a long time thinking. It is true I no longer
believed that Paul Edgecumbe could be his brother; but it set me
wondering more than ever as to who Edgecumbe could be. I wondered if
the poor fellow's memory would ever come back, and if the dark veil
which hid his past life would be removed.

Before going out, I scribbled a line to Lorna Bolivick, telling her of
my meeting with Edgecumbe, and of the wonderful way he had helped me to
escape from the German trenches. It was true that, according to St.
Mabyn, she was in France, but I imagined that her letters would be
forwarded to her.

After that, several days elapsed before I had opportunity to pay my
promised visit to St. George Mabyn. It was a case of every man to the
wheel, for we were making huge preparations for the great Somme push
which took place immediately afterwards. Still, I did at length find
time to go, and one evening I started to walk there just as the day was
beginning to die. It had been very hot and sultry, I remember, and I
was very tired.

St. Pinto was well behind the lines, but I could hear the booming of
the big guns away in the distance. I had no difficulty in finding the
house where St. Mabyn was billeted, for, as he said, it was the first
house of importance that I came across on the outskirts of the village.

I was disappointed, however, in finding that neither he nor Springfield
was in. I could not complain of this, as I had not sent word that I
was coming. But being tired, and having decided to walk, I did not
relish the thought of my tramp back, especially as I had not taken the
trouble to change my heavy field boots.

Not a breath of wind blew, and the air was heavy and turgid. On my way
back, I had to pass a little copse which lay in a dell, and having
noticed a little stream of water, I climbed over the fence in order to
get a drink. Then, feeling deadly tired, I stretched myself at full
length on the undergrowth, and determined to rest for an hour before
completing my journey.

I think I must have fallen asleep, for presently I suddenly realized
that it was quite dark, and that everything had become wonderfully
still. The guns no longer boomed, and it might seem as though the
conflicting armies had agreed upon a truce. I imagine that even then I
was scarcely awake, for I had little consciousness of anything save a
kind of dreamy restfulness, and the thought that I needn't hurry back.

Suddenly, however, I was wholly awa