t night, Aubrey,--about
you--and that friend of yours--do you remember?--you used to bring
him down--to stay here--when Pam and I were little--Freddy Vivian--'

The boy looking out into the woods and the morning did not see the
change--the spasm--in his brother's face. He continued--'We kids
liked him awfully. Well, I saw him! I actually did. He stood
there--by you. He was talking a lot--I didn't understand--but--'

A sudden movement. Aubrey fell on his knees beside the bed. His deep
haggard eyes stared at his brother. There was in them an anguish, an
eagerness, scarcely human.

'Desmond!--can't you remember?'

The words were just breathed--panted.

Desmond, whose eyes had closed again, smiled faintly.

'Why, of course I can't remember. He had his hand on your shoulder.
I just thought he was cheering you up--about something.'

'Desmond!--it was I that killed him--I could have saved him!'

The boy opened his eyes. His startled look expressed the question he
had not strength to put.

Aubrey bent over the bed, speaking hurriedly--under possession. 'It
was at Neuve Chapelle. I had gone back for help--he and ten or
twelve others who had moved on too fast were waiting in a bit of
shelter till I could get some more men from the Colonel. The Germans
were coming on thick. And I went back. There was a barrage on--and
on the way--I shirked--my nerve went. I sat down for twenty minutes
by my watch--I hid--in a shell-hole. Then I went to the Colonel, and
he gave me the men. And when we got up to the post, I was just a
quarter of an hour too late. Vivian was lying there dead--and the
others had been mopped up--prisoners--by a German bombing party. It
was I who killed Vivian. No one knows.'

Aubrey's eyes searched those of the boy.

The next moment Mannering was torn with poignant remorse that, under
the sudden shock of that name, he should have spoken at last--after
three years--to this dying lad. Crime added to crime!

'Don't think of it any more, Desmond,' he said hurriedly, raising
himself and laying his hand on his brother's. 'I oughtn't to have
told you.'

But Desmond showed no answering agitation.

'I did see him!' he whispered. 'He stood there--' His eyes turned
towards the window. He seemed to be trying to remember--but soon
gave up the effort. 'Poor old Aubrey!' His feeble hand gave a faint
pressure to his brother's. 'Why, it wasn't you, old fellow!--it was
your body.'

Aubrey could not reply. He hid his