ting
a long, jagged but superficial wound which bled freely. Indeed, the most
serious matter was the great loss of blood, which had weakened the
subaltern considerably.

Wargrave did not recover consciousness until early morning. When he
opened his eyes they fell on Muriel sitting by his bed. He showed no
surprise and the girl, scarce daring to believe that he was awake and
knew her, did not venture to move. But as he continued to look steadily
at her she gently laid her hand on his where it lay on the coverlet.

Then in a weak voice he said:

"Dearest, I mustn't love you, I mustn't. I'm bound in honour--bound to
another woman and I must play the game. It's hard sometimes. But if I
die I want you to know I loved you, only you."

Her heart seemed to stop suddenly, then beat again with redoubled force.
Was he conscious? Was he speaking to her? Did he know what his words
meant? She waited eagerly for him to continue; but his hand closed on
hers in a weak grip and, shutting his eyes, he seemed to sleep. The girl
sank on her knees beside the bed and stared at the pale face that in
those few hours had grown so hollow and haggard. Did he really love her?
The thought was joy--until the damning memory of his other words
recurred to her and a sharp pain pierced her heart. There was another
woman then--one who held his promise. Who was she? He could not be
secretly married, surely; no, it must be that he was engaged to some
other girl. But he loved her--her, Muriel. He wanted to say so, he had
said so, though he strove to hold back, in honour bound. He would play
the game--ah! that he would do at any cost to himself. For she knew his
chivalrous nature. But he loved her--she was sure of it. Then the doubts
came again--did he know what he was saying? Was it perhaps only delirium
that spoke, the fever of his wounds? The girl suffered an agony worse
than death as she knelt beside the bed, her forehead on his hand. And
Noreen, entering softly an hour later, found her still crouched there,
weeping bitterly but silently.

Shortly after sunrise Macdonald entered the house, wan and haggard, for
he had not been to bed all night. Besides the hours that he had spent
with his patients he had been busy in the Fort all night. He had to make
an autopsy of the dead man, and, as the only officer available,
investigate the crime, examine the witnesses and the prisoner who calmly
confessed his guilt, and telegraph the news of the occurrences to