Berkley’s face became ashen.

Colonel Arran said:  “Is there punishment more terrible than that for any man?”

Presently Berkley drew his chair closer.

“I wish you to know how mother died,” he said simply.  “It is your right to know. . . .  Because, there will come a time when she and—­you will be together again . . . if you believe such things.”

“I believe.”

For a while the murmur of Berkley’s voice alone broke the silence.  Colonel Arran lay with eyes closed, a slight flush on his sunken cheeks; and, before long, Berkley’s hand lay over his and remained there.

The brilliant, ominous flies whirled overhead or drove headlong against the window-panes, falling on their backs to kick and buzz and scramble over the sill; slippered attendants moved softly along the aisle with medicines; once the ward-master came and looked down at Colonel Arran, touched the skin of his face, his pulse, and walked noiselessly away.  Berkley’s story had already ended.

After a while he said:  “If you will get well—­whatever I am—­we two men have in common a memory that can never die.  If there were nothing else—­God knows whether there is—­that memory is enough, to make us live at peace with one another. . . .  I do not entirely understand how it is with me, but I know that some things have been washed out of my heart—­leaving little of the bitterness—­nothing now of anger.  It has all been too sad for such things—­a tragedy too deep for the lesser passions to meddle with. . . .  Let us forgive each other. . . .  She will know it, somehow.”

Their hands slowly closed together and remained.

“Philip!”

“Sir?”

“Ailsa is here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you say to her that I would like to see her?”

For a moment Berkley hesitated, then rose quietly and walked into the adjoining ward.

Ailsa was bending over a sick man, fanning away the flies that clustered around the edge of the bowl from which he was drinking.  And Berkley waited until the patient had finished the broth.

“Ailsa, may I speak to you a moment?”

She had been aware of his entrance, and was not startled.  She handed the bowl and fan to an attendant, turned leisurely, and came out into the aisle.

“What is it?”

“Colonel Arran wishes to see you.  Can you come?”

“Certainly.”

She led the way; and as she walked he noticed that all the lithe grace, all the youth and spring to her step had vanished.  She moved wearily; her body under the gray garb was thin; blue veins showed faintly in temple and wrist; only her superb hair and eyes had suffered no change.

Colonel Arran’s eyes opened as she stooped at his bedside and laid her lips lightly on his forehead.

“Is there another chair?” he asked wearily.

Ailsa’s glance just rested on Berkley, measuring him in expressionless disdain.  Then, as he brought another chair, she seated herself.