“Let us understand one another now.  I haven’t the slightest atom of—­regard—­left for you.  I have no desire to see you, to hear of you again while I am alive.  That is final.”

“Will you tell me why?”

She had turned to go; now she hesitated, silent, irresolute.

“Will you tell me, Ailsa?”

She said, wearily:  “If you insist, I can make it plainer, some time.  But this is not the time. . .  And you had better not ask me at all, Philip.”

“I do ask you.”

“I warn you to accept your dismissal without seeking an explanation.  It would spare—­us both.”

“I will spare neither of us.  What has changed you?”

“I shall choose my own convenience to answer you,” she replied haughtily.

“Choose it, then, and tell me when to expect your explanation.”

“When I send for you; not before.”

“Are you going to let me go away with that for my answer?”

“Perhaps.”

He hooked his thumbs in his girdle and looked down, considering; then, quietly raising his head: 

“I don’t know what you have found out—­what has been told you.  I have done plenty of things in my life unworthy of you, but I thought you knew that.”

“I know it now.”

“You knew it before.  I never attempted to conceal anything.”

A sudden blue glimmer made her eyes brilliant.  “That is a falsehood!” she said deliberately.  The colour faded from his cheeks, then he said with ashy composure: 

“I lie much less than the average man, Ailsa.  It is nothing to boast of, but it happens to be true.  I don’t lie.”

“You keep silent and act a lie!”

He reflected for a moment; then: 

“Hadn’t you better tell me?”

“No.”

Then his colour returned, surging, making the scar on his face hideous; he turned, walked to the window, and stood looking into the darkness while the departing glimmer of her candle faded on the wall behind him.

Presently, scraping, ducking, chuckling, the old darky appeared with his boots and uniform, everything dry and fairly clean; and he dressed by lantern light, buckled his belt, drew on his gloves, settled his forage cap, and followed the old man out into the graying dawn.

They gave him some fresh light bread and a basin of coffee; he finished and waited, teeth biting the stem of his empty pipe for which he had no tobacco.

Surgeons, assistant surgeons, contract physicians, ward-masters, nurses, passed and re-passed; stretchers filed into the dead house; coffins were being unloaded and piled under a shed; a constant stream of people entered and left the apothecary’s office; the Division Medical Director’s premises were besieged.  Ambulances continually drove up or departed; files of sick and wounded, able to move without assistance, stood in line, patient, uncomplaining men, bloody, ragged, coughing, burning with fever, weakened for lack of nourishment; many crusted with filth and sometimes with vermin, humbly awaiting the disposition of their battered, half-dead bodies. . . .