It was near sunset when he reached their haven of refuge, a small hotel set in a rocky garden overlooking the sea. No sign of Theo within doors,--and Paul strolled down the narrow pathway that led to his friend's favourite seat. There, at the far end, leaning upon the balustrade, he sighted an unmistakable figure black against a blazing heaven rippled with light clouds that gave promise of greater glory to come. Footsteps behind him roused Desmond. He started and turned about with a new eagerness that was balm to the heart of his friend. "Ah--_there_ you are! It's been a long day." His eyes scanned Wyndham's face. "You've seen her?" he asked abruptly. "Yes--I have seen her." "How did she look? Well?" "She looked very beautiful," Paul answered simply, an odd thrill in his voice. "But not--not like her old self. One can see--she has suffered." Desmond bit his lip and turned away again. A sudden mist blurred the sunset splendour, the bronze and purple iridescence of the sea. Paul went on speaking. "She sent you a message, Theo--she wished you had come too." "Did she? That was kind of her.--Sir John no worse?" "Apparently not. She will write from Mavins." "Good." He leaned on the balustrade as before and tacitly dismissed the subject; but Wyndham, regarding him thoughtfully, and remembering Honor's tell-tale blush, fell to dreaming of a golden future for these two who were dearer to him than his own soul. Suddenly Desmond spoke again in an altered tone. "Paul--I've been thinking----" "Have you, indeed! You do very little else these days. What's the outcome?" "Nothing brilliant. Quite the reverse. I'm a coward at heart. That's all about it." Paul smiled as a mother might smile at the vagaries of a beloved child. "Can't say I've seen any symptoms of the disease myself." "Well--you're going to, old man, plain as daylight. It's like this----" he squared his shoulders with a jerk and thrust both hands into his pockets. "I can't face--going back to Kohat. I've suspected it for some time. Now I know it. There's too much--that is to say--there _are_ reasons. Pretty big ones. But they don't bear talking of. Think me a broken-backed cornstalk if you must. It'll hurt. But it can't be helped." For an instant Paul's heart stood still. Then: "Don't talk that brand of nonsense to me, old man," he said gently. "But if you really can't go back--what then?" "I said--to Kohat. The reliefs will take us to Dera in the autumn. Well--I want to work another six months on urgent private affairs----" he tried to smile. "Do you think the Colonel will come within a hundred miles of understanding and be persuaded to back me up?" "I think, just at present, he would be loth to refuse you anything, Theo. But still----" "Well--_what?_" His tone had a touch of defiance, almost of temper, purely refreshing to hear. "Well, naturally--I was thinking of the Regiment----"