they had last seen him.

"Are you ill?" he asked. "I hear you have been doing Bateson's
work for him. Have you hurt yourself?"

Wardour suddenly moved his head, so as to hide his face from both
Crayford and Frank. He took out his handkerchief, and wound it
clumsily round his left hand.

"Yes," he said; "I hurt myself with the ax. It's nothing. Never
mind. Pain always has a curious effect on me. I tell you it's
nothing! Don't notice it!"

He turned his face toward them again as suddenly as he had turned
it away. He advanced a few steps, and addressed himself with an
uneasy familiarity to Frank.

"I didn't answer you civilly when you spoke to me some little
time since. I mean when I first came in here along with the rest
of them. I apologize. Shake hands! How are you? Ready for the
march?"

Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him
with perfect good humor.

"I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as
well seasoned to fatigue as you are."

Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh.