He laughed with a touch of self-contempt, with an attempt at his old

cynicism; but Stafford understood the fictitious character of the

laugh, and as he leant his chin in his hand, he gave a short nod of

acknowledgment.

"Howard, do you remember that time when you and I were at Palmero?" he

said, in a low voice, and as if he were communing with himself rather

than answering his friend. "Do you remember that Italian we met there;

the man who seemed so gay and careless, the man who seemed to have

everything a fellow could desire, and to be the embodiment of

prosperity and success? Do you remember how once or twice you and I saw

a strange look on his face, perhaps while he was at dinner or fooling

with the women in the _salon_--a look as if he had suddenly remembered

something, as if something had flashed upon his mind in the midst of

the laughter and music and brought him face to face with hell? You

pointed him out to me one night; and we wondered what was the matter

with him--until he fell off his horse that day you and I were riding

with him? Do you remember how, when we had unbuttoned his riding-shirt,

we found the 'D' that had been branded on his chest? We knew then what

was the matter with him. He had been a deserter. The pain of hot iron

had died out long ago, but the scar remained. He was no longer a common

soldier, but rich and prosperous, a social success with, perhaps, his

ambition gratified; but the 'D' was there all the time, and every now

and then, even while he was enjoying himself, he could feel the hot

iron burning into his flesh, and he knew within the miserable little

soul of him that he was a cur and a coward; that, driven by fate,

perhaps by some devilish accident of circumstance, he had lost his

honour and sold himself to the devil."

Howard's face went pale and grave.

"I don't see where the application comes in, Staff," he said. "I don't

see that anything in your case--position, resembles that poor

wretch's."

Stafford rose, his face grim and stern.

"No; and I can't show you, Howard," he said. "Do you think that poor

devil would have bared his breast and shown that 'D' to even his

dearest friend? Good God, man, why do you badger me! Am I to wear the

cap and bells always, do you expect me to be dancing like a clown every

moment of the day? Do I not play my part as well as I can? Who gave you

the right to peer and pry--"




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