Minute after minute she sat there by the fire knitting tranquilly, scarcely ever even lifting her calm young eyes to the man. Twice again he poured out what he "needed" for himself before the agony in his sickened brain and body became endurable--before the tortured nerves had been sufficiently drugged once more and the indescribable torment had subsided. He looked at her once or twice where she sat knitting and apparently quite oblivious to what he had been about, but his glance was no longer furtive; he unconsciously squared his shoulders, and his head straightened up. Without lifting her eyes she said: "I thought we'd talk over our plans when you feel better." He glanced sideways at the decanter: "I am all right," he said. She had not yet lifted her eyes; she continued to knit while speaking: "First of all," she said, "I shall place your testimony and my report in the hands of my superior, Mr. Vaux. Does that meet with your approval?" "Yes." She knitted in silence a few moments. He kept his eyes on her. Presently--and still without looking up--she said: "Are you within the draft age?" "No. I am thirty-two." "Will you volunteer?" "No." "Would you tell me why?" "Yes, I'll tell you why. I shall not volunteer because of my habits." "You mean your temporary infirmity," she said calmly. But her cheeks reddened and she bent lower over her work. A dull colour stained his face, too, but he merely shrugged his comment. She said in a low voice: "I want you to volunteer with me for overseas service in the Army Intelligence Department.... You and I, together.... To prove what you have surmised concerning the German operations beyond Mount Terrible.... And first I want you to go with me to Dr. Langford's hospital .... I want you to go this afternoon with me. ... And face the situation. And see it through. And come out cured." She lifted her head and looked at him. "Will you?" And in his altering gaze she saw the flicker of half-senseless anger intensified suddenly to a flare of hatred. "Don't ask anything like that of me," he said. She had grown quite white. "I do ask it.... Will you?" "If I wanted to I couldn't, and I don't want to. I prefer this hell to the other." "Won't you make a fight for it?" "No!" he said brutally. The girl bent her head again over her knitting. But her white fingers remained idle. After a long while, staring at her intently, he saw her lip quiver. "Don't do that!" he broke out harshly. "What the devil do you care?" Then she lifted her tragic white face. And he had his answer. "My God!" he faltered, springing to his feet. "What's the matter with you? Why do you care? You can't care! What is it to you that a drunken beast slinks back into hell again? Do you think you are Samaritan enough to follow him and try to drag him out by the ears?... A man whose very brain is already cracking with it all--a burnt-out thing with neither mind nor manhood left--" She got to her feet, trembling and deathly white.