'You are wounded,' I stammered, scarcely knowing what I was saying.
His appearance was so sudden, and unexpected, that I could scarcely
believe that it was really he who stood there before me. 'It's not bad
I hope?'
'No, not bad. Not enough to make a fuss about;—it might have been, though'; and I noticed that his voice became grave.
'How? What do you mean?'
'I'll tell you some day—soon perhaps. Are you busy?'
'No, my work is over for the day. I am glad to see you, old man.
Are you home for long?'
'Yes, a few weeks I expect. You see—I've had a rough time rather—and am a bit knocked about. But I shall pull through.'
His manner was strange; and while he spoke quietly, I felt rather than thought that something out of the ordinary had happened.
He dragged a rough seat up to the side of the tent, and looked across the field where a number of men were encamped.
'Have you heard from her?' he asked suddenly. 'Do you know how she is?'
'No. Directly after we saw her last she returned to her hospital work.
I wrote to her once; but she has not replied.'