He was silent for several minutes, then frowned heavily. "Look here," he said sternly, "I wish you would stop driving nails into my knee. Who do you think I am--Hindenburg?" He laughed again, then groaned, and great drops of perspiration stood out on his brow. The woman ministered to him with the gentle firmness of her sex that rises to its best when face to face with suffering. She smoothed his pillows and shifted his position so that he might not irritate his wounds; and, as if soothed by her presence, he sighed weakly and broke into a little negro melody: "All dat I got on de whole plantation, All dat I got in de whole creation, In de big roun' worl' or de deep-blue skies, Is dat fat li'l feller wid his mammy's eyes, Li'l feller wid his mammy's eyes." His voice was very low and soft. Then he suddenly sat up in bed and pointed past her. "Look!" he cried. "The cavalry! The cavalry! By Heaven, how they ride! Look at that officer! Great Scott! it's Oaklands!--Good old Oaklands!--Come on, men--one last fight!--Get those guns away--d' you hear? Get those guns away--_now_!" Weak from the effort he had made, he sank back with a moan; and the woman stroked his brow, and kept back the tears which welled to her eyes. For half-an-hour he did not speak; then he went through the pantomime of lighting a cigarette. "The reason I can't marry her," he said abruptly, "is the same reason that East is East and West is West. What can I offer her? She can't dress on two manuscripts a month; and, besides, she knows nothing of building bridges. If I made a great success I might come to her, but--as I am now--no--no." He solemnly shook his head and flicked the ash from the imaginary cigarette. "Can you picture Lady Dorothy in a pretty little cottage outside New York, helping me to write--my constant inspiration--the mother of my children? Can you picture her sharing my discouragements; telling me I can write if the whole world says I cannot; believing in me when I've lost belief in myself? Can you see her motoring into New York with me, and the two of us dining at Rector's to celebrate the acceptance of a play? Would she be happy in such a life? No--no--no; as Euclid says, it 'is absurd.' By the way, my dear fellow, you might shift the grand piano, will you? It is resting on my knee." His voice trailed into silence, and he sank into a slumber. Twilight was throwing its cloak over the earth when he spoke again. His hand reached out, and she took it in both of hers. "I thought I was dying," he murmured. "I think I should have died there--in that ditch--but Dorothy--Dorothy--was beside me.... She held my hand when everything went dark--she wept a little.... It was only a dream, I know; but I lived. She must never know I loved her--because----" "Lawrence!" The word was low and stifled. "Lawrence"--that was all. Then she leaned over and kissed his lips. _Galatea had come to life._ XI