"I don't see why. The government won't let him do it, that's all.
He can claim a pension and get out of service with an honourable
discharge--and maybe a medal. He'll be strong enough, however. That
fellow could go on a hike inside of a month."

"I suppose we'll all be going home before long. This war is about
over," growled Harbin.

"No sirree! We'll be fighting these fellows for ten years. Ah,
there's your daughter, Colonel. Good-day."

With the first returning strength, freed from lassitude and stupor,
Graydon began whispering joyous words of love to Jane. His eyes
were bright with the gladness that his pain had brought. She checked
his weak outbursts at first, but before many days had passed she was
obliged to resort to a firmness that shocked him into a resentful
silence. She was even harsh in her command. It cut her to the quick
to hurt him, but she was steeling herself against the future.

When he was able to walk out in the grounds, she withdrew farther
into the background of their daily life. He hungered for her,
but she began to avoid him with a strange aloofness that brought
starvation to his heart. While she was ever attentive to his wants,
her smile lacked the tenderness he had known in the days of danger,
and her face was strangely sombre and white.

"Jane," he said to her one day as he came in from his walk and
laid down his crutches, "this can't go on any longer. What is the
matter? Don't you love me--not at all?"