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Updated: June 25, 2025
At Mr Draycott's Mark Frayne still lay insensible, but he seemed to sleep calmly enough, and was beginning to take the food given to him, while the doctors both agreed that there was no fear of a relapse; the only trouble was What would the young man's mental state be when he recovered from his long stupor? Day after day glided by.
They did not wait long, for, before their cigarettes were finished, Mark Frayne knocked at the door, and was admitted by Jerry, who stood back for him to enter, looking very quiet, and then noting that Mark gave a start, but took no further notice of Draycott's old servant, entering the room, to be frankly welcomed.
"To be dragged down, to be accused, to be cast so low," he continued, in his sad, heavy voice, "so low that the lowest have cause to deride and to scorn." He stopped before her. "Is it true that I can save you from that?" "It is true." She did not tell him that she had lied to Draycott; it did not appear necessary; neither did she tell him that Draycott's memory was long and sure and unerring.
For him the bustle and glamour of the unknown; for her the empty chair, the lonely house, and her thoughts. Dear God! but war is a bad thing for the women who stop behind. . . . And on Draycott's brain a tableau is stamped indelibly, just a little tableau he saw that night in the restaurant of the Gare de Lyon.
There could be only one answer to this, and he walked on, feeling saddened, as he knew only too well that the poor fellow, in his helpless state, must have sunk to rise no more. Then, in spite of his efforts, the thoughts of the past would obtrude themselves of his cousin, of the scene at Mr Draycott's when it was found that he was missing.
"I'll go, sir; I'll go!" came from a couple of boys; and then Richard felt Mr Draycott's heavy hand upon his shoulder as they still went on.
He nodded "Good-morning" straight into the eyes of each and found his way out with the astonishing certainty of movement that made so many forget his infirmity. Possibly he was not desirous of encountering Draycott's embarrassed gratitude again, for in less than a minute they heard the swirl of his departing car. "Never mind, my dear sir," Mr.
Ypres, the Marne, Neuve Chapelle, Festubert names well-nigh forgotten in the greater battles of to-day in each and all of them the seed of "a contemptible little Army" has been sown. But at the moment there were just two men, sick of heart, watching the sun, in a blaze of golden glory, setting over Gozo. . . . Draycott's deliverance from the Half Way House came in three or four weeks.
Draycott's narrative had proceeded smoothly enough under the influence of the quiet despair that had come over the man. But at this point a sudden recollection of his position swept him into a frenzy of bitterness. "Oh, what the blazes is the good of going over all this again!" he broke out. "What can you or anyone else do anyhow?
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