CHAPTER XXVIII

HOMEWARD BOUND





Early in March a great transport sailed from Manila Bay, laden with
sick and disabled soldiers--the lame, the healthless and the mad.
It was not a merry shipload, although hundreds were rejoicing in the
escape from the hardships of life in the islands. Graydon Bansemer
was among them, weak and distrustful of his own future--albeit
a medal of honour and the prospect of an excellent position were
ahead of him. His discharge was assured. He had served his country
briefly, but well, and he was not loath to rest on his insignificant
laurels and to respect the memory of the impulse which had driven
him into service. In his heart he felt that time would make him as
strong as ever, despite the ugly scar in his side. It was a question
with him, however, whether time could revive the ambition that had
been smothered during the first days of despair. He looked ahead
with keen inquiry, speculating on the uncertain whirl of fortune's
wheel.

Jane was obduracy itself in respect to his pleadings. A certain