“Samuel Cummings, N.C.O. In youth deserted when battle was on. Changed his name and lost his identity for a time. Later reënlisted, was wounded in service, but not distinguished. Called from Soldier’s Home.”
The cripple’s free hand brushed one ear, as if forcefully to eject the words. “I deserted, yes. But she lay sick abed, my girl bride, and I loved her better than myself. Afterwards not a man in our company fought more careless than Corporal Sam. But we had a saying at the Home that you’ve got to be conscripted into the army of death. Only cowards volunteer.”
“Once a deserter, always one,” His Highness made remark. “Don’t you see that more important affairs than yours await? Just remember this, no wife is worth deserting a good fight for.”
Corporal Sam, with head sagging and shoulders disturbed by more than his crutch, stepped aside. But a wonderful light shone from his blue eyes into the Satanic gray ones.
“I know,” he muttered, “that what made my Mary Gertrude worth deserting for can’t ever die. I saw her in the border fields this very evening. She couldn’t go on, you see, without me. She had promised to wait around for me until——”
“Silence, old nuisance,” Sin advised. “One doesn’t mention the Second Call in The Presence.”
He need not have feared. His Majesty’s attention had returned to the girl-shade. A long moment he studied her; closed his eyes; quickly opened them to study her again. The puzzlement at first on his features changed to semi-recognition.
“That look in your eyes—— What is it, that look? I seem to know you, woman, although I cannot place you. Do you remember having seen me before?”
“I don’t think that I ever have seen you. But I’ve known men on Earth that resembled you.” Her voice was that of a cathedral bell retarding over the last phrase of the hymn.
“It must be that I have trailed you afar, probably at the start of the career that brought you here. Let us see how you’re written down in Mors’ copy from the book.”