Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. I am going up to dine with my sister. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. You see, my riddle is solved. “But I wanted to see you.
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