you could bear it, dear?--the comment, even if they called it a slight to
you and a piece of quixotic lunacy? Others will not take my case,
remember."

"What others?"

"They will say: 'Why doesn't he send a better man? He is no trailer.' It
is true. Money might find him and bring him back, but all the money in the
world could not teach him to trust his friends. There is a
misunderstanding here which is too bitter to be borne. It is hard to
explain,--the intimacy that grows up between men placed as we were. But as
soon as help reached us, the old lines were drawn. I belonged with the
officers, he with the men. We could starve together, but we could not eat
together. He accepted it--put himself on that basis at once. He would not
come up here as the guest of the Post. He is done with us because he
thinks we are done with him. And he knows that I must know his occupation
is gone. He will never guide nor pack a mule again."

"Your mother and my father, they will understand. What do the others
matter?"

"I must tell you, dear, that I do not propose to tell them--especially
them--why I go. For I am going. I must go! There are reasons I cannot
explain." He sighed, and looked wildly at Moya, whose smile was becoming
mechanical. "I hate the excuse, but it will have to be said that I go for
a change--for my health. My health! Great God! But it's 'orders,' dear."

"Your orders are my orders. You are never going anywhere again without
me," said Moya slowly. Her smile was gone. She stood up and faced him,
pale and beautiful. He rose, too, and stooped above her, taking her hands