"Since yesterday morning. He would not give in--we were to move to-night, ye see----" "Why didn't you----?" Words failed her for reproach. "He wouldna let me send. I'm thinking he was afraid for ye." There was a long pause. Her heart was full of regret, of bitterness. Afraid for her--oh, Duke, Duke! "And he has everything?" "Aye, everything! The doctor will be here again the now." He came and found his patient better. He opened his eyes and smiled. Collapse had gone, the following fever had laid hold on him. Would his heart stand it? All that day he lay in something like sleep--quiet, so long as his hand could find that other hand. Once or twice she caught a whispered word of command and once, urgent, came a call for reinforcements. His mind was at battle--far, far from her. About an hour before sunset he turned his head and looked at her. "I've done it," he said faintly; "I've done it!" The doctor came in many a time and oft. The orderlies were always doing something; but her part was to hold his hand until the last. She saw it coming clearly; she knew that it must be so. Someone in the arbour suggested a clergyman, and they sent to fetch one. "He will be too late," half-whispered a voice. Was it hers? Too late! As if it mattered? As if He who made---- Hark! A bird singing. It had come in after the fruit--perhaps he had fed it, for he loved God's creatures--and now not five yards from where he lay it was giving its heart out in full-throated song. Hush! Listen! Listen!--it seemed to say. The still figure was growing more still. The slow breathing grew slower. The touch of these cold fingers on hers grew colder. Then their feeble clasp had gone, but the bird sang on. She rose unsteadily, drew the plaid over his face, and left the tent. She did not seem to realise the presence of others. Andrew ran after her. "Marrion, Marrion, whaur are ye gaun? Ye poor, poor thing!" he whispered hoarsely in the extremity of his bewildered grief. "Bide a wee, and I'll see ye haim." "I am going to walk home," she said dully. "It will do me good. I must--I must do something--and I must be alone." So she walked over the meadows, crushing the drifts of purple colchicum under her feet. What had he called the flower of death? Ah, the iris! That would come in the spring. It would flower on his grave perhaps. And all the time she felt his cold hand on hers, she heard the bird's full song. How he would have loved to hear it! Perhaps he had. It was dark ere she reached the vine pergola where they had been so happy, and she started when a tall officer in Highland costume came towards her. Was it all a bad dream? Was she waking to find him still her own? But he was only the bearer of a kindly message from the regiment to say that the colonel was to be buried at dawn, and that if Mrs. Marsden---- "Who told you I was Mrs. Marsden?" she asked sharply. "Andrew Fraser?" The officer bowed and went on.