Tell me!" And so the torrent of his speech came to an end.

The Major rose gravely from his seat, walked round the table and held
out his hand.

"Put your hand there, lad," he said gravely.

Knightley looked at the outstretched hand, then at the Major's face.
He took the hand diffidently, and the Major's grasp was of the
heartiest.

"Neither at Mequinez nor at Tangier did you play the coward," said the
Major. "You fell by my side in the van of the attack."

And then Knightley began to cry. He blubbered like a child, and with
his blubbering he mixed apologies. He was weak, he was tired, his
relief was too great; he was thoroughly ashamed.

"You see," he said, "there was need that I should know. My wife is
waiting for me. I could not go back to her bearing that stigma.
Indeed, I hardly dared ask news of her. Now I can go back; and,
gentlemen, I wish you good-night."

He stood up, made his bow, wiped his eyes, and began to walk to the
door. Scrope rose instantly.

"Sit down, Lieutenant," said the Major sharply, and Scrope obeyed with
reluctance.

The Major watched Knightley cross the room. Should he let the Ensign