‘Oh, ay.  But I maun tell ye the truth.’

‘No a word, Mac, noo or ever.  I’ll no listen.’

‘But it’s a’ nonsense aboot me savin’ a comrade.  Wullie Thomson saved me.  I canna think hoo ye heard sic a story, but it’s got to be stopped.  An’ though I’m terrible gled to see yer face again, I’m vexed ye cam’ a’ that lang road thinkin’ I was a hero.  Still, there’s a chap in the next bed that’s gaun to get a medal for——­’

‘We’ll talk aboot it later,’ she interrupted gently.  ’But I’ll jist tell ye that a’ I took the journey for was to see a lad that was wounded.  An’ I think’—­a faint laugh—­’I’ve got a wound o’ ma ain.’

He sighed, his eyes on his ring.  ’Ye had aye a kind heart, Christina.  I’m obleeged to ye for comin’. . .  I wud like to tell ye something—­no as an excuse, for it wud be nae excuse, but jist to get quit o’ the thing—­aboot the time when ye was in Aberdeen——­’

‘Oh, never!’

‘Jist that.  Weel, I’ll no bother ye,’ he said, with hopeless resignation.  Next moment he was ashamed of himself.  He must change the subject.  He actually smiled.  ’Hoo did ye leave Miss Tod?  Still drinkin’?’

Christina may not have heard him.  She was surveying the ward.  Macgregor’s only near neighbour was apparently sound asleep, and the only patient sitting up was intent on a game of draughts with a nurse.  But had all been awake and watching, she would still have found a way.

She passed her handkerchief lightly across her eyes and put it in her sleeve.  Then with the least possible movement she knelt down by the bedside.

‘Christina!’ he exclaimed under his breath, for her face was near to his.

Her fingers went to the neck of her white blouse and drew out a narrow black ribbon.  From it hung, shining, the tiny wreckage of her engagement ring.

‘Mac, dear,’ she whispered, ‘can—­can we no ha’e it mended?’