Roy moved two or three paces away with him. “I say, tell me--what’s been the matter with him? He looks as if----” “Not well for some time, and sharp attack of illness a few weeks ago. He has walked the whole way here from Valenciennes. Got a horse for himself, and at the last gave it up to young Carey--a poor consumptive young fellow. Said Carey needed it most. Just like him, you know. And then carrying that child for hours yesterday and to-day!” “What for?” “Child’s father hurt his foot, and could barely get along. And the little thing cried with everybody except Ivor. You know his way with children. But he’s about used up now. Get him home, and make him rest.” Curtis went on, and Roy touched Denham’s arm. “I’ll get a fiacre to drive you up the hill. Stay where you are till I come back. There’s one near.” He rushed away, and happily was successful in his search. Ivor had taken his seat, when Major Woodgate walked briskly up. “Roy--got Ivor? That’s right,” he said in his quick fashion. “Don’t bring him to the citadel. I’ll go and answer for him, and fee the gendarmes, if needful. Just met Curtis, and heard what’s been going on. Done the hundred and fifty miles on foot, I’m told, and ill to begin with. A piece of Quixotism! I shall come and give you a bit of my mind, Ivor, another day. You don’t look up to understanding it now.” Denham laughed slightly, but made no effort to defend himself, and they drove off, Roy watching his restored friend with a rapt gaze. “Den, what was it for? Why didn’t you ride?” “I did intend. Somebody else was in more need.” “Couldn’t you have had a second horse?” “No. The order took everyone by surprise. Most of us were short of cash.” Roy thought of what Curtis had said. “And I suppose you gave what you had to everybody else, and kept none for yourself.” “I shared with others--of course--” “But you ought to have kept enough for riding. You’d no business--Den, you’re awfully used-up.” “When did you hear from me last?” “Oh, ages and ages ago. I began to think--Are you glad to come back?” “To my friend, Roy? Yes,” with an affectionate glance. “Isn’t it a beastly shame that I can’t be in the Army yet?” “Ah, that sounds like the Roy of old!” “But it is. A beastly shame. What made you carry that little girl?” “Her father fell lame, and she didn’t take to other people, I could not stand the wailing. He’s a good honest fellow--badly off through no fault of his own.” “Shame!” muttered Roy again. “What is the reason for your all being sent back now, I wonder?” “I don’t know.” Ivor seemed incapable of starting remarks himself; and Roy, realising his condition, sank into silence, unable still to take his eyes from that worn face. They reached the house, and he sprang down. “Shall I go and tell them?” “No--no need. I’ll come. Can you pay the driver? I’m cleared out completely.”