Almost the next day Feversham had told Durrance in the
Row that he had resigned his commission, and Durrance knew that he had
not resigned it when the telegram came. That telegram could have brought
only one piece of news, that Feversham's regiment was ordered on active
service. The more Durrance reflected, the more certain he felt that he
had at last hit upon the truth. Nothing could be more natural than that
Castleton should telegraph his good news in confidence to his friends.
Durrance had the story now complete, or rather, the sequence of facts
complete. For why Feversham should have been seized with panic, why he
should have played the coward the moment after he was engaged to Ethne
Eustace--at a time, in a word, when every manly quality he possessed
should have been at its strongest and truest, remained for Durrance, and
indeed, was always to remain, an inexplicable problem. But he put that
question aside, classing it among the considerations which he had learnt
to estimate as small and unimportant. The simple and true thing--the
thing of real importance--emerged definite and clear: Harry Feversham
was atoning for his one act of cowardice with a full and an overflowing
measure of atonement.
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