"You are much interested?"

"More than in anything for years."

She had seen this, and she resented it, foolishly, she knew, and without
reason--but, still, she resented it.

"Think of it," Crittenden went on. "It is the first time in my life,
almost, I have known what it was to wish to do something--to have a
purpose--that was not inspired by you." It was an unconscious and rather
ungracious declaration of independence--it was unnecessary--and Judith
was surprised, chilled--hurt.

"When do you go?"

Crittenden pulled a telegram from his pocket.

"To-morrow morning. I got this just as I was leaving town."

"To-morrow!"

"It means life or death to me--this telegram. And if it doesn't mean
life, I don't care for the other. I shall come out with a commission
or--not at all. If dead, I shall be a hero--if alive," he smiled, "I
don't know what I'll be, but think of me as a hero, dead or alive, with
my past and my present. I can feel a change already, a sort of growing
pain, at the very thought."

"When do you go to Cuba?"