had the look of a military commander braced for a pitched
battle. And the V.C. has been won for many a less courageous enterprise
than that on which he was now engaged.

Leaning his broad shoulders on the ledge of the mantelpiece, and
roasting his stout calves at the glorious fire, he watched the distant
doorway with narrowed but keenly-glinting eyes. When he saw the dim
curtain lift to let in the light from the landing and a slim woman's
figure, he straightened himself, and set his teeth hard. It had to be
faced and fought, he felt, and the sooner it was over the better for
them both.

She came fluttering up to him, with both hands held out. How white they
were against the crape! And how wonderfully her complexion and her hair
were set off by the black robe and the fine lawn bands at throat and
wrists! He loathed the mockery of the widow's weeds, but thought he had
never seen her look so lovely.

"Oh, Guthrie! Oh, what YEARS it seems! Were you wondering what had
become of me? But I couldn't--somehow I didn't feel that I
COULD--before--"

She cast herself into his arms in the most natural way in the world. He
laid one of them round her waist lightly, and kissed her brow; then,
when she lifted it for the purpose, her mouth--the sweetest woman's
mouth that ever made a pair of soft eyes omnipotent. After some seconds
of silence, she looked at him questioningly, all a-quiver with nervous
excitement. Her delicate cheek was pink like a La France rose.

"It was so good of you to come," she murmured humbly. "It wasn't--it
didn't bother you? You were not wanting to do something else, were you,
dear?" There was revealed in tone and manner the fact that even selfish
Frances had come to care for something more than for herself.

"No--oh, no," he replied, rather breathlessly. "I WAS going up the
country this afternoon, but fortunately I got your letter in time."

"Oh, if you had! What should I have done? I couldn't stand it any
longer, Guthrie. It is four whole months--since--though it seems like
yesterday--"

"And how are you?" he broke in, taking a fresh grip of the sword, as it
were.

He held her off from him, glancing at her shoulder, her skirt--anything
but her eyes, which were HER sword, two-edged and deadly.

"Oh, don't look at me!" she exclaimed, shrinking. "I hate myself in
this horrible gown--I feel so mean and hypocritical--though I do mourn
for him, Guthrie. You must not think I feel happy because he is
dea