lose nothing of what was going on
around, to share in the talk, and, until the next headache came, to
_live_.

He wallowed in the joy of reaching harbour.

Such rapid progress did he make that they began, in a few days, to treat
him as a rational human being. They allowed him meat, and once, owing
to a mistake on the part of the young Hurrier, a whisky-and-soda. They
allowed him to smoke a restricted number of cigarettes, and to read as
often as he liked. But aspirin they barred.

He had not many friends in London, so during visiting hours he was left
in comparative peace.

One morning his mother came. As the door opened and she hurried into the
room with her quick, bird-like grace, he felt that she was a stranger to
him. Somehow their old intimacy seemed dissolved, and would have, piece
by piece, to be built up again. Her round, appealing eyes of palest
brown stirred him as no other eyes--even her own--had ever done before.

Her slim shoulders delighted him.

"Waddles!" he said; "you're priceless!"

He loved to call her "Waddles."

They asked the Doctor when he would be likely to be able to go home.

"As soon as the wound is covered over," he replied, "there is no reason
why he should not go home. Providing he could get massage and proper
treatment."

* * * * *

The gas darkly illuminated the sombre red of the walls and glimmered on
the polished mahogany. The fire, too, glowed red. Outside, the wind was
sighing softly in the pine-trees.

The bed seemed huge and its capacity for comfort enormous. The cool
sheets seemed to caress his legs. His whole nervous system was
delightfully wearied with the achievement of reaching home.

The local Doctor had promised that he could treat him perfectly well,
and he had been allowed to leave the Hospital.

He could hear the paws of his spaniel padding softly on the carpet in
the landing. He could hear the voices of his father and sister in the
hall....

Peace after the storm! The harbour reached at last.

"It seems to be impossible to believe it's true," he murmured to
himself.

"Are you quite ready?" asked his mother.

She was standing beneath the gas-bracket, one hand raised to the handle.
The light silhouetted her impertinent little nose and glimmered in her
dusky hair.

Then with a jerk she turned out the light.

THE END

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