ng
for a brigadier!" He came forward, holding out his hand. "I am glad to
see you. Welcome to Camp Ewell!"

Cleave's hand made no motion from his side. "Thank you," he said. "It
is good when a man can feel that he is truly welcome."

The other was not dull, nor did he usually travel by indirection. "You
will not shake hands," he said. "I think we have not been thrown
together since that wretched evening at Bloomery Gap. Do you bear malice
for that?"

"Do you think that I do?"

The other shrugged. "Why, I should not have thought so. What is it,
then?"

"Let us go where we can speak without interruption. The woods down
there?"

They moved down one of the forest aisles. The earth was carpeted with
dead leaves from beneath which rose the wild flowers. The oak was
putting forth tufts of rose velvet, the beech a veil of pale and satiny
green. The sky above was blue, but, the sun being low, the space beneath
the lacing boughs was shadowy enough. The two men stopped beside the
bole of a giant beech, silver-grey, splashed with lichens. "Quiet enough
here," said Stafford. "Well, what is it, Richard Cleave?"

"I have not much to say," said Cleave. "I will not keep you many
moments. I will ask you to recall to mind the evening of the seventeenth
of last April."

"Well, I have done so. It is not difficult."

"No. It would, I imagine, come readily. Upon that evening, Maury
Stafford, you lied to me."

"I--"

"Don't!" said Cleave. "Why should you make it worse? The impression
which, that evening, you deliberately gave me, you on every after
occasion as deliberately strengthened. Your action, then and since,
brands you, sir, for what you are!"

"And where," demanded Stafford hoarsely, "where did you get this
precious information--or misinformation? Who was at the pains to
persuade you--no hard matter, I warrant!--that I was dealing falsely?
Your informant, sir, was mistaken, and I--"

A shaft of sunshine, striking between the boughs, flooded the space in
which they stood. It lit Cleave's head and face as by a candle closely
held. The other uttered a sound, a hard and painful gasp. "You have seen
her!"

"Yes."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No. She does not know why I misunderstood. Nor shall I tell her."

"You have seen her--You are happy?"

"Yes, I am happy."

"She loves you--She is going to marry you?"

"Yes."

The wood stood very quiet. The shaft of light drew up among the boughs.
Stafford leaned against