The cross stood on a piece of level turf, unbroken by any mound, and I knew that it was simply a memorial-cross, for one whose dust reposed elsewhere, even before reading the simple inscription:
In loving Memory of
ARTHUR FORESTER, M.D.
whose mortal remains lie buried by the sea:
whose spirit has returned to God who gave it.
" Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends."
She threw back her veil on seeing me approach, and came forwards to meet me, with a quiet smile, and far more self-possessed than I could have expected.
"It is quite like old times, seeing you here again!" she said, in tones of genuine pleasure. "Have you been to see my father?"
"No," I said: "I was on my way there, and came through here as the shortest way. I hope he is well, and you also?"
"Thanks, we are both quite well. And you? Are you any better yet?"
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