t the
kitchen would hear the news as quickly as the ex-sergeant could get
there.

Norah read the letter over again, slowly, and folded it up. Then she
turned from the house, and went slowly across the lawn. At the sweep
of the drive there was a path that made a short cut across the park to
a stile, and her feet turned into it half-unconsciously.

The dull apathy that had clogged her brain for weeks was suddenly
gone. She felt no pleasure in the prospect that would once have been
so joyful, of seeing Wally. Instead her whole being was seething with
a wild revolt. Wally's coming had always meant Jim. Now he would
come alone, and Jim could never come again.

"It isn't fair!" she said to herself, over and over. "It isn't fair!"

She came to the stile, and paused, looking over it into a quiet lane.
All her passionate hunger for Jim rose within her, choking her. She
had kept him close to her at first; lately he had slipped away so that
she had no longer the dear comfort of his unseen presence that had
helped her through the summer. And she wanted him--wanted him. Her
tired mind and body cried for him; always chum and mate and brother in
one. She put her head down on the railing with a dry sob.

A quick step brushed through the crisp leaves carpeting the lane. She
looked up. A man in rough clothes was coming towards her.

Norah drew back, wishing she had brought the dogs with her; the place
was lonely, and the evening was closing in. She turned to go; and as
she did so the man broke into a clear whistle that made her pause,
catching her breath. It was the marching tune of Jim's regiment; but
beyond the tune itself there was something familiar in the
whistle--something that brought her back to the stile, panting,
catching at the rail with her hands. Was there any one else in the
world with that whistle--with that long, free stride?

He came nearer, and saw her for the first time--a white-faced girl who
stood and stared at him with eyes that dared not believe--with lips
that tried to speak his name, and could not. It was Jim who sobbed as
he spoke.

"Norah! Norah!"

He flung himself over the stile and caught her to him.

"Old mate!" he said. "Dear little old mate!"

They clung together like children. Presently Norah put up her hand,
feeling the rough serge of his coat.

"It isn't a dream," she said. "Tell me it isn't, Jimmy-boy. Don't
let me wake up."

Jim's laugh was very tender.

"I'm n