“A favour?” she said.

“Won’t you give me something,” he said timidly, “some little thing to take with me to remember you by?”

She replied she would with pleasure.  She wanted him to remember her.  What was it that he would like?

“There is nothing I could refuse you,” she said, smiling.

Raymond was overcome with embarrassment.  She saw him looking at her hair; her hair which was her greatest beauty, and which when undone was luxuriant enough to reach below her waist.  He had often expressed his admiration for it.

“What would you like?” she asked again.

“Oh, anything,” he faltered.  “A—­a book!”

She could not restrain her laughter.  A book!  She laughed and laughed.  She seemed carried away by an extraordinary merriment.  Raymond thought he had never heard a woman laugh like that before.  It made him feel very badly.  He wondered what it was that had made his request so ridiculous.  He thanked his stars that he had held his tongue about the other thing.  Ah, what a fool he had been!  He could not have borne it, had the other been received with the same derision.

“I shall give you my prayer-book,” she said at last, wiping her eyes and looking less amused than he had expected.  “I’ve had it many years and value it dearly.  It is prettily bound in Russia, and if you carry it on the proper place romance will see that it stops a bullet—­though a Bible, I believe, is the more correct.”

Somehow her tone sounded less cordial.  She had withdrawn her hands, and her humour, at such a moment, jarred on him.  In spite of his good resolutions he had managed to put his foot into it after all.  Perhaps she had begun to suspect his secret and was displeased.  He departed feeling utterly wretched and out of heart, and got very scant comfort from his book, for it only reminded him of how seriously he had compromised himself.  He was in two minds whether or not to send it back, but decided not to do so in fear lest he might give fresh offence.  The next day at dawn the Dixie sailed for the scene of war.

III

Then followed the historic days of the blockade; the first landing on Cuba; the suspense and triumph attending Cervera’s capture; El Caney; San Juan Hill; Santiago; and the end of the war.  Howard Quintan fell ill with fever and was early invalided home; but Raymond stayed to the finish, an obscure spectator, often an obscure actor, in that world-drama of fleets and armies.  Tried in the fire, his character underwent some noted changes.  He developed unexpected aptitudes, became a marksman of big guns, showed resource and skill in boat-work, earned the repeated commendations of his superiors.  He put his resolutions to the test, and emerged, surprised, thankful, and satisfied, to find that he was a brave man.  He rose in his own esteem; it was borne in on him that he had qualities that others often lacked; it was inspiriting to win a reputation for daring, fearlessness, and responsibility.