"Berkley," he said pleasantly; then, to identify himself, lifted the lantern to a level with his face.
"Dr. Benton!"
"Surely—surely. I come from Paigecourt. I left Mrs. Craig and
Stephen about five o'clock; I have just left Miss Lynden on duty.
May I sit here beside you, Phil? And, in the first place, how are
you, old fellow?"
"Perfectly well, doctor. . . . I am glad to see you. . . . It is pleasant to see you. . . . I am well; I really am. You are, too; I can see that. . . . I want to shake hands with you again—to wish you happiness," he added in a low voice. "Will you accept my warmest wishes, Dr. Benton?"
They exchanged a hard, brief grip.
"I know what you mean. Thank you, Phil. . . . I am very happy; I mean that she shall be. Always."
Berkley said: "There are few people I really care for. She is among the few."
"I have believed so. . . . She cares, deeply, for you. . . . She is right." . . . He paused and glanced over his shoulder at the crimson horizon. "What was that shelling about? The gun-boats were firing, too."
"I haven't any idea. Something is on fire, evidently. I hope it is not Paigecourt."
"God forbid!"