'Maurice St. Mabyn,' he repeated, 'Maurice St. Mabyn. It might be a name I heard when I was a kiddy, but--no.' 'Norah Blackwater.' I uttered the name suddenly, impressively, and I thought I saw his lips tremble, and certainly his eyes had a far-away look. He was like a man trying to see in a great darkness, trying to outline objects which were invisible to the natural eye. 'That seems like a dream name. Who is she? Why do you ask about her?' 'I am trying to help you,' I said. 'She is a lady I met at the house of Sir Roger Granville. She must be about twenty-five, perhaps not quite so old, a tall, stylish-looking girl. I expect by this time she is engaged to a fellow called George St. Mabyn. He is a brother to Maurice, who was killed in Egypt.' 'Maurice killed in Egypt!' he repeated. 'Yes. I think Maurice had a friend called Springfield.' 'I remember that,--Springfield. Springfield,--Springfield.' For a moment there was a change in his voice, a change, too, in the look of his eyes. At least I thought so. I could fancy I detected anger, contempt; but perhaps it was only fancy, and it was only for a moment. 'A tall, dark fellow. He has rather a receding forehead, black hair streaked with grey, a thin, somewhat cadaverous-looking face, deep-set eyes, a scar on his cheek, just below his right temple.' He laughed again. 'By Jove, sir,' he said, 'you might be describing a man I know. I seem to see his face as plainly as I see yours. I don't think I like him, either, but--but--no, it has gone, gone! Have you any suspicions about me? Have _you_ found out anything?' 'No,' I said, 'I have found out nothing. But I have a hundred suspicions. You see, you interested me tremendously when I saw you first, and I wondered greatly about you. I was awfully disappointed when I could not find you.' 'Why should you want to find me?' he asked. 'Because I told some one about you, and she got tremendously interested. She got angry with me because I had lost sight of you.' 'Who was she, sir?' 'Her name is Lorna Bolivick, and, I say,--I have something to show you.' And I searched in my tunic until I had found the previous year's diary in which I had written the promise. 'There,' I said, and opened the diary at May 29. 'And this girl was interested in me, was she?' Our conversation suddenly terminated at that moment, as an urgent message reached me that my colonel wanted to see me. A few minutes later I learnt that little short of a calamity had befallen us; that the Germans had broken into some trenches which had lately been taken, and that there was imminent danger of some of our best positions falling into their hands. Twelve hours later, the danger was averted; but it was at a frightful cost. It was reported to me that a battalion was largely decimated, and the positions which we ought to have gained remained in the hands of the enemy.