When he had first seen his son, Desmond was unconscious, and the end was hourly expected.  He remembered telegraphing to a famous surgeon at home to come over; he recalled the faces of the consultants round Desmond’s bed, and the bald man with the keen eyes, who had brought him the final verdict: 

’Awfully sorry!—­but we can do nothing!  He may live a little while—­and he has been begging and praying us to send him home.  Better take him—­the authorities will give leave.  I’ll see to that—­it can’t do much harm.  The morphia will keep down the pain—­and the poor lad will die happy.’  And then there was much talk of plaster bandages, and some new mechanical appliance to prevent jolting—­of the surgeon going home on leave who would take charge of the journey—­of the nurses to be sent—­and other matters of which he only retained a blurred remembrance.

The journey had been one long and bitter endurance.  And now Desmond was here—­his son Desmond—­lying for a few days in that white bed—­under the old roof.  And afterwards a fresh grave in Fallerton churchyard—­a flood of letters which would be burnt unread—­and a world without Desmond.

Meanwhile, in a corner of the hall, Chicksands and Pamela were sitting together—­hand in hand.  From the moment when he had gone down to Folkestone to meet them, and had seen Pamela’s piteous and beautiful face, as she followed the stretcher on which Desmond lay, across the landing-stage of the boat, Chicksands’ mind had been suddenly clear.  No words, indeed, except about the journey and Desmond had passed between them.  But she had seen in his dark eyes a sweetness, a passion of protection and help which had thawed all the ice in her heart, and freed the waters of life.  She was ashamed of herself, but only for a little while!  For in Desmond’s presence all that concerned herself passed clean out of sight and mind.  It was not till she saw Elizabeth that remorse lifted its head again; and whatever was delicate and sensitive in the girl’s nature revived, like scorched grass after rain.

Since the hurried, miserable meal, in which Elizabeth had watched over them all, Pamela had followed Elizabeth about, humbly trying to help her in the various household tasks.  Then when at last Elizabeth had gone off to telephone some final orders to Captain Dell at Fallerton for the morning Pamela and Arthur were left alone.

He came over to where she sat, and drew a chair beside her.

‘Poor child!’ he said, under his breath—­’poor child!’

She lifted her eyes, swimming in tears.

’Isn’t it marvellous, how she’s thought of everything—­done everything?’

Elizabeth had not been in his mind, but he understood the amende offered and was deeply touched.

’Yes, she’s a wonderful creature.  Let her care for you, Pamela, dear Pamela!’

He lifted her hand to his lips, and put his arm round her.  She leant against him, and he gently kissed her cheek.  So Love came to them, but in its most tragic dress, veiled and dumb, with haggard eyes of grief.