, old chap!' said the boy, and smiled at him. Then--'It's
daylight. Can't I look out?'

The nurse and Mannering wheeled his bed to the window, which opened
to the ground. A white frost was on the grass, and there was a clear
sky through which the sunrise was fast mounting. Along an eastern
wood ran a fiery rose of dawn, the fine leaf-work of the beeches
showing sharply upon it. There was a thrush singing, and a robin
came close to the window, hopped on the ledge, and looked in.

'Ripping!' said Desmond softly. 'There were jolly mornings in France
too.' Then his clear brow contracted. Aubrey stooped to him.

'Any news?' said the blanched lips.

'None yet, old man. We shan't get the papers till eight.'

'What's the date?'

'March 18th.'

Desmond gave a long sigh.

'I would have liked to be in it!'

'In the big battle?' Aubrey's lip trembled. 'You have done your bit,
old man.'

'But how is it going to _end_?' said the boy, moving his head
restlessly. 'Shall we win?--or they? I shall live as long as ever I
can--just to know. I feel quite jolly now--isn't it strange?--and
yet I made the doctors tell me--'

He turned a bright look on his brother, and his voice grew
stronger. 'I had such a queer dream las