Her voice broke and she moved again to the window.  The clock ticked, the sun came dazzling in, a fly buzzed against the pane.  Jacqueline turned.  “Tell them that they are all dear to me, but that my home is here with my husband.  Tell them that Lewis Rand—­that Lewis Rand”—­She put her hands to her breast.  “No.  I have not power to tell you that—­not yet, not yet!  But this I say—­my uncles were soldiers, and they fought bravely and witnessed much, but I have seen a battlefield”—­She shuddered strongly and brought her hands together as if to wring them, then let them fall instead and turned upon her cousin a face colourless but almost smiling.  “It is strange,” she said, “what pain we grow to call Victory.  Let’s talk of it no more, Unity.”  She caressed the other’s hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it.

“I did not come to stay,” said Unity brokenly.  “You had rather be alone.  The evening is falling and they look for me at home.  When you call me, I will come again.  Are you sure—­are you sure, Jacqueline, that you understand what they—­what they sent me to say?”

“I understand enough,” said Jacqueline, in a very low voice, and kissed her cousin upon the brow.

CHAPTER XL

THE WAY OF THE TRANSGRESSOR

Rand closed the heavy ledger.  “It is all straight,” he said.

“It’s as straight as if ’twas a winding-up forever,” answered Tom.  “Are you going home now?”

“Yes.”

“There’s almost nothing on the docket.  I’ve seen no such general clearance since you began to practise and took me in.  You say you’re going to refuse the Amherst case?”

“I have refused it.”

“Then,” quoth Tom, “I might as well go fishing.  The weather’s right, and every affair of yours is so cleaned and oiled and put to rights that there’s nothing here for a man to do.  One might suppose you were going a long journey.  If you don’t want me to-morrow, I’ll call on old Mat Green—­”

“Don’t go fishing to-morrow, Tom,” said Rand from the desk, “but don’t come here either.  Stay at home with Vinie.”

“You won’t be coming in from Roselands?”

“I won’t be coming here.”  Rand left the desk and stood at the small window where the roses were now in bloom.  “I shall send you a note, Tom, to-morrow morning.  It will tell you what”—­He paused for a moment.  “What comes next,” he finished.  “There will be a message in it for Vinie.”  He turned from the window.  “I am going home now.”

“It’s a good time for a holiday,” remarked Tom, “and you needn’t tell me that you don’t need it, Lewis!  I’ll lock up and go to the Eagle for a while.  What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” answered the other.  “I was looking at the room itself.  I always liked this office, Tom.”

As he passed, he touched his subaltern upon the shoulder.  There was fondness in the gesture.  “Good-bye,” he said, and was gone before Tom could answer.