face in his hands. The effort of
his own words had shaken him from top to toe. To no human being had
he ever breathed what he had just told his young brother. Life
seemed broken--disorganized.

Desmond was apparently watching the passage of a flock of white
south-westerly clouds across the morning sky. But his brain was
working, and he said presently--

'After I was struck, I hated my body. I'd--I'd like to commit my
spirit to God--but not my body!'

Then again--very faintly--

'It was only your body, Aubrey--not your soul. Poor old Aubrey!'
Then he dozed off again, with intervals of pain.

At eight o'clock Pamela came in--a vision of girlish beauty in spite
of watching and tears, in her white dressing-gown, the masses of her
hair loosely tied.

She sat down by him, and the nurse allowed her to give him milk and
brandy. Paralysis in the lower limbs was increasing, but the brain
was clear, and the suffering less.

He smiled at her, after the painful swallowing was over.

'Why!--you're so like mother, Pamela!'

He was thinking of the picture in the 'den.' She raised his hand,
and kissed it--determined to be brave, not to break down.

'Where's Broomie?' he whispered.

'She'd like to come and see you, Dezzy. Dezzy, darling!--I was all
wrong. She's been so good--good to father--good to all of us.'

The boy's eyes shone.

'I thought so!' he said triumphantly. 'Is she up?'

'Long ago. Shall I tell her? I'll ask Nurse.'

And in a few more minutes Elizabeth was there.

Desmond had been raised a little on his pillows, and flushed at
sight of her. Timidly, he moved his hand, and she laid hers on it.
Then, stirred by an impulse that seemed outside her will, she
stooped over him, and kissed his forehead.

'That was nice!' he murmured, smiling, and lay for a little with his
eyes shut. When he opened them again, he said--

'May I call you Elizabeth?'

Elizabeth's tender look and gesture answered. He gazed at her in
silence, gathering strength for some effort that was evidently on
his mind.

'Father minds awfully,' he said at last, his look clouding. 'And
there's no one--to--to cheer him up.'

'He loves you so,' said Elizabeth, with difficulty, 'he always has
loved you so.'

The furrow on his brow grew a little deeper.

'But that doesn't matter now--nothing matters but--'

After a minute he resumed, in a rather stronger voice--'Tell me
about the woods--and the ash trees. I did laugh over that--old Hull