"No. I think you'd rather stay with me—if you could. When shall you go?"
He turned aside. "I don't know. I mayn't go at all. I don't want to talk about it any more."
It was hopeless to talk about it.
He had found his men, fifty brave fellows in all, ordered his outfit and booked his passage, before he could make up his mind to break the news to her, for there was the risk of breaking her heart too.
And now it wanted but two days before his departure.
Coming out of the War Office he met Stanistreet. They walked together as far as Charing Cross.
"Yes," said Tyson, "the thing's done now. I'm off to the Soudan with fifty other fellows—glorious devils—and we mean fighting this time. It's the old field, you see, and the old enemy."
"When do you sail?"
"Wednesday—midnight. See me off?"
"Yes. It's the least I can do."