"I wonder," said Jervis Blake hoarsely, "I wonder,
Rose, if you would do me a great kindness? Would
you go on into the Cathedral with me, just for three or
four minutes? I should like to go there for the last
time with you."

"Yes," she said; "of course I will." Rose had
inherited something of her mother's generosity of
nature. If she gave at all, she gave freely and gladly.
"I do hope the door will be open," she said, trying
to regain her usual staid composure. She was surprised
and disturbed by the pain which seemed to be
rising, brimming over, in her heart.

They walked on in silence. Jervis Blake was looking
straight before him, his face set and grim. He was
telling himself that a fellow would be a cur to take
advantage of such a moment to say anything, and that
especially was that the case with one who might so
soon be exposed to something much worse than death --
such as the being blinded, the being maimed, for
life. War was a very real thing to Jervis, more real
certainly than to any other one of the young men
who had been his comrades at Robey's during the last
two years.

But the most insidious of all tempters, Nature herself,
whispered in his ear, "Why not simply tell her
that you love her? No woman minds being told that
she is loved! It can do no harm, and it will make
her think of you kindly when you are far away. This
strange, secret meeting is yet another piece of good
fortune today -- this glorious day -- has brought you!
Do not throw away your chance. Look again down
into her face. See her dear eyes full of tears. She

[[114]]

p113 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p114w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p115

v?