Trevanion did not look at Nancy's face; he couldn't. He knew what he ought to do, he, who always prided himself upon being a sportsman--he ought to tell her that the man who had saved him was the one of whom she was thinking; but he could not--he was afraid. He, who had faced death calmly day by day; he, who had been noted for his bravery on the field, and who had been mentioned in despatches, was now a coward. In a way he wondered at himself, and he realised that there was more than one kind of courage. He, himself, had called Bob Nancarrow a coward, because he refused to enlist. Now he realised that there was more courage in Bob Nancarrow's cowardice than in his own bravery. Oh, it was all an awful muddle! He ought to tell Nancy what Lieutenant Proctor had related to him just before he was taken away to the hospital; but he couldn't. If he did, he would forfeit his own chance, and he might--yes, he was sure--he would lose Nancy altogether. "Of course, it couldn't be he," and Nancy seemed to be speaking to herself; "you see, according to the paper, you were rescued by a Lieutenant Nancarrow who belonged to a London regiment. Even if Bob had joined the Army, he couldn't have been promoted so quickly," and the girl sighed again. "Nancy," said the Captain, "I--I shouldn't be surprised if it were Bob Nancarrow," and the heroism in those words was greater than that of many deeds for which he had been praised. In that moment Trevanion had won a greater battle than he realised. It had caused him little effort to lead his men against the charges of the German infantry, but he felt as though his heart were being pulled out as he uttered the words I have recorded. The girl's face became pale: "What do you mean?" she asked. "Have you heard anything?" Still Trevanion could not speak freely; even yet he wondered if there were not some way whereby doubt could be kept in the girl's mind. "You see," he said presently, "Nancarrow was in the O.T.C. at Clifton, and, I suppose, did very well there. Captain Pringle spoke to me more than once about him, and--and I heard after he left Cornwall that he joined a London regiment; of course, it was only hearsay, and I paid but very little attention to it--in fact, I didn't believe it! Still, it might be he." The girl's lips became tremulous: "Do you mean that, after all, Bob joined?" "He might have," admitted Trevanion, and his voice was almost husky as he spoke, and his eyes became hard. "No, no," she cried, "It couldn't have been he. If he had, he would have told me--I am sure he would." "Would he?" asked Trevanion.