He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to Halliday’s.  His friend’s voice called, as he was passing: 

“Is that you, old chap?  I say, come in.”

He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading.

“Sit down a bit.”

Ashurst sat down by the open window.

“I’ve been thinking about this afternoon, you know,” said Halliday rather suddenly.  “They say you go through all your past.  I didn’t.  I suppose I wasn’t far enough gone.”

“What did you think of?”

Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly

“Well, I did think of one thing—­rather odd—­of a girl at Cambridge that I might have—­you know; I was glad I hadn’t got her on my mind.  Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I’m here; I should have been in the big dark by now.  No more bed, or baccy; no more anything.  I say, what d’you suppose happens to us?”

Ashurst murmured: 

“Go out like flames, I expect.”

“Phew!”

“We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps.”

“H’m!  I think that’s rather gloomy.  I say, I hope my young sisters have been decent to you?”

“Awfully decent.”

Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and turned his face towards the window.

“They’re not bad kids!” he said.

Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light on his face, Ashurst shuddered.  Quite true!  He might have been lying there with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever!  He might not have been lying there at all, but “sanded” at the bottom of the sea, waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it?  And that smile of Halliday’s seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in it were all the difference between life and death—­the little flame—­the all!  He got up, and said softly: 

“Well, you ought to sleep, I expect.  Shall I blow out?”

Halliday caught his hand.

“I can’t say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead.  Good-night, old boy!”

Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs.  The hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before the Crescent.  The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which no one can describe.  Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and before his closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup against her breast.  “I thought of a girl that I might have you know.  I was glad I hadn’t got her on my mind!” He jerked his head away from the lilac, and began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom coming to substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either end.  He was with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the