It was the revolt of instinct against drilled and ingrained training, inherited and re-schooled--the insurgent clamour of desire opposed to that stern self-repression characteristic of generations of Selwyns, who had held duty important enough to follow, even when their bodies died in its wake.
And it were easier for him, perhaps, if his body died.
He rose and walked to the window.

Over the Bay of Shoals the fog was lifting; and he saw the long gray pier jutting northward--the pier where the troopships landed their dead and dying when the Spanish war was ended.
And he looked at the hill where the field hospital had once been.

His brother died there--in the wake of that same duty which no Selwyn could ignore.
After a moment he turned to Gerald, a smile on his colourless face: "It will be all right, my boy.

You are not to worry--do you understand me?
Go to bed, now; you need the sleep.

Go to bed, I tell you--I'll stand by you.