And yet nearly home.

To Cahors," he answered with an odd quietude.

"Your home, my boy, I shall never see again, Nor Kit! Nor my own Kit!" It was the first time I had heard him call her by the fond name we used ourselves.

And the pathos in his tone as of the past, not the present, as of pure memory--I was very thankful that I could not in the dusk see his face--shook my self-control.

I wept.
"Nay, my lad," he went on, speaking softly and leaning from his saddle so that he could lay his hand on my shoulder "we are all men together.
We must be brave.