“So I know,” answered the Colonel, remembering the snakes and mosquitoes and the flies and the beetles and the hideous swamps and sickening forests, the slime, the mud, the marshes and all the horrors of the tropics.

“I should like to spend my leave at Fort Blizzard,” Broussard continued, “I thought the climate here was what I needed.”

Colonel Fortescue nodded courteously; nobody could stay at Fort Blizzard without the permission of the C. O. But Broussard felt that the Colonel saw through him and beyond him.  As Colonel Fortescue would not encourage him by so much as a word, Broussard kept on: 

“In the Philippines, I heard some news that was enough to kill a well man, much less a man just out of jungle fever.  You perhaps remember, sir, the man Lawrence, who, I heard in the Philippines, had deserted?”

“He was supposed to have deserted,” corrected the Colonel, who was always the soul of accuracy.

He glanced at Broussard’s face and saw there deep agitation and distress.

“Lawrence has come back,” continued Broussard.

Then he stopped, as if unable to keep on, and taking out his handkerchief, wiped away drops upon his forehead, so deadly white under his black hair.

Colonel Fortescue remained silent.  He saw that Broussard had something to tell that racked his soul.  Broussard sighed heavily, and after a pause spoke again: 

“I found Lawrence in San Francisco; he was trying to work his way back to Fort Blizzard.  I gave him the money to come and came here with him.  He wishes to give himself up and is willing to take his punishment.  He got frightened at striking McGillicuddy and deserted.”

“Do I understand that Lawrence was returning voluntarily?” asked the Colonel.

“Yes, sir—­voluntarily.  He saw my arrival in the San Francisco newspapers and came straight to my hotel.  If I ever saw a man crazy with remorse, it was Lawrence.  His sobs and cries were terrible to hear.  He knew nothing of his wife and child, and that, too, was helping to drive him to madness.”

“His wife and child are still here,” said Colonel Fortescue.  “Lawrence’s disappearance has nearly killed his wife; that’s always the way with these faithful souls who do no wrong themselves.  But somebody else always does wrong enough for both.  Where is Lawrence now?”

“At the block house, a mile away,” replied Broussard.  “I wished to see you before Lawrence gives himself up.”

Broussard’s strange agitation was increasing.  Colonel Fortescue took up a newspaper and glanced at it, to give Broussard a chance to recover himself.  In a minute or two Broussard managed to speak calmly.

“You remember, sir,” he said, “that I asked you to take my word there was nothing wrong in my association with Lawrence and his wife.”

“I remember quite well,” answered Colonel Fortescue, “I never doubted your word.”