Comparing this instruction with the 'open letter,' I judged that the package contained more than one letter, but no further information was given. At the beginning of August two letters arrived by the same post. One was from Lorna Bolivick, and the other was from my friend. The latter was simply a command to get a few days off, and to come and see him. He wanted a chat badly, he said, and if I could not get away, he would come to me, but surely I was not so important that I couldn't be spared for a week-end, if not more. He also insisted that I must send him a wire at once. On opening Lorna's letter, I found practically the same request. The doctor had forbidden her resuming her nursing work for some months, she said, and had suggested that she should go to the seaside. But this she had refused to do, as she hated leaving her home. Besides, her brother Tom might come home on leave almost any day, and she wanted to be there to meet him. 'But you said you promised dad to pay us another visit as soon as you could,' her letter concluded, 'and I am writing to remind you of your promise. You told me you had some leave still due to you after your last visit, so why not come at once? The sooner the better.' She gave no special reason for asking me to come, but I read into her appeal a desire to tell me something, and perhaps to ask my advice. I therefore had a chat with my C.O., with the result that I started to see my friend the same day. On arriving at the station I found him on the platform awaiting me. 'Now this is sensible,' he cried with a laugh. 'This is something like dispatch. Come on, I have a motor outside. I suppose you will trust me to drive you.' 'You look fit, anyhow,' I said. 'Fit as a fiddle,' he replied. 'I go back to the front in four days.' He looked years younger than when I had first seen him. The old wistful look in his eyes had almost entirely gone, while the parchment-like skin had become almost as smooth and ruddy as that of a boy. 'Oh, it has been glorious,' he said. 'I've taken the little mother to all sorts of places, and dad declares she looks twenty years younger. More than once we've been taken for lovers.' 'And your memory, Jack?' 'Sound as a bell. Wonderful, isn't it? Sometimes I'm almost glad I went through it all. After--after--years of darkness and loneliness, to emerge suddenly into the light! To have a mother, and a father, and--a home!' 'And you and your father get on well together?' 'Yes, in a way. But I have a lot to tell you about that. Here we are!' I shall not attempt to describe Jack Carbis's home, nor the welcome I received. Had I been their son, Lord and Lady Carbis could not have received me with greater joy. It was not until late that Jack and I were able to be alone, but at length when the others had gone to bed we found ourselves in a kind of snuggery which had been especially set apart for his own personal use.