"Theo, let's go and meet her at Ma.r.s.eilles!" he said eagerly, "and see her safe into the express. It would please Meredith--and her too."

For the fraction of a second, an answering eagerness glowed in Desmond's eyes; then vanished, leaving his face a politely interested mask. But Paul had seen the flash and pressed his point accordingly.

"Of _course_ you'll come, Theo. A sight of her will do us both good.

I'm glad I thought of it."

"So am I," Desmond agreed, without a particle of gladness in his level tone. "But--you can leave me out of the programme. One of us is enough--for all that is needed; and it's only right it should be you."

"I don't quite follow the logic of that."

Desmond's set face softened to a smile. "Don't you, old man? Then you must take my word for it."

In spite of that smile Paul heard the note of finality in his friend's voice and said no more.

On the appointed morning he set out alone to meet the ship, pain and elation contending in his heart. But when, at last, he set eyes on Honor Meredith, and saw her whole face lighten at sight of him, complexities were submerged in a flood-tide of simple, human joy.

But the exalted moment was short-lived. He could not fail to see how, instinctively, her glance travelled beyond him; how her lower lip was indrawn for the s.p.a.ce of a heart-beat; and when their hands met, he, as instinctively, answered her thought.

"I couldn't persuade Theo to come. He is still difficult to rouse or move. The news of your father did seem to stir him and I am hoping he will write."

She let out her breath unsteadily. "Oh, if he only would! This interminable silence seems--so inhuman. In a way, I understand it; but the others, out there, are getting terribly unhappy over it; John and Frank more than all. _You_ don't think--do you--that there is really any fear----?"

The look in her eyes recalled that terrible night of March when they two had watched over Theo in turn; and Paul knew that now--as then--she craved no cheap consolation, but the truth.

"There have been bad moments," he admitted, "when one was afraid----But now I honestly believe that he _will_ fight again and live again with his old zest; and I want you to believe it too, with all your heart."

"I will believe it--with all my heart," she answered very low and steadily. "Have you any plans--beyond Le Trayas?"

"Nothing definite. I just keep my eye on him and act accordingly. In April, I think Bellagio would be a sound move. There, if anywhere, the call of the spring should prove irresistible. At least it's a prescription worth trying."

She smiled; and, even in smiling, he noted the pathetic droop of her eyelids and the corners of her lips.

"How wise you are for him, Paul! And you _will_ come home for a little before going back?"

"I hope so, devoutly, if Bellagio proves a success."

The crowd about them, surging chaotically to and fro, recalled them to prosaic considerations of luggage and a corner seat in the express, which Paul--unhurried yet singularly efficient--did not fail to secure. That done, Honor was confided to the care of an a.s.siduous guard, and was supplied with fruit, chocolate, and more newspapers than she could possibly digest;--trifling services which the girl, in her great loneliness, rated at their true value.

By that time the platform had emptied its contents into the high, dingy-looking carriages of the Paris-Lyons Express. A gong clanged.

Honor put out an ungloved hand and had some ado not to wince before it was released.

"Thank you--for everything," she murmured, sudden tears starting to her eyes. "I only wish Theo could have come too!"

"I'll tell him that. It may do him good!"

In spite of herself the blood flew to her cheeks. But before she could answer, the train jolted forward--and she was gone.

Paul Wyndham stood a long while motionless, looking into empty s.p.a.ce; then, with a sensible jar, he came very completely back to earth.

It was near sunset when he reached their haven of refuge, a small hotel set in a rocky garden overlooking the sea. No sign of Theo within doors,--and Paul strolled down the narrow pathway that led to his friend's favourite seat. There, at the far end, leaning upon the bal.u.s.trade, he sighted an unmistakable figure black against a blazing heaven rippled with light clouds that gave promise of greater glory to come.

Footsteps behind him roused Desmond. He started and turned about with a new eagerness that was balm to the heart of his friend.

"Ah--_there_ you are! It's been a long day." His eyes scanned Wyndham's face. "You've seen her?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes--I have seen her."

"How did she look? Well?"

"She looked very beautiful," Paul answered simply, an odd thrill in his voice. "But not--not like her old self. One can see--she has suffered."

Desmond bit his lip and turned away again. A sudden mist blurred the sunset splendour, the bronze and purple iridescence of the sea. Paul went on speaking.

"She sent you a message, Theo--she wished you had come too."

"Did she? That was kind of her.--Sir John no worse?"

"Apparently not. She will write from Mavins."

"Good."

He leaned on the bal.u.s.trade as before and tacitly dismissed the subject; but Wyndham, regarding him thoughtfully, and remembering Honor's tell-tale blush, fell to dreaming of a golden future for these two who were dearer to him than his own soul.

Suddenly Desmond spoke again in an altered tone.

"Paul--I've been thinking----"

"Have you, indeed! You do very little else these days. What's the outcome?"

"Nothing brilliant. Quite the reverse. I'm a coward at heart. That's all about it."

Paul smiled as a mother might smile at the vagaries of a beloved child.

"Can't say I've seen any symptoms of the disease myself."

"Well--you're going to, old man, plain as daylight. It's like this----" he squared his shoulders with a jerk and thrust both hands into his pockets. "I can't face--going back to Kohat. I've suspected it for some time. Now I know it. There's too much--that is to say--there _are_ reasons. Pretty big ones. But they don't bear talking of. Think me a broken-backed cornstalk if you must. It'll hurt. But it can't be helped."

For an instant Paul's heart stood still. Then: "Don't talk that brand of nonsense to me, old man," he said gently. "But if you really can't go back--what then?"

"I said--to Kohat. The reliefs will take us to Dera in the autumn.

Well--I want to work another six months on urgent private affairs----"

he tried to smile. "Do you think the Colonel will come within a hundred miles of understanding and be persuaded to back me up?"

"I think, just at present, he would be loth to refuse you anything, Theo. But still----"

"Well--_what?_"