prehension. Its beauty was unique, its colour as indescribable as
the crimson of an afterglow in the Valley.

She looked almost pitifully at Michael. She wished that the world was
a little less strange; some of the humdrum of her pantry-maid's
existence would be almost welcome.

"The saint carried it in his ear," he said. "He took it from
Akhnaton's treasure."

"Have you had it with you at the Front all this time?" Hadassah said.
Margaret's emotion touched her.

"Yes. But now it is for you, Meg. I will have it made into anything
you like, so that you can always wear it. It will be my
wedding-present, a jewel of Akhnaton."

"No, no!" Margaret said quickly. "You must take it, it belongs to you.
You must always carry it about with you, Mike--it is your talisman."
She stopped, for Michael had closed her fingers over the stone.

"But I want you to have it," he said. "Let it be my
wedding-gift--there is no time for the buying of presents."

"No," Margaret said. "Don't urge me, Mike. I shan't like it.
Hadassah, don't you agree with me?--he must never part with it!" She
smiled. "I should be terribly afraid if you did, I should think your
luck had deserted you. Dearest, do take it--I believe Akhnaton meant
you to keep it."

While she spoke she was longing to tell him of the hand which had
written, of her message. The words almost passed her lips, but again
she refrained, she obeyed her super-senses. She was convinced that
Michael, when his blood was up, ran terrible risks, that he was
reckless to the verge of folly. She had heard a letter read in the
hospital which had been written to a mother about her son. His Colonel
had said, "There are some men who will storm hell, there are others who
will follow, and there are some who will lag behind. Your son belongs
to the first of the three. What he needs to learn is caution and the
value in this war of officers as able as himself." Margaret knew that
Michael's rash nature needed no encouragement.

Hadassah championed Margaret. "I think you should keep it," she said
to Michael, "and give it to Margaret after the war."

They all laughed, not unmirthfully, and yet not happily. "After the
war!" they echoed in one voice. "Oh, that wonderful 'after'!"

"That promised land," Michael said. "Never mind--it's coming. The
labour and travail of the war will bring forth Liberty. The pains of
childbirth are soon forgotten--mothers know how soon, when the infa