But now, when he saw her coming towards him, looking as she always looked, save that something of the light and brightness which had always been in her dear face had faded out of it, he knew that he could say nothing of the sort. This great trouble which had come on him was her trouble as well as his, and he knew she was going to take it and to bear it, as he meant to take it and to bear it. But Jervis Blake did make up his mind to one thing. There should be no hurrying of Rose into a hasty marriage--the kind of marriage they had planned--the marriage which was to have taken place a week before he went back to the Front. It must be his business to battle through this grim thing alone. It would be time enough to think of marriage when he was up and about again, and when he had taught himself, as much as might be possible, to hide or triumph over his infirmity. As she came and sat down quietly by the side of his bed, on the chair which his father had just left, he put out his hand and took hers. "I want to tell you," he said slowly, "that what my father has just told me was not altogether a surprise. I've felt rather--well, rather afraid of it, since Sir Jacques first examined me. There was something in the nurses' manner too--but of course I knew I might be wrong. I'm sorry now that I didn't tell you." She still said nothing--only gripped his hand more and more tightly. "And Rose? One thing father said is being such a comfort to me. Father thinks that I shall still be able to be of use--I mean in the way I should like to be, especially if the war goes on a long time. I wonder if he showed you this?" He picked up off his bed a little piece of paper and held it out to her. Through her bitter tears she read the words: "German thoroughness"--and then a paragraph which explained how the German military authorities were using their disabled officers in the training of recruits. "Father thinks that in time they'll do something of the sort here--not yet, perhaps, but in some months from now." And then, as she still did not speak, he grew uneasy. "Come a little nearer," he whispered. "I feel as if you were so far away. We needn't be afraid of any one coming in. Father has promised that no one shall disturb us till you ring." She did as he asked, and putting his uninjured arm right round her, he held her closely to him. It was the first time since that strange home-coming of his that Jervis had felt secure against the sudden irruption into the room of some well-meaning person. Of the two it was Jervis who had been silently determined to give the talkative, sentimental nurses no excuse for even the mildest, the kindliest comment. But now everything was merged in this great ordeal of love and grief they were battling through together--secure from the unwanted presence of others as they had not been since he had last felt her heart fluttering beneath his, in the porch of the cathedral.