ht--the glorious
Nike--the Eros--the noble sketch of the boy in his cricketing
dress....

* * * * *

The following morning came a telegram from Aubrey Mannering to Mrs.
Gaddesden. Elizabeth had done her best to propitiate her but she
remained cold and thorny, and when the telegram came she was pleased
that the news came to her first, and--tragic as it was--that
Elizabeth had to ask her for it!

'Terrible wounds. Fear no hope. We shall bring him home as soon as
possible.'

But an hour later arrived another--from the Squire to Elizabeth.

'Have a bed got ready in the library. Desmond's wish. Also
accommodation near for surgeon and nurses. May be able to cross
to-morrow. Will wire.'

But it was nearly two days before the final message arrived--from
Pamela to her sister. 'Expect us 7.20 to-night.'

By that time the ground-floor of the west wing had been transformed
into a temporary ward with its adjuncts, under the direction of a
Fallerton doctor, who had brought Desmond into the world and pulled
him through his childish illnesses. Elizabeth had moved most of the
statues, transferred the Sargent sketch to the drawing-room, and put
all the small archaeological litter out of sight. But the Nike was
too big and heavy to be moved, and Elizabeth remembered that Desmond
had always admired 'the jolly old thing' with its eager outstretched
wings and splendid brow. Doctor Renshaw shook his head over the
library as a hospital ward, and ordered a vast amount of meticulous
cleaning and disinfection.

'No hope?' he said, frowning. 'How do we know? Anyway there shall be
no poison I can help.' But the boy's wish was law.

On the afternoon before the arrival, Elizabeth was seized with
restlessness. When there was nothing more to be done in the way of
hospital provision (for which a list of everything needed had been
sent ahead to Doctor Renshaw)--of flowers, of fair linen--and when,
in spite of the spring sun shining in through all the open windows
on the bare spotless boards, she could hardly bear the sight and
meaning of the transformation which had come over the room, she
found herself aimlessly wandering about the big house, filled with a
ghostly sense of past and future. What was to be the real meaning of
her life at Mannering? She could not have deserted the Squire in the
present crisis. She had indeed no false modesty as to what her help
would mean, practically, to this household under the