It needed no effort. The past came up of itself before me. Five years of soldiering in Afghanistan, the heights of Cherasiab, the march to Candahar, a medal, a clasp, a mention in dispatches. This was good. Then came that staff appointment at Simla, and the downward path. Life was so easy, so pleasant. I was always gregarious, fond of my fellow-creatures, easy-going; and as each day passed I slipped down lower and lower. There were other deeps to come, of which I then knew not. A lot of conscience was rubbed out of me by that time. Mrs. Cantilivre must answer for that. There again: the blame on the woman! But when a society belle makes up her mind to form a man, she takes a lot of the nap off the fine feelings. I tried to pull up once or twice, but the effort was beyond me. I drifted back again. Things that were formerly looked upon by me as luxuries became necessaries; I developed a taste for gambling, and got into debt. Pace of this kind could not last long. There came a day when I got ill, and then came furlough. A long spell of leave, with a load of debt on my shoulders; but my creditors were, to do them justice, very patient. The voyage gave me plenty of opportunity to reflect, and the folly of the past came before me vividly. I would bury the past, have done with Myra Cantilivre, and start afresh. England again! Words cannot describe the feelings that stirred me when I saw the Eddystone, with the big waves lashing about it. Arriving on Sunday, I had to spend the afternoon in Plymouth, and saw Drake looking out over the sea. All the old fire was warming back in my heart. There was time to mend all yet: when I got back I meant to win the cherry ribbon and bronze star--no more flirtation under the deodars for me--I would soldier again.