"There was a rumour three or four days ago that they had." Vane stared at the speaker. "What did you say?" he remarked at length. "There was a rumour three or four days ago that the submarine was sunk," repeated the other. "May I ask how long I've been here?" "Ten days," answered the doctor. "But I wired to your depot that you were safe, so you needn't worry." "With regard to the depot," remarked Vane grimly, "you may take it from me that I don't. . . . Ten days . . . twelve--fourteen." He was counting on his fingers. "Oh! Hell. . . ." "They forwarded some letters for you," said the doctor. "I'll get them for you. . . ." "Thanks," said Vane. "When is the next train to London?" "In about four days' time as far as you're concerned," laughed the other. He went out of the room, and Vane lay very still. Fourteen days. . . . Fourteen days. . . . The doctor returned and handed him about a dozen letters. "They've been coming at intervals," he remarked. "I'm going to send you up a cup of bovril in a minute. . . ." Vane turned them over rapidly in his hand, and found that there were only two that counted. He looked at the postmarks to get them in the right sequence, and eagerly pulled out the contents of the first. It had been written four days after he left Melton. "Dear lad, I'm leaving here to-morrow, and am going back to Blandford; but before I go I want to tell you something. A man is not a very good judge of a woman's actions at any time; he's so apt to see them through his own eyes. He reasons, and becomes logical, . . . and perhaps he's right. But a woman doesn't want reasons or logic--not if she's in love. She wants to be whirled up breathlessly and carried away, and made to do things; and it doesn't matter whether they're right or wrong--not if she's in love. Maybe you were right, Derek, to go away; but oh! my dear, I would to God you hadn't." A nurse came in with a cup of bovril, and put it on the table by his bed, and Vane turned to her abruptly. "Where are my clothes, Nurse?" "You'll not be wanting clothes yet awhile," she answered with a smile. "I'm coming back shortly to tidy you up," and Vane cursed under his breath as she left the room. Then he picked up the second letter and opened it. At first he thought it was a blank sheet of paper, and then he saw that there were a few words in the centre of the page. For a moment they danced before his eyes; then he pulled himself together and read them. "''Tis well for those who have the gift To seize him even as he flies. . . .' "Oh! you fool--you fool! Why didn't you?" That was all, and for a long while he lay and stared at the bare wall opposite. "Why didn't you?" The words mocked him, dancing in great red letters on the pale green distemper, and he shook his feet at them childishly. "It's not fair," he raved. "It's simply not fair."