of asking you who she was.
But which was it she loved, Valiant or Sassoon?"

CHAPTER XVI

THE ECHO

When the major entered his room, Jereboam, his ancient body-servant, was
dawdling about putting things to rights, his seamed visage under his
white wool suggesting a charred stump beneath a crisp powdering of snow.
"Jedge Chalmahs done tellyfoam ter ax yo' ovah ter Gladden Hall ter
suppah ter-night, suh," he said. "De jedge 'low he gwine git eben wid
yo' fo' dat las' game ob pokah when yo' done lam him."

"Tell him not to-night, Jerry," said the other wearily. "Some other
time."

The old darky ruminated as he plodded down to the doctor's telephone.
"Whut de mattah now? He got dat ar way-off-yondah look ergen." He shook
his head forebodingly. "Ah heahed he hummin' dat tune when he dress
hisse'f dis mawnin'. Sing befo' yo' eat, cry befo' yo' sleep!"

The major had, indeed, a far-away look as he sat there, a heavy lonely
figure, that bright morning. It had slipped to his face with the news of
the arrival at Damory Court. He told himself that he felt queer. A
mocking-bird was singing in a tulip-tree outside, and the gray cat sat
on the window-sill, watching the foliage with blinking lust. There was
no breeze and the leaves of the Virginia creeper that curled about the
sash were trembling with the sensuous delight of the sunshine. Suddenly
he seemed to hear elfin voices close to his ear:

"_Which was it she loved? Valiant or Sassoon?_"

It was so distinct that he started, vexed and disturbed. Really, it was
absurd. He would be seeing things next! "Southall may be right about
that exercise," he muttered; "I'll walk more." He began the projected
reform without delay, striding up and down the room. But the little
voices presently sounded again, shouting like gnomes inside a hill:

"_Which was it? Valiant or Sassoon?_"

"I wish to God I knew!" said the major roughly, standing still. It
silenced them, but the sound of his own voice, as though it had been a
pre-concerted signal, drew together a hundred inchoate images of other
days. There was the well-ordered garden of Damory Court--it rose up,
gloomy with night shadows, across his great clothes-press against the
wall--with himself sitting on a rustic bench smoking and behind him
the candle-lighted library window with Beauty Valiant pacing up and
down, waiting for daylight. There was a sun-lighted stretch between
two hemlocks, with Southall and he measuring the