nger."

"May I see him?"

"Certainly. He sent for you. Step this way."

They entered another and much smaller ward in which there were very
few cots, and from which many of the flies had been driven.

Colonel Arran lay very white and still on his cot; only his eyes
turned as Berkley came up and stood at salute.

"Sit down," he said feebly. And, after a long silence:

"Berkley, the world seems to be coming right. I am grateful that
I--lie here--with you beside me."

Berkley's throat closed; he could not speak; nor did he know what
he might have said could he have spoken, for within him all had
seemed to crash softly into chaos, and he had no mind, no will, no
vigour, only a confused understanding of emotion and pain, and a
fierce longing.

Colonel Arran's sunken eyes never left his, watching, wistful,
patient. And at last the boy bent forward and rested his elbows on
his knees and dropped his face in both hands. Time ebbed away in
silence; there was no sound in the ward save the blue flies' buzz
or the slight movement of some wounded man easing his tortured body.

"Philip!"

The boy lifted his face from his hands.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, I have. . . . There was only one thing to forgive. I don't
count--myself."

"I count it--bitterly."

"You need not. . . . It was only--my mother----"

"I know, my boy. The blade of justice is double-edged. No mortal
can wield it safely; only He who forged it. . . . I have never
ceased to love--your mother."

Berkley's face became ashen.

Colonel Arran said: "Is there punishment more terrible than that
for any man?"

Presently Berkley drew his chair closer.

"I wish you to know how mother died," he said simply. "It is your
right to know. . . . Because, there will come a time when she
and--you will be together again . . . if you believe such things."

"I believe."

For a while the murmur of Berkley's voice alone broke the silence.
Colonel Arran lay with eyes closed, a slight flush on his sunken
cheeks; and, before long, Berkley's hand lay over his and remained
there.

The brilliant, ominous flies whirled overhead or drove headlong
against the window-panes, falling on their backs to kick and buzz
and scramble over the sill; slippered attendants moved softly along
the aisle with medicines; once the ward-master came and looked down
at Colonel Arran, touched the skin of his face, his pulse, and
walked noiselessly away. Berkley's story had a