He clasped and unclasped his hands a moment in his desperate anguish.
"I understand," he muttered in a broken voice, "I--I beg your pardon, sir." And then Wellington's slender, firm fingers took him by the arm.
"But I am glad, O'Moy, that I had no choice," he added more gently.

"As a man, I suppose I may be glad that my duty as Commander-in-Chief placed me under the necessity of acting as I have done." Sir Terence clutched the hand in both his own and wrung it fiercely, obeying an overmastering impulse.
"Thank you," he cried.

"Thank you for that!" "Tush!" said Wellington, and then abruptly: "What are you going to do, O'Moy ?" he asked.
"Do ?" said O'Moy, and his blue eyes looked pleadingly down into the sternly handsome face of his chief, "I am in your hands, sir." "Your resignation is, and there it must remain, O'Moy.

You understand ?" "Of course, sir.

Naturally you could not after this--" He shrugged and broke off.