flood of irritating words, and glancing now and then at Derrick's
grave, resolute face, which successfully masked such bitter
suffering, I couldn't help reflecting that here was courage
infinitely more deserving of the Victoria Cross than Lawrence's
impulsive rescue. Very patiently he sat through the long dinner. I
doubt if any but an acute observer could have told that he was in
trouble; and, luckily, the world in general observes hardly at all.
He endured the Major till it was time for him to take a Turkish
bath, and then having two hours' freedom, climbed with me up the
rock-covered hill at the back of the hotel. He was very silent.
But I remember that, as we watched the sun go down--a glowing
crimson ball, half veiled in grey mist--he said abruptly, "If
Lawrence makes her happy I can bear it. And of course I always knew
that I was not worthy of her."

Derrick's room was a large, gaunt, ghostly place in one of the
towers of the hotel, and in one corner of it was a winding stair
leading to the roof. When I went in next morning I found him
writing away at his novel just as usual, but when I looked at him it
seemed to me that the night had aged him fearfully. As a rule, he
took interruptions as a matter of course, and with perfect sweetness
of temper; but to-day he seemed unable to drag himself back to the
outer world. He was writing at a desperate pace too, and frowned
when I spoke to him. I took up the sheet of foolscap which he had
just finished and glanced at the number of the page--evidently he
had written an immense quantity since the previous day.

"You will knock yourself up if you go on at this rate!" I exclaimed.

"Nonsense!" he said sharply. "You know it never tires me."