Rose looked at her, a little surprised. It was as if the kind little
nurse was speaking for the sake of speaking.

She went down the quiet house, past the door of the large ward where
the four other wounded officers now lay, all going on, she was glad to
know, very well, and all having had a visit from Mr. Jenkinson, the
London specialist.

She hurried on, smiling a little as she did so. She was no longer afraid
of Sir John Blake. In fact she was becoming very fond of him, though it
hurt her always to hear how sharply and irritably he spoke to his
gentle, yielding wife. Of course Lady Blake was very unreasonable
sometimes--but she was so helpless, so clinging, and so fond of Jervis.

And then, as she turned a corner--for "Robey's" consisted of three
houses, through each of which an intercommunication had been made--there
fell on Rose Otway's ear a very dreadful sound, that of some one crying
in wild, unbridled grief. The sound came from Mrs. Robey's little
sitting-room, and suddenly Rose heard her own mother's voice raised in
expostulation. She was evidently trying to comfort and calm the poor
stranger--doubtless the mother or wife of one of the four officers
upstairs. Two days ago one of these visitors had had something very like
a fit of hysterics after seeing her wounded husband. Rose shrank from
the memory. But this was worse--far worse. She hurried on into Mr.
Robey's study.

The study, which was a very agreeable room, overlooked the Close. It was
panelled with dark old oak, and lined on one side with books, and
opposite the centre window hung Mr. Robey's greatest treasure, a
watercolour by Turner of Witanbury Cathedral, painted from the meadows
behind the town.

To-day Mr. Robey himself was not there, but his brother and Sir John
Blake were both waiting for her. Eagerly she walked forward into the
room, and as she did so she made a delightful picture--or so those two
men, so very different the one from the other, thought--of youth, of
happiness, and yes, of young love satisfied.

Sir Jacques took a step forward. The General did not move at all. He was
standing with his back to the further window, his face in shadow.

"Now, Miss Rose, I want you to listen very carefully to me for a few
minutes."

She looked at him gravely. "Yes?" she said questioningly.

"I have asked you to come," went on the great surgeon, "because I want
to impress upon your mind the fact that how you behave at this juncture
of his