Besides, it's within a few minutes of my tour of duty----" She stopped, petrified, as a volley of hoof-beats echoed outside, the clash of arms and accoutrements rang close by the porch.
"Phil!" she gasped.
And the door opened and Colonel Arran walked in.
There was a dreadful silence.

Arran stood face to face with Berkley, looked him squarely in the eye where he stood at salute.
Then, as though he had never before set eyes on him, Arran lifted two fingers to his visor mechanically, turned to Ailsa, uncovered, and held out both his hands.
"I had a few moments, Ailsa," he said quietly.

"I hadn't seen you for so long.

Are you well ?" She was almost too frightened to answer; Berkley stood like a statue, awaiting dismissal, and later the certain consequences of guard running.
And, aware of her fright, Arran turned quietly to Berkley: "Private Ormond," he said, "there is a led-horse in my escort, in charge of Private Burgess.

It is the easier and--safer route to camp.