The next moment Mannering was torn with poignant remorse that, under the sudden shock of that name, he should have spoken at last--after three years--to this dying lad. Crime added to crime! 'Don't think of it any more, Desmond,' he said hurriedly, raising himself and laying his hand on his brother's. 'I oughtn't to have told you.' But Desmond showed no answering agitation. 'I did see him!' he whispered. 'He stood there--' His eyes turned towards the window. He seemed to be trying to remember--but soon gave up the effort. 'Poor old Aubrey!' His feeble hand gave a faint pressure to his brother's. 'Why, it wasn't you, old fellow!--it was your body.' Aubrey could not reply. He hid his face in his hands. The effort of his own words had shaken him from top to toe. To no human being had he ever breathed what he had just told his young brother. Life seemed broken--disorganized. Desmond was apparently watching the passage of a flock of white south-westerly clouds across the morning sky. But his brain was working, and he said presently-- 'After I was struck, I hated my body. I'd--I'd like to commit my spirit to God--but not my body!' Then again--very faintly-- 'It was only your body, Aubrey--not your soul. Poor old Aubrey!' Then he dozed off again, with intervals of pain. At eight o'clock Pamela came in--a vision of girlish beauty in spite of watching and tears, in her white dressing-gown, the masses of her hair loosely tied. She sat down by him, and the nurse allowed her to give him milk and brandy. Paralysis in the lower limbs was increasing, but the brain was clear, and the suffering less. He smiled at her, after the painful swallowing was over. 'Why!--you're so like mother, Pamela!' He was thinking of the picture in the 'den.' She raised his hand, and kissed it--determined to be brave, not to break down. 'Where's Broomie?' he whispered. 'She'd like to come and see you, Dezzy. Dezzy, darling!--I was all wrong. She's been so good--good to father--good to all of us.' The boy's eyes shone. 'I thought so!' he said triumphantly. 'Is she up?' 'Long ago. Shall I tell her? I'll ask Nurse.' And in a few more minutes Elizabeth was there. Desmond had been raised a little on his pillows, and flushed at sight of her. Timidly, he moved his hand, and she laid hers on it. Then, stirred by an impulse that seemed outside her will, she stooped over him, and kissed his forehead. 'That was nice!' he murmured, smiling, and lay for a little with his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he said-- 'May I call you Elizabeth?' Elizabeth's tender look and gesture answered. He gazed at her in silence, gathering strength for some effort that was evidently on his mind. 'Father minds awfully,' he said at last, his look clouding. 'And there's no one--to--to cheer him up.' 'He loves you so,' said Elizabeth, with difficulty, 'he always has loved you so.' The furrow on his brow grew a little deeper. 'But that doesn't matter now--nothing matters but--'