er he left Cornwall that he
joined a London regiment; of course, it was only hearsay, and I paid
but very little attention to it--in fact, I didn't believe it! Still,
it might be he."

The girl's lips became tremulous: "Do you mean that, after all, Bob
joined?"

"He might have," admitted Trevanion, and his voice was almost husky as
he spoke, and his eyes became hard.

"No, no," she cried, "It couldn't have been he. If he had, he would
have told me--I am sure he would."

"Would he?" asked Trevanion.

She stood silent for a few seconds without speaking. She remembered
the circumstances under which she had parted from Bob; she called to
mind the time when she had given him a white feather in the Public Hall
at St. Ia, and her face crimsoned with shame at the thought of it. No
one could offer a more deadly insult than she had offered Bob. She had
branded him as a coward, regardless of who might be looking on. No,
no, even if he had joined, he would not have told her; his heart would
be too bitter against her. Why--why, he must hate her now!

"I say, Nancy," and Trevanion's voice was hoarse with pain, "you don't
mean to tell me that you care anything about him still? You know what
you said; you told me you despised him, and--and, why, you almost told
me to hope! Don't you remember?"

The girl's face was set and stern; she did not hear Trevanion's last
words; she was wondering with a great wonder.

"Do you know anything besides what you have told me?" she asked.

"I don't understand," he stammered.

"You said it might be he, as though there were a doubt about it; don't
you know for certain? You've seen Captain Pringle; did you see him
after you recovered consciousness, that is, after you were rescued?"

"Yes, but of course I scarcely knew what was said to me."

"And did Captain Pringle tell you it was--was--the Nancarrow we knew?"

"He said it was Nancarrow from Clifton, and--and that he had done the
bravest thing since the war began; but everything was vague to me.
I--I, of course, didn't believe it was Nancarrow; you know what he
said? But, I say, Nancy, all this makes no difference to us, does it?
You didn't raise my hopes only to dash them to the ground! I shall be
off to the front again in a few days, and--oh, if you could give me
just a word--just a word, Nancy, everything would be different! Hang
it all, even if it is he, and, of course, if it is, I shall not be slow
in acknowledging it, I