His own work became tasteless to him. He turned with disrelish from his manuscript. "What's the good of it," he said to himself, whenever he looked at it. He tried to put himself into communication with Gilbert's spirit, remembering that night below the White Cliff, when, he now believed, Gilbert had tried to tell him of his death. A month before, he would have ridiculed any one who suggested to him that he should attempt to speak to the dead. "Spookery!" he would have said. But now, in his eagerness to atone, as he said, for his failure to respond when Gilbert had tried to speak to him, he put faith in things that, before, would have seemed contemptible to him. But with all his will to believe, he could not call Gilbert to him. There was a blankness, a condemning silence.... "I failed my friend," he groaned to himself once, "When he felt for me most, I ... I failed him!" 2 He had gone up to the Common with Mary, and had lain there, talking of Gilbert ... of what Gilbert had been doing this time a year ago ... of something that Gilbert had said once ... of an escapade at Rumpell's ... and then Mary and he had gone home across the fields. As they walked up the lane to the house, they saw a telegraph messenger ahead of them. They quickened their pace. There was an anxious, strained look on Mary's face, and as the messenger, hearing them behind him, turned and stopped, she made a clutching movement with her hands. "Oh, Quinny!" she said, turning to him with frightened eyes. The boy waited until Henry went up to him, regarding them both with curiosity. "Is it for us?" Henry asked, knowing that it was, and the boy nodded his head. "I'll take it," he went on. "It'll save you the trouble of going up to the house!" "Thank you, sir!" the messenger said, and then he handed the telegram to Henry. "Is there any answer, sir?" he asked. "I don't know," Henry replied. "We'll ... we'll bring it down to the post-office, if there is!" He knew that there would not be any answer.... The boy went off, looking back at them now and then, over his shoulder. "Shall I open it, Mary!" Henry said. "Do you think?..." She did not complete her sentence for she was afraid to utter the thought that was in her mind. "If it should be bad news," Henry said, "we'd ... we'd better prepare her for it!" They stood there, holding the telegram still unopened, as if they could not make a decision.... "Open it, Quinny!" Mary said at last, and he opened the buff envelope and took out the form. _The Secretary for War regretted!..._ He looked up from the telegram, and saw that Mary was standing in a strained attitude, waiting for him to speak. "Is it ... is it _that_?" she said, almost in a whisper. He bowed his head. "Yes," he said.