You can never tell Chev, for he is gone."
"_Gone_!" he cried.
"Yes," she nodded back at him, just above a whisper; and now her face
quivered, and the tears began to rush down her cheeks.
"Not _dead_!" he cried. "Not Chev--not that! O my God, Gerald, not
_that_!"
"Yes," Gerald said. "They got him two days after you left."
It was so overwhelming, so unexpected and shocking, above all so
terrible, that the friend he had so greatly loved and admired was gone
out of his life forever, that young Cary stumbled back into his seat,
and, crumpling over, buried his face in his hands, making great uncouth
gasps as he strove to choke back his grief.
Gerald groped hastily around the table, and flung an arm about his
shoulders.
"Steady on, dear fellow, steady," he said, though his own voice broke.
"When did you hear?" Cary got out at last.
"We got the official notice just the day before you came--and Withers
has written us particulars since."
"And you _let_ me come in spite of it! And stay on, when every word I
said about him must have--have fairly _crucified_ each one of you! Oh,
forgive me! forgive me!" he cried distractedly. He saw it all now; he
understood at last. It was not on Gerald's account that they could not
talk of flying and of Chev, it was because--because their hearts were
broken over Chev himself. "Oh, forgive me!" he gasped again.
"Dear lad, there is nothing to forgive," Lady Sherwood returned. "How
could we help loving your generous praise of our poor darling? We loved
it, and you for it; we wanted to hear it, but we were afraid.
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