She stood silent for a few seconds without speaking. She remembered the circumstances under which she had parted from Bob; she called to mind the time when she had given him a white feather in the Public Hall at St. Ia, and her face crimsoned with shame at the thought of it. No one could offer a more deadly insult than she had offered Bob. She had branded him as a coward, regardless of who might be looking on. No, no, even if he had joined, he would not have told her; his heart would be too bitter against her. Why--why, he must hate her now! "I say, Nancy," and Trevanion's voice was hoarse with pain, "you don't mean to tell me that you care anything about him still? You know what you said; you told me you despised him, and--and, why, you almost told me to hope! Don't you remember?" The girl's face was set and stern; she did not hear Trevanion's last words; she was wondering with a great wonder. "Do you know anything besides what you have told me?" she asked. "I don't understand," he stammered. "You said it might be he, as though there were a doubt about it; don't you know for certain? You've seen Captain Pringle; did you see him after you recovered consciousness, that is, after you were rescued?" "Yes, but of course I scarcely knew what was said to me." "And did Captain Pringle tell you it was--was--the Nancarrow we knew?" "He said it was Nancarrow from Clifton, and--and that he had done the bravest thing since the war began; but everything was vague to me. I--I, of course, didn't believe it was Nancarrow; you know what he said? But, I say, Nancy, all this makes no difference to us, does it? You didn't raise my hopes only to dash them to the ground! I shall be off to the front again in a few days, and--oh, if you could give me just a word--just a word, Nancy, everything would be different! Hang it all, even if it is he, and, of course, if it is, I shall not be slow in acknowledging it, I haven't a bad record myself, and I shall go back as major, you know." But the girl did not answer. Slowly she walked across the yard outside the improvised hospital, without even bidding him "good-day." "I'm glad I told her, anyhow," reflected Trevanion; "it was beastly hard--one of the hardest things I ever did. Good God, it seems the very irony of fate that he should be the man to save me! I wonder if he knew that it was I? Perhaps though he knows nothing of what passed between us. I wonder where he is now. Anyhow, he shall never have her; there's no other woman in the world for me, and--oh, yes, I'm all right." * * * * * Meanwhile, Bob still lay in bed, weak as a child, but still on the highway to recovery. He had no fever, and his wounds were beginning to heal.