u
could tell them things they'd love to hear--and some would be true
things. You were in the hospital close to St. Raphael for months, while
Jimmy Beckett was in the training camp. Who's to say you didn't meet? If
you'd been engaged to him since that day years ago, you certainly would
have met. No rules could have kept you apart. Go to them--go to them--or
if you're afraid, write a note, and ask if they'll receive you. If they
refuse, no harm will have been done."

Maybe, even then, if I'd stopped to tell myself what a wicked, cruel
plan it was, I should have given it up. But it seemed a burning
inspiration, and I knew that I must act upon it at once or never.

I subsided into my chair again, and softly, very softly, hitched it
closer to the table which pretended to be a writing-desk. Inside a
blotting-pad were a few sheets of hotel stationery and envelopes. My
stylographic pen glided noiselessly over the paper. Now and then I
glanced over my shoulder at Brian, and he was still fast asleep, looking
more like an angel than a man. You know my nickname for him was always
"Saint" because of his beautiful pure face, and the far-away look in his
eyes. Being a soldier has merely bronzed him a little. It hasn't carved
any hard lines. Being blind has made the far-away things he used to see
come near, so that he walks in the midst of them.

I wrote quickly and with a dreadful kind of ease, not hesitating or
crossing out a single word.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Beckett," I began (because I meant to
address my letter to both). "I've just heard that you have
come over from America, only in time to learn of your great loss.
Is it an intrusion to tell you that your loss is mine too? I dearly
loved your son. I met him nearly four years ago, when my
brother and I were travelling in France and Belgium. Our
meeting was the romance of my life. I hardly dare to think
he told you about it. But a few months ago I took up nursing
at the Hopital des Epidemies, near St. Raphael. As you know,
he was there training. He sent us a cheque for our sufferers; and
what was fated to happen did happen. We met again. We
loved each other. We were engaged. He may have written
to you, or he may have waited till he could tell you by word of
mouth.

"I am in Paris, as you will see by this address. My soldier
brother has lost his sight. I brought him here in the hope
of a cure by your great American specialist Dr. Cuyler, but