“It is arranged. You shall go,” he said when he came back. “A machine will be here in a moment.” He paused, examining her doubtfully. She was spattered with grease and oil, but the pallor of her face beneath its grime showed that her strength was near its end. “Wouldn’t you trust those dispatches to me? It’s ten miles to headquarters and rough.” “No--no, I will go. I promised.” But he ordered some hot coffee and bread, and thus fortified, when the motor came around she was driven upon her way. The young officer sat beside her, eagerly listening, while she gave him a brief outline of their adventures. “Amazin’!” he said from time to time. “Most amazin’!” And then as she went on, he said quietly: “You’re goin’ on your nerve, I think. Better save your strength until we get to headquarters. It isn’t far now.” She tried to keep silent, but it seemed as though she must go on talking. That seemed to give her strength to complete her task, for when she sank back in her seat and tried to relax she only grew weak thinking of Cyril lying back there, hovering between life and death. And then she heard herself saying aloud, “He will not die. He has gone through too much to die now.” The man beside her glanced down at her and smiled gently. “No, he isn’t going to die. Bullets don’t kill nowadays--unless they kill at once.” “Yes--yes,” she assented. “That’s it. If he had been going to die, he would have been dead now, wouldn’t he?” She laid her hand eagerly on the young officer’s arm and he put his hand over hers. “Palmerston is the best surgeon along this part of the line. He’ll pull him through. Don’t you worry.” “I won’t--I’ll try not to--you’re awfully kind. Would you mind telling me your name?” “Jackson. Second Leinster Dragoons. And yours?” “Mather--Doris Mather. I--I don’t want to forget your name. You’ve been very good to understand everything so perfectly.” “Oh, it’s nothing. There are reasons--I’m on Headquarters Staff, you know.” That was one reason. But another one was that there was a girl at home just as much worried over his wound as Miss Mather was over Hammersley’s. They passed from the rough roads between gates into a smoother one which was bordered with poplars. At the end in front of her she saw lights and reached a doorway, where an orderly opened the door of the machine and saluted her companion. Their arrival, it seemed, was expected. Captain Jackson took her by the arm and led her indoors, for her courage or her nerves seemed to be failing her again, down a quiet hall into a room where an officer with a gray mustache sat before a lighted lamp at a table covered with papers. She recognized him at once from the many portraits that had appeared in the weekly papers. He spoke to her and she tried to reply, but she could not. She seemed only to have strength enough to thrust the papers forward into his hand, when her knees gave way under her and she sank in a heap upon the floor.