"It's to see 'Tonio, sir. I'm about the only friend he has left," and Harris would have ignored the proffered chair, but the general again indicated his wish, which meant compliance. "He'll need all he can get, I am afraid, my boy," and the answer was kind, even conciliatory. How was he ever going to admit to this uncompromising young campaigner that he had done him mighty wrong in his official despatch? Some time the boy must know it. Better know it through him, when it could be explained, perhaps condoned. They had exhausted the 'Tonio subject, so far as was possible between commander and subaltern. They had never yet talked it as man to man. When they did it would be on Archer's initiation, not that of Harris. The more the old soldier studied the young man the better he liked him. The less they discussed 'Tonio, the better Harris liked Archer. It was useless saying more. Harris silently took the chair at his senior's side and Archer continued: "If it would contribute to your strength as much as your peace of mind, I'd send you over in the forbidden ambulance, my boy"--how the voice trembled at the word that so often, so constantly in bygone days, was on his lips!--"but Bentley says 'not yet'--not even for a week, so what can an old fellow do?" "You are all that is kind--to me, general," was the grave answer, "and I hope to persuade Bentley before the paymaster goes back. If I do----" "If you do--that settles it---- What is it, dear?" he asked, half rising from his chair. Harris was already on his feet. Lilian, all in white, save the belt at her slim waist, stood at the doorway and had spoken. "Dr. Bentley asks that you come to him a moment, father. He is with--Mr. Willett." She saw who stood there by his side, and it was not so easy to say "Harold." Harris, bowing, would have backed from the veranda, but Archer interposed. "No, stay here awhile, lad; I--I want to talk with you. I'll be back in a moment." Very possibly he thought he could be. But the moment lengthened. Lilian had come slowly forth. Something had told her she was neither needed nor desired in the room just then. Even her mother, silently, had left the bedside and was hovering about the doorway. And now here was Harris. Lilian had matured a little, and paled not a little, in these few days of vigil and anxiety, but she was inexpressibly lovely as she stood and looked wistfully into his face. "You know he isn't quite so well to-day?" she said. "There's fever again. He craves ice so. What wouldn't I--we--give for some? What do you think he called me"--she gave a queer little nervous laugh--"just a moment ago as I was fanning him?"