"My dear, I am very proud of you," she said with quiet sincerity. "I can see that you have drawn freely on a Strength beyond your own. Just take victory for granted; and do your simple human duty to a sick man who is in great need of you, and whose fortune or misfortune is a matter of real concern to many others besides those near and dear to him. I know I am not exaggerating when I say that if any serious harm came to Captain Desmond it would be a calamity felt not only by his regiment, but by more than half the Frontier Force. He has the 'genius to be loved,' that is perhaps the highest form of genius----" "I know--I know. Don't talk about him, please." "Ah! but that is part of your hard programme, Honor. You must learn to talk of him, and to let others talk of him. Only you must banish him altogether _out of your own thoughts_. You see the difference?" "Yes; I see the difference." "The essence of danger lies there, and too few people recognise it. I believe that half the emotional catastrophes of life might be traced back to want of self-control in the region of thought. The world's real conquerors are those who 'hold in quietness their land of the spirit'; and you have the power to be one of them if you choose." "I do choose," Honor answered in a low level voice, looking straight before her. "Then the thing is as good as done." She rose on the words, and drew Honor to her feet. "There; I think I have said hard things enough for one day." Honor looked very straightly into the elder woman's strong plain face. "I know you don't expect me to thank you," she said; "we understand each other too well for that. And we will never speak of this again, please. It is dead and buried from to-day." "Of course. That is why I have spoken rather fully this morning. But be sure you will be constantly in my thoughts, and--in my prayers." Then she took possession of the girl, holding her closely for a long while; and when they moved apart tears stood in her eyes, though she was a woman little given to that luxury. "This has been a great blow to me, dear," she said. "I had such high hopes for you. I had even thought of Major Wyndham." Honor smiled wearily. "It was perverse of me. I suppose it ought to have been--Paul." "I wish it had been, with all my heart; and I confess I am puzzled about you two. How has he come to be 'Paul' within this last fortnight?" "It is simply that we have made a compact. He knows now that he can never be anything more than--Paul--the truest friend a woman ever had." "Poor fellow! So there are two of you wasted!" "Is any real love ever wasted?" Honor asked so simply that Mrs Conolly kissed her again. "My child, you put me to shame. It is clearly I who must learn from you. Now, go home; and God be with you as He very surely will." Then with her head uplifted and her spirit braced to unflinching endurance, Honor Meredith went out into the blue and gold of the morning. CHAPTER XXVII. THE EXECRABLE UNKNOWN.