“ ‘How long?’ and she put her hand on my arm.
“ ‘Two days; two months; at the utmost, two years,’ I said gravely.
“ ‘And why shouldn’t I look after him for those two years?’ she demanded fiercely.
“ ‘I’m thinking of a possible child,’ I said quietly, and she began to tremble a little.
“ ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she cried—‘quite ridiculous.’ ”
The Doctor was carefully cleaning out the bowl of his pipe. “In the morning Jack Digby had gone, leaving behind him a note for her. She showed it to me later.
“ ‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. ‘It’s just Fate, and there’s not much use kicking. I’m glad though that you know the truth—it helps. Good-bye, dear heart. God bless you.’ ”
The Doctor paused.
“Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man.
“Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had been right when I said two months, only the cause of death was not what I expected. How he got across the water so soon I don’t know. But he did—in a cavalry regiment. And he stopped one—somewhere up Ypres way.”