Dr. Mallet looked at the famous soldier with interest and curiosity. General Lingard was a remarkable-looking man apart from his reputation. But there were lines on his seamed face that told of strain--an older strain than that induced by the shocking news which had just been told him. He had now pulled himself together; he was doubtless annoyed with himself for having been so terribly affected. But Mrs. Maule possessed a very compelling, vivid personality--even the doctor could not yet think of her as anything but living. "I'm afraid, General Lingard, that I must prepare you for a rather painful ordeal. Mr. Maule wishes to see you, and if possible at once." The other made an involuntary movement of recoil. "To see me?" he repeated. "Why should he wish to see me?" And then he added hurriedly, "But of course I'll go and see him. He and--and Mrs. Maule"--he brought out her name with an effort--"have both been most kind to me, though our acquaintance has been short." Again there was a pause. And then Lingard said abruptly, "Well--shall I go up and see him now? I--I suppose you will come with me?" If restrained, there was no less an appeal in his hushed voice. "I'll just go up with you, and then I'm afraid I shall have to leave you with him. Perhaps I ought to tell you that Mr. Maule took the news very quietly, General Lingard. He's in a sad state--a sad state. A man in that condition does not take things to heart in the same way that we who are hale and strong do." As they passed along the corridor, a housemaid was engaged in drawing down the blinds, and it was into a darkened room that Lingard was introduced by the doctor. Richard Maule did not rise to receive the condolences of his guest. He was up and in his dressing-gown, and he sat huddled in a deep invalid chair. To Lingard's eyes he looked pitifully broken. Various feelings--anger, contemptuous pity, and an unwilling respect for the man who had, only the day before, made up his mind to face the greatest humiliation open to manhood--all these jostled one another in the soldier's mind as he stood staring down at his host. Their hands just touched--Lingard's icy cold, Richard Maule's burning hot. "Thank you, thank you, General Lingard. I felt sure that I should have your sympathy." There was an odd gleam in the stricken man's eyes, but the other, intent on preserving his own self-command, saw nothing of it. "Do sit down. Yes, it's a strange, a most strange thing. She was always so strong, so well. Poor Athena! Thanks to you in a great measure, her last weeks of life were very bright and happy." He looked furtively at Lingard. The man was taking his punishment like a Stoic. But bah! what were his sufferings to those which Maule himself had endured eight years before?