Part 50 (1/2)

”He says he's very well. But then, he would,” Mr. Linton said.

”Since we first knew him Wally would never admit so much as a finger-ache if he could possibly avoid it. I expect he'll ride if it's humanly possible!”

Allenby came out.

”Hawkins would like to see you, sir.”

”Very well,” said his master. ”By the way, Allenby, Mr. Wally is coming back on leave.”

The butler's face brightened.

”Is he indeed, sir! That's good news.”

”Yes--he has been wounded, but he's all right.”

”Miss de Lisle will certainly invent a new dish in his honour, sir,”

said Allenby, laughing. ”Is he coming soon?”

”This week, he says. Well, I mustn't keep Hawkins waiting.” He went into the house, with Allenby at his heels. It was evident that 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 pa.s.sionate 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, wis.h.i.+ng 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 no dream,” he said. ”All these months have been the dream--and you can wake up now.”