nly thing I've cared
for--for months. Why, you---you are everything to me. I'm not a
clever fellow, I know that--but--but--I can fight, Nancy. And it's all
for you."

Nancy stood still a few seconds, evidently fighting with herself. She
knew she could not in honour promise even what Trevanion had asked for
without telling him the truth. And this was terribly difficult. She
felt that he had a right to know, and yet it was like sacrilege to tell
him.

"You see," went on the Captain, "your father----!"

"Stop!" cried the girl; "before you say any more, I must tell you
something. It's very hard, but I must. I said there was no one else,
but that's not--true."

"Not true! Then, then----"

"There was some one else, although it's--all over."

"But, but who? No, forgive me for asking. I've no right to ask.
Besides, you say--that--that it's a thing of the past."

"You have a right to ask if--if----"

"If what? Tell me who--if you think it fair of me to ask."

"Can't you guess?"

"There can be no one, except--I say, Nancy, you can't mean Nancarrow?"

She nodded her head.

"But, Nancy--that--that----"

"Don't, please. I loved him--at least I thought I did, and--and we
were engaged. If--if--that is, but for the war, he would have spoken
to father by this time, and--and everything would have been made known.
When--he played the coward, I found out my mistake, and I told him so."

"Great heavens, yes! It was, of course, only a foolish fancy. A girl
like you could never seriously care for that class of man."

"I am ashamed of myself when I think of him," and Nancy's voice was
hoarse as she spoke. "In a way I feel contaminated. If there is
anything under heaven that I despise, it's a coward. I want to forget
that I--I ever thought of him. I want to drive him from my mind."

"And that is what keeps you from promising me anything. But surely you
do not care for him now. Why--why, you couldn't! The fellow who could
show the white feather at such a time as this, and then try and cover
up his cowardice by all that religious humbug, is not of your class,
Nancy. He's a rank outsider. I'm sorry I was ever friends with him.
Your father told me he was mad with himself for ever allowing him
inside the house."

"That's why I'm so ashamed of----"

"We'll drive him from our minds, Nancy. There, he's done with. He's
not worthy of a thought. You owe it to yourself, to your name, your
country, to bani