"It is easier to have one’s men folk killed in wars, Neil," she said in a low voice. "Last week Lady Eden was bewailing Archie’s death, even though she had his little V.C. on the table beside her. I could have cried out to her to go down on her knees and thank God because he is safe from all hurt and evil. She does not begin to know the meaning of sorrow, as we know it here. I have only one consolation--that my father will never now be able to grasp the real meaning of what has happened. You’ll have to help me to keep it from him--to talk and to act as if nothing out of the common had occurred; and you must promise to come and to bring Kitty to see us at Creagh." "At Creagh!" cried Drummond aghast. "You don’t mean to say that you are going to bury yourselves in that God-forsaken hole? Oh, my dear, Garrion may be bad, but at least it is get-at-able. Shut up in Creagh, with the General and with Malcolm when he comes home!--it will be the death of you, Isla." "No, no, I take a lot of killing. Do be a bit more cheerful, Neil. I’m sure you must have thought the Americans quite nice people. He is charming, I think. He builds bridges in America, and Cattanach says that he is a man of genius." "He may build what he likes, but if he comes to Achree, whatever the price he pays, he commits the unpardonable sin," he said sourly. "Don’t let us talk about him. I’m waiting for an answer to my question. It isn’t much I ask, Isla. I promise not to molest you or to beg for your love, though I’ll do my best to win it. Why is it that you won’t believe in me?" "Oh, I do, Neil. It is because I like you so much that I won’t marry you," she answered frankly, but a little wearily. "You deserve something so much better than a half-hearted wife." "I’d rather have the half or the quarter of you than the whole of any other woman," he made answer in the reckless way of the lover. "At least, promise me that if you should change your mind, that if things should get desperate, you’ll come to me? A word will be enough, Isla--even a look. I’ll fly to your bidding on the wings of the wind." "Oh, Neil, I wish that all this eloquence and this devotion could be given to a better woman----" "She doesn’t exist," put in the lover stoutly. "Now, tell me about Malcolm. What is the meaning of this horrible thing that has happened, and who told you?" "He told me himself in last week’s letter. Oh, yes--he minds, of course, but he thinks he has been unjustly treated. Somebody is always treating Malcolm unjustly, you know; and, whatever happens, it is always another person’s fault." "But it must be very serious, my dear. Has there been any other communication--anything from his Colonel, or the War Office for the General?"