“Quite. You can put it out of your head. Even if your limb were sound you’d never catch him now. With the morning they go abroad.” “Where to?” “Honestly, I don’t know.” “You found him the funds?” “Yes.” He groaned and turned his face away for a moment. I busied myself over his bruised ankle. Presently he said: “How long am I to lie here?” “Till I can see to cut you a stick from the hedge. You wouldn’t be able to limp a step without one.” “Very well. Will you sit by me?” “As long as you like.” “I have no likes or dislikes now, Renny, and only one hate.” “We won’t talk of that.” “Not now. This field is the neutral ground. Once outside it, the armistice ends.” “Duke!” “How can it be otherwise, Renny, my old friend? Are you going to back me in the chase? Unless you do, you must see that it is impossible for us to come together.” “I see nothing--feel nothing, but a vast, interminable sorrow, Duke.” “And I--you have a gentle hand, Renny. So had she. She bound up my wrist for me once, when I had crushed it in the galley-puller. Shall we recall those days?” My heart swelled to hear him in this softened mood, as I thought. Alas! It was only a brief interval of lucidity in his madness. “Ah, if we could look beyond!” I finally answered, with a deep sigh. “We can--we do. Imagination isn’t guided by rule of thumb. Even here the promise dawns slowly. Scabs are thickest on the body when it’s healing of its fever. They will fall off by and by, for all the dismal shrieks that degeneration has seized us.” He closed his eyes and lay back upon his hands once more. “Imagination? Was this ever my world? There is a wide green forest, and the murmur of its running brooks is all of faces sweet as flowers and voices that I know, for I heard them long ago in a time before I existed here. And I walk on, free forever of the aching past; the eternity of most beautiful possibilities and discoveries before me; joyous all through but for one sad little longing that encumbers me. Not for long--no, not for long. On a lawn fragrant with loving flowers and gathered here and there to deep silence by the stooping shadows, I come upon her--my love; my dear, dear love. And she kisses the sorrow from my eyes, and holds me to her and whispers, ‘You have come at last.’” His voice broke with a sob. Glancing at him, I saw the tears running down his cheeks. This grief was sacred from word of mine. I rose softly and set to pacing the meadow at a little distance. By and by, when I returned, I saw him sitting up. The mood had passed, but he was still gentle and human. Till dawn was faint in the sky we sat and talked the dark hours away. The sun had risen and Duke was watching something in the grass, when suddenly he shook himself and turned to me. “Cut me my stick, Renny,” he said. “The pilgrim must be journeying.” “Come home with me, Duke.” He shook his head.