anged from
the old days. Because he might have been a stick or a stone instead of
a man for all I cared, he was piqued, I suppose. He told mother that he
meant to make me fall in love with him and marry him when the war was
over. And when he had gone back to the front again, she repeated what
he had said to me. You see, she didn't know how I had loved _the
other_, so she was surprised at the way I took the message. I couldn't
help showing that I was angry because he had _dared_. He wrote to me
later, more than once, but I didn't answer his letters.

"Months afterwards, he was horribly wounded. As he had no near
relatives, he asked to have us sent for, to Boulogne. He was supposed
to be dying, and we couldn't refuse to go. We never thought of
refusing. It seemed to do him good to see us, and he grew better. His
one wish, he said, was to die in England. We brought him back--a
dreadful journey. He grew worse again on the way, and we were obliged
to stop at Folkestone for two weeks. Then we got him to London, to see
a great specialist for spinal operations. The surgeon said that such an
operation as would have to be made--if any--might kill, and could not
cure. At best, if he lived, my cousin would be an invalid for the rest
of his life. Still, without an operation, he must surely die. It would
be just a question of a few weeks. My cousin had to be told this by
some one, and the surgeon thought the news of such a verdict had better
be broken to him by a person he cared for. Mother felt unable to bear
the strain, after all she had gone through. She isn't strong, and since
last August she has changed very much. It seems as if, now that I'm
'provided for' (as she says), she had let herself go. That day, when
she asked if I would tell my cousin what the surgeon said, I was
frightened about her, she trembled so much and suddenly turned so
deathly pale, with bluish lips, and blue circles round her eyes.
Without an instant's hesitation I promised to speak to my cousin. But I
didn't realize what the scene would be like, or I could hardly have
faced it. In his weakness he broke down, as I never saw any one else
break down. He said, if there was no hope of his being made into a man
again, what good would it bring him to be cut up and hacked about by a
surgeon? Besides, the specialist was the most expensive operator in
England, and he couldn't afford such a costly experiment. The simplest
thing would be to put a revolver to his head,