“Are you Father Corby, chaplain of the Excelsiors?”
“Yes, madam.”
He lifted his hat and went away knee-deep through the windy hill-grasses; white butterflies whirled around him as he strode, head on his breast; the swift hill swallows soared and skimmed along the edges of the smoke as though inviting him. From her rocky height she saw the priest enter the drifting clouds.
A man going to his consecrated duty. And she? Where lay her duty? And why was she not about it?
“Captain West!” she called in a clear, hard voice.
Seated on his perch above the abyss, the officer lowered his field glasses and turned his face. Then he rose and moved over to where she was sitting. She stood up at once.
“Will you walk as far as those trees with me?” she asked. There was a strained ring to her voice.
He wheeled, spoke briefly to a sergeant, then, with that subtle and pleasant deference which characterized him, he turned and fell into step beside her.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked softly.
“No.... God help us both.”