o _beg_ of you, if you get
out of this--an' I'm sure you will--they'll never kill _you_," said
Bertie adoringly, looking up at the grave, beautiful face that bent
over him--"I do _beg_ of you to make matters right with the
Y.M.C.A. I ain't taken away one penny of their money--I served 'em
faithfully up to the last day before I saw my chance of hooking it
across the lines--They must think me dead--and so must poor Nance,
my wife. For I haven't dared to write to any one since I've bin in
Belgium. But I did send her a line 'fore I started, sayin', 'Don't
be surprised if you get no letter from me for some time. I'll turn
up all right, you bet your boots--'

"That may 'ave kept 'er 'opin'. An' soon you'll be able to let 'er
know. Who can say? _I_ dunno! But Peace, you'd think, must come
soon--Seems like our poor old world is comin' to an end, don't it?
_What_ times we've 'ad--if you don't mind me puttin' it like that! I
remember when I had to be awful careful always to say 'Sir' to you,
and 'Mr. David' or 'Mr. Williams'"--and a roguish look, a gleam of
merriment came into Bertie's eyes, and he laughed a laugh that was
half sob. "If you was to write your life, no one 'ud believe it,
miss. It licks any novel I ever read--and I've read a tidy few,
looking after the Y.M.C.A. libraries....

"My! But you was wonderful as a pleader in the courts! I used
sometimes to reg'lar cry when I heard you takin' up the case of some
poor girl as 'ad bin deserted by 'er feller, and killed 'er baby.
'Tricks of the trade,' says some other barrister's clerk, sneerin'
because you wasn't 'is boss. An' then I'd punch 'is 'ead.... An' I
don't reckon myself a soft-'earted feller as a rule.... Reklect that
Shillito Case--?"

"_Don't_, Bertie! _Don't_ say such things in praise of me. I'm not
_worth_ such love. I'm just an arrogant, vain, quarrelsome woman....
Look how many people I've deceived, what little good I've really
done in the world--"

"Rub--bish! You done good wherever you went ... to my pore
mother--wonder, by the bye, what _she_ thinks and 'ow _she's_
gettin' on? Sons are awful ungrateful and forgettin'. What with
you--and Nance--and the little 'uns, I ain't scarcely give a thought
to poor mother. But you'll let her know, won't you, miss?...

"Think 'ow good you was to your old father down in Wales, 'im as you
called your father--an' 'oo's to say 'e wasn't? You never know....
Miss Warren! what a pity it is you never married. There's lo