paused for her answer. But she made none. Only in her trouble it
seemed to him that she clung to his support.

He drew her a little closer to him.

"Molly," he said very tenderly, "do you want me, child? Shall I stay?"

And at length she answered him, realising that it was to this man, hero
or no hero, she had given her heart.

"Yes, stay, Gerald!" she whispered earnestly. "I want you."

* * *

Perhaps he understood her better than she thought. Perhaps Charlie's
last words to him had taught him a wisdom to which he had not otherwise
attained. Or perhaps his love was large enough to cover and hide all
that might be lacking in that which she offered to him.

But at least neither then nor later did he ever seek to know how deeply
the glamour of another man's heroism had pierced her heart. She tried to
whisper an explanation, but he hushed the words unuttered.

"It is all right, child," he said. "I am satisfied. It is only the
lookers-on who are allowed to see all the cards. I think when we meet
him again he will tell us that we played them right."

There was a deep quiver in his voice as he spoke, but there was no lack
of confidence in his words. Looking upwards, Molly saw that his eyes
were full of tears.

* * * * *

THE SECOND FIDDLE

A low whistle floated through the slumbrous silence and died softly away
among the sand-dunes.

The man who sat in the little wooden summer-house that faced the sea
raised his head from his hand and stared outwards. The signal had
scarcely penetrated to his inner consciousness, but it had vaguely
disturbed his train of thought. His eyes were dull and emotionless as he
stared across the blue, smiling water to the long, straight line of the
horizon. They were heavy also as if he had not slept for weeks, and
there were deep lines about his clean-shaven mouth.

Before him on the rough, wooden table lay a letter--a letter that he
knew by heart, yet carried always with him. The writing upon it was firm
and regular, but unmistakably a woman's. It began: "Dear Hugh," and it
ended: "Yours very sincerely," and it had been written to tell him that
because he was crippled for life the writer could no longer entertain
the idea of sharing hers with him.

There had been a ring enclosed with the letter, but this he had not
kept. He had dropped it into the heart of a blazing fire on the day
that he had first been able to move wit