that unreal army of ghosts and fancies which a few moments before had
seemed to Wrayson to be making his room like the padded cell of a lunatic
asylum. His tone, too, had just enough sympathy to make its cheerfulness
reassuring. Wrayson began to feel glimmerings of common sense.

"Yes!" he said, "I've something to tell you. That's why I telephoned."

The Colonel rose again to his feet, and began fumbling in the pocket of
his overcoat.

"God bless my soul, I almost forgot!" he exclaimed, "and the fellows
would make me bring it. We guessed how you were feeling--much better to
have come up and dined with us. Here we are! Get some glasses, there's a
good chap."

A gold-foiled bottle appeared, and a packet of hastily cut sandwiches.
Wrayson found himself mechanically eating and drinking before he knew
where he was. Then in an instant the sandwiches had become delicious, and
the wine was rushing through his veins like a new elixir of life. He was
himself again, the banging of anvils in his head had ceased; he was
shaken perhaps, but a sane man. His eyes filled with tears, and he
gripped the Colonel by the hand.

"Colonel, you're--you're--God knows what you are," he murmured. "All the
ordinary things sound commonplace. I believe I was going mad."

The Colonel leaned back and laughed as though the idea tickled him.

"Not you!" he declared. "Bless you, I know what nerves are! Out in India,
thirty-five years ago, I've had to relieve men on frontier posts who