Frank Olliver, in defiance of a July sun, flitted restlessly in and out of the bungalow; and since Desmond would admit no one but the doctor to his wife's room, she found some measure of comfort in futile attempts to lighten Paul Wyndham's anxiety, and distract his thoughts; while the newly joined husband and wife, so strangely isolated in their moment of reunion, waited and hoped through the interminable hours, and snatched fugitive gleams of contentment from the fact that now, at least, they could suffer together. James Mackay, the regimental doctor, a crustacean type of Scot, came and went as frequently as his manifold duties would permit. On each occasion he was waylaid in the dining-room by Paul Wyndham, his face haggard with suffering; and on each occasion the little man's decisive headshake struck a fresh blow at the hope that took 'such an unconscionable time a-dying.' Finally he spoke his conviction outright. It was late afternoon, and Honor's strength and courage, though still flickering fitfully, were almost spent. "I'm doubting if we can do much more for her now," he said, when the door of her room had been quietly closed behind him. "It'll be no less than a miracle if she lasts through the night." "Have you told him that?" Wyndham asked in a voice of stunned quietness. "Man alive, no! 'Twould be no mortal use. _He_ won't give up hope till the last nail's in her coffin." Paul winced visibly, and by way of atonement for his bluntness, the other made haste to add: "If there's the remotest chance of pulling her through, Desmond 'll do it. You may swear to that. The man's just one concentrated, incarnate purpose." Wyndham set his lips, and turned away: and the Scotchman stood eyeing him keenly. "What sort of a tiffin did you have?" he asked with rough kindliness. "Oh, I don't know. Nothing much." "I thought so. Eat a good dinner, man. Starvation's no use to any one, and I don't want to have you back on my hands." With that he departed, and Wyndham had just decided on filling another pipe, since some pretence at occupation was imperative, when Meredith entered unannounced. A glance at his face showed Paul that he knew, and believed the worst; and for a moment they confronted one another in mute dismay. The Englishman's inability to put his heart into words has its pathetic aspect at times. These two men were linked by years of mutual work, and immediate mutual pain: yet Wyndham merely laid down his pipe and asked; "Have you seen Mackay?" "Yes. Met him on my way here. I'm going in to her at once." And Paul, picking up the discarded pipe, looked after him with envy and hunger in his eyes. Meredith knocked at the bedroom door. "Who's there?" Desmond's voice came sharp as a challenge. "John." "Come in, then." And he went in.