"Do?" said O'Moy, and his blue eyes looked pleadingly down into
the sternly handsome face of his chief, "I am in your hands, sir."

"Your resignation is, and there it must remain, O'Moy. You
understand?"

"Of course, sir. Naturally you could not after this - " He
shrugged and broke off. "But must I go home?" he pleaded.

"What else? And, by God, sir, you should be thankful, I think."

"Very well," was the dull answer, and then he flared out. "Faith,
it's your own fault for giving me a job of this kind. You knew
me. You know that I am just a blunt, simple soldier - that my
place is at the head of a regiment, not at the head of an
administration. You should have known that by putting me out of
my proper element I was bound to get into trouble sooner or later."

"Perhaps I do," said Wellington. "But what am I to do with you
now?" He shrugged, and strode towards the window. "You had better
go home, O'Moy. Your health has suffered out here, and you are not
equal to the heat of summer that is now increasing. That is the
reason of this resignation. You understand?"

"I shall be shamed for ever," said O'Moy. "To go home when the
army is about to take the field!"

But Wellington did not hear him, or did not seem to hear him.
He had reached the window and his eye was caught by something that
he saw in the courtyard.