CHAPTER VIII.
"How oft Fate's sharpest blow shall leave thee strong, With some re-risen ecstacy of song." F.W.

H.Myers.
As the autumn wore on, we heard now and then from old Mackrill the doctor.

His reports of the Major were pretty uniform.

Derrick used to hand them over to me when he had read them; but, by tacit consent, the Major's name was never mentioned.
Meantime, besides re-writing 'At Strife,' he was accumulating material for his next book and working to very good purpose.

Not a minute of his day was idle; he read much, saw various phases of life hitherto unknown to him, studied, observed, gained experience, and contrived, I believe, to think very little and very guardedly of Freda.
But, on Christmas Eve, I noticed a change in him--and that very night he spoke to me.