I will write again and tell you how he gets on.--Your affectionate cousin, MADGE DUNDAS. Evelyn's room looked out on to the terrace, away from the direction of the wind, and the nurse had just gone to the window to open it further, for the room, warmed by the afternoon sun, was growing rather hot. But just then he stirred with a more direct and conscious movement than he had yet made, half-sat up in bed, and with both hands suddenly felt at the bandages that swathed the upper part of his face. Then he spoke in those quick, staccato tones that were so characteristic. "What has happened?" he said. "Where am I? What's going on? Why can't I see? Madge----" And then he stopped suddenly. She bit her lip for a moment, and just paused, summoning up her strength to bear what she knew was coming. Then she went quickly to the bedside and took his hand away from his face. "Yes, dearest, I am here," she said. "Lie quiet, won't you, and we will talk." The nurse had come back from the window, and also stood by the bed. Madge spoke to her quickly and low. "Leave us, please, nurse," she said. "We have got to talk privately. I will call you if I want you." She left the room; Evelyn had instinctively answered to Madge's voice, and had sunk back again on his pillows, and slowly in the long silence that followed, his mind began piecing things together, burrowing, groping, feeling for the things that had made their mark on his brain, but were remembered at present only dimly. The remembrance of some shock came first to him, and some sudden, stinging pain; next the smell of heather, warm and fragrant, and another bitter-tasting smell, the smell of blood. He put out his hand, and felt fumblingly over the clothes. "Madge, are you still there?" he said quickly. She took his hand. "Yes, dear, sitting by you," she said. "I shall always be here whenever you want me." Then came the staccato voice again. "But why can't I see you?" he asked. "What's this over my face?" Again she gently pulled back his other hand, which was feeling the bandages with quick, hovering movements like the antennæ of some insect. "You were hurt, dear, you know," she said. "They had to bandage your face, over your forehead and your eyes." Again there was silence; his mind was beginning to move more quickly, remembrance was pouring in from all sides. "It was at Glen--Glen something, where we came by a night train, and you flirted with a valet," he said. "Yes, dear, Glen Callan," said Madge quietly. But her eyes yearned and devoured him: all her heart was ready now, when the time came, to spring towards him, enfolding him with love. But his voice was fretful rather and irritable, from shock and suffering. "Yes, Glen Callan, of course," he said. "I said Glen Callan, didn't I? We are there, still, I suppose. Yes? And you went fishing in the morning, and I went shooting. Shooting?" he repeated.