But to Wargrave the realisation of the truth was unbearable.  He was pledged to another woman, whose heart he had won even if unconsciously, who was willing for love of him to give up everything and face the world’s censure and scorn.  He could not play her false.  He had given her his word.  He could not now be disloyal to her without utterly wrecking all her chances of happiness in life and dishonouring himself for ever in his own eyes.  Muriel Benson had left the station ten days ago to rejoin her father; and Wargrave had instantly felt that he dared not see her again until he was irrevocably and openly bound to Violet.  So he had written to her on the morrow of the girl’s departure and, without giving her the real reason for his action, begged her to come to him at once, enclosing, as he was now able to do, a cheque for her expenses.  It seemed to him that only by her presence could he be saved from being a traitor to his word.

As soon as he had sent the letter he went to his Commanding Officer and told him everything.  It was not until he was actually explaining his conduct that he realised that he should have obtained his permission before inviting Violet to come, for Major Hunt, as Commandant of the Station, had the power to forbid her residing in or even entering it.

The senior officer listened in silence.  When the subaltern had finished he said: 

“I’ve known about this matter since you came, Wargrave.  Your Colonel wrote me—­as your new C.O.—­what I considered an unnecessary and unfair letter giving me the reason of your being sent here.  But Hepburn, whom I know slightly, discovered I was here and also wrote explaining matters more fully and, I think, more justly.”

The subaltern looked at him in surprise; but his face brightened at the knowledge of his former commander’s kindness.

“Now, Wargrave, we’ve got on very well together so far, you and I. I have always been satisfied with your work, and was glad to help you by agreeing to Colonel Dermot’s application for you.  I believe that you will make a good political officer, otherwise I wouldn’t have done so—­even though I’m your debtor for saving me from that snake——.”

“Oh, Major, that was nothing,” broke in the subaltern.  “Anyone would have done it.”

“Yes, I know.  But it happened that you were the anyone.  Now, I’m going to talk to you as your friend and not as your commanding officer.  Frankly, I am very sorry for what you have just told me.  I was hoping that Time and separation were curing you—­and the lady—­of your folly.  Believe me, only unhappiness and misery can come to you both from it.”

“Perhaps so, sir; but I’m bound in honour.”

The older man shook his head sadly.