"The letter--merely a postcard enclosed in an envelope--came by this afternoon's post--and as you can understand, it has frightfully upset us all. It is a sort of thing about which one cannot analyse one's feelings. John had a right to his life and we ought to be glad--but the idea of giving up Amaryllis--of having all the suffering and the parting again--Stepan, it is cruelly hard." Verisschenzko sat down in one of the big chairs, and Euterpe, the lesser tawny dog, came and pushed her nose into his hand. He patted her silky head absently. He was collecting his thoughts; the shock of this news was considerable and he must steady his judgment. "John wrote to her himself, you say? It is not a message through a third person--no?" "It appears to be in his own writing." Denzil stood leaning on the mantelpiece, and his face seemed to grow more haggard with each word. "Merely saying that he was taken prisoner by the enemy when they made the counter attack, and that he had been too ill to write or speak until now. I can't understand it--because they did not make the counter attack until after I was carried in--and even though I was unconscious then, the stretcher bearers must have seen John when they lifted me if he had been there. Nothing was found but his glasses and we concluded another shell had burst somewhere near his body after I was carried in. Stepan, I swear to God I saw him die." "It sounds extraordinary. Try to tell me every detail, Denzil." So the story of John's last moments was gone over again, and all the most minute events which had occurred. And at the end of it the two solid facts stood out incontrovertibly--John's body was never found, but Denzil had seen him die. "How long will it take to communicate with him, I wonder? We can through the American Ambassador, I suppose, because he gives no address. It must be awful for him lying there wounded with no news. I say this because I suppose I must accept his own writing, but I, cannot yet bring myself to believe that he can be alive." Verisschenzko was silent for a moment, then he asked: "May I see my Lady Amaryllis?" "Yes, she told me to bring you to her as soon as I should have explained to you the whole affair. Come now." They went up the stairs together, and they hardly spoke a word. And when they reached the cedar parlour Denzil let Verisschenzko go in in front of him. "I have brought Stepan to you," he told Amaryllis. "I am going to leave you to talk now." Amaryllis was white as milk and her grey eyes were disturbed and very troubled. She held out her two hands to Verisschenzko and he kissed them with affectionate worship. "Lady of my Soul!" "Oh! Stepan,--comfort me--give me counsel. It is such a terrible moment in my life. What am I to do?" "It is indeed difficult for you--we must think it all out--"