ogether in good time."

"Oh, Theo--I hope so!--It's dreadful to see you--like that."

The hand she surrendered to him was cold as ice; and the attempt at
welcome in her voice was checked by a paralysing fear and constraint.
Thirty-six hours of severe pain in body and mind had failed to break
his spirit; but the thing was achieved by a dozen words from his wife.
He knew now what to expect from her; and for the moment he was
stricken speechless.

"I am so--sorry," she murmured, "about----"

"Yes--yes, I know," he took her up quickly; and there was an awkward
silence.

"Who--what--is in that other doolie?" she asked, in a hurried whisper.

"The Boy."

"But, Theo--you're not going to----"

"For God's sake shut up!"

He swayed a little in speaking, and promptly Paul was at his side. No
one had heard what passed; and when Mackay, returning to his post by
the wounded arm, gently urged Desmond forward, Paul signalled to
Evelyn to take his place, while he went back to the doolie.

"Just a minute, Mrs Desmond," he said in a low tone.

Evelyn, startled by the request, stood irresolute; and since there was
no time for hesitancy, Honor came forward and put her hand under
Theo's elbow. She felt a jar go all through him at her touch, and knew
that he had heard Wyndham's request.

"Ah, Honor," he said, by way of greeting, "I'm afraid I've come back a
mere log on your hands."

An undernote of bitterness in his tone gave her courage to speak the
thought in her mind. "We are only too thankful to have got you back
safe--in any condition," she murmured.

He did not answer at once; and she moved away to make place for Paul,
whose face was set in very rigid lines.

"Take me to the _duftur_," Desmond commanded curtly. "I'll not be put
to bed."

"No, no, man; we'll settle you up in your long chair," Mackay answered
soothingly. He perceived that by some means Mrs Desmond had jarred his
patient, and was in high ill-humour with her accordingly.

At the study door, Amar Singh almost laid his head at Desmond's feet.
Within the room they found Frank Olliver arranging pillows and a rug
on the deck-chair, and on a table beside it a light meal awaited him.

The meal ended, they all left him with one accord, instinctively
making way for his wife--who was crying her heart out in the next
room.

Paul was the last to leave. He remained standing by Desmond, resting a
hand on his sound shoulder. But there are silences more illuminatin