'THE POMP OF YESTERDAY'

by

JOSEPH HOCKING

Author of 'All for a Scrap of Paper, ' 'Dearer than Life, ' 'The Curtain of Fire, ' etc. 

 "Far famed our Navies melt away, On dune and headland sinks the fire, Lo, all the pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. God of the Nations, spare us yet! Lest we forget, lest we forget. " RUDYARD KIPLING. 

Hodder and StoughtonLondon ---- New York ---- Toronto

_JOSEPH HOCKING'S GREAT WAR STORIES_

 ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER THE CURTAIN OF FIRE DEARER THAN LIFE THE PRICE OF A THRONE THE PATH OF GLORY 'THE POMP OF YESTERDAY' TOMMY TOMMY AND THE MAID OF ATHENS

OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING

 Facing Fearful Odds O'er Moor and Fen The Wilderness Rosaleen O'Hara The Soul of Dominic Wildthorne Follow the Gleam David Baring The Trampled Cross

"Let us never forget in all that we do, that the measureof our ultimate success will be governed, largely if not mainly, by the strength with which we put our religious convictionsinto our action and hold fast firmly and fearlessly to the faithof our forefathers. "

_Extract of speech by General Sir William Robertson. _

_March 2, 1918. _

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

 I THE MAN WITHOUT A PAST II SIR ROGER GRANVILLE'S SUGGESTION III THE STRANGE BBHAVIOUR OF GEORGE ST. MABYN IV I MEET CAPTAIN SPRINGFIELD V HOW A MAN WORKED A MIRACLE VI PAUL EDGECUMBE'S MEMORY VII A CAUSE OF FAILURE VIII I BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER IX EDGECUMBE is MISSING X THE STRUGGLE IN THE TRENCHES XI EDGECUMBE'S STORY XII THE STRUGGLE ON THE SOMME XIII EDGECUMBE'S MADNESS XIV EDGECUMBE'S LOGIC XV DEVONSHIRE XVI LORNA BOLIVICK'S HOME XVII A NEW DEVELOPMENT XVIII A TRAGIC HAPPINESS XIX A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS XX A STRANGE NIGHT XXI COLONEL MCCLURE'S VERDICT XXII EDGECUMBE'S RESOLVE XXIII SPRINGFIELD'S PROGRESS XXIV A STRANGE LOVE-MAKING XXV 'WHY IS VICTORY DELAYED?' XXVI 'WHERE DOES GOD COME IN?' XXVII SEEING LONDON XXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW XXIX CROSS CURRENTS XXX THE MARCH OF EVENTS XXXI EDGECUMBE'S RETURN XXXII THE GREAT MEETING XXXIII THE LIFTED CURTAIN XXXIV MEMORY XXXV AFTERWARDS XXXVI EDGECUMBE'S RESOLUTION XXXVII MAURICE ST. MABYN XXXVIII A BOMBSHELL XXXIX SPRINGFIELD AT BAY XL MAURICE ST. MABYN'S GENEROSITY XLI THE NEW HOPE XLII AN UNFINISHED STORY

FOREWORD

It is now fast approaching four years since our country at the call ofduty, and for the world's welfare entered the great struggle which isstill convulsing the nations of the earth. What this has cost us, andwhat it has meant to us, and to other countries, it is impossible todescribe. Imagination reels before the thought. Still the ghastlystruggle continues, daily comes the story of carnage, and suffering, and loss; and still the enemy who stands for all that is basest, andmost degraded in life, stands firm, and proudly vaunts his prowess. 

Why is Victory delayed?

That is the question which has haunted me for many months, and I haveasked myself whether we, and our Allies, have failed in those thingswhich are essential, not only to Victory, but to a righteous and, therefore, lasting peace. 

In this story, while not attempting a full and complete answer to thequestion, I have made certain suggestions which I am sure the Nation, the Empire, ought to consider; for on our attitude towards them dependsmuch that is most vital to our welfare. 

Let it not be imagined, however, that _The Pomp of Yesterday_ isanything in the nature of a polemic, or a treatise. It is first andforemost a story--a romance if you like--of incident, and adventure. But it is more than a story. It deals with vital things, and it dealswith them--however inadequately--sincerely and earnestly. Thestatements, moreover, which will probably arouse a great deal ofantagonism in certain quarters, are not inventions of the Author, butwere related to him by those in a position to know. 

Neither are the descriptions of the Battle of the Somme the result ofthe Author's imagination, but transcripts from the experiences of somewho passed through it. Added to this, I have, since first writing thestory, paid a Second Visit to the Front, during which I traversed thecountry on which Thiepval, Goomecourt, La Boiselle, Contalmaison; and ascore of other towns and villages once stood. Because of this, whiledoubtless a military authority could point out technical errors in mydescriptions, I have been able to visualize the scenes of the battle, and correct such mistakes as I made at the time of writing. 

One other word. More than once, the chief character in the narrativeanticipates what has taken place in Russia. While I do not claim to bea prophet, it is only fair to say that I finished writing the story inAugust, 1917, when very few dreamt of the terrible chaos which nowexists in the once Great Empire on which we so largely depended. 

JOSEPH HOCKING. 

_March_, 1918. 

CHAPTER I

THE MAN WITHOUT A PAST

My first meeting with the man whose story I have set out to relate wasin Plymouth. I had been standing in the harbour, hoping that thefriends I had come to meet might yet appear, even although the chancesof their doing so had become very small. Perhaps a hundred passengershad landed at the historic quay, and practically all of them had rushedaway to catch the London train. I had scrutinized each face eagerly, but when the last passenger had crossed the gangway I had beenreluctantly compelled to assume that my friends, for some reason orother, had not come. 

I was about to turn away, and go back to the town, when some onetouched my arm. 'This is Plymouth, isn't it?'

I turned, and saw a young man. At that time I was not sure he wasyoung; he might have been twenty-eight, or he might have beenforty-eight. His face was marked by a thousand lines, while a looksuggestive of age was in his eyes. He spoke to me in an apologeticsort of way, and looked at me wistfully. 

I did not answer him for a second, as his appearance startled me. Thestrange admixture of youth and age gave me an eerie feeling. 

'Yes, ' I replied, 'this is Plymouth. At least, this is PlymouthHarbour. '

He turned toward the vessel, and looked at it for some seconds, andthen heaved a sigh. 

'Have you friends on board?' I asked. 

'Oh, no, ' he replied. 'I have just left it. I thought I rememberedPlymouth, and so I got off. '

'Where have you come from?'

'From India. '

'Where did you come from?'

'From Bombay. It was a long journey to Bombay, but it seemed my onlychance. ' Then he shuddered. 

'Aren't you well?' I asked. 

'Oh, yes, I am very well now. But everything seems difficult torealize; you, now, and all this, ' and he cast his eyes quickly aroundhim, 'seem to be something which exists in the imagination, rather thanobjective, tangible things. '

He spoke perfect English, and his manner suggested education, refinement. 

'You don't mind my speaking to you, do you?' he added somewhatnervously. 

'Not at all, ' and I scrutinized him more closely. 'If you did notspeak English so well, ' I said, 'I should have thought you were anIndian, '--and then I realized that I had been guilty of a _faux pas_, for I saw his face flush and his lips tremble painfully. 

'You were thinking of my clothes, ' was his reply. 'They were the bestI could get. When I realized that I was alive, I was half naked; I wasvery weak and ill, too. I picked up these things, ' and he glanced athis motley garments, 'where and how I could. On the whole, however, people were very kind to me. When I got to Bombay, my feeling was thatI must get to England. '

'And where are you going now?' I asked. 

'I don't know. Luckily I have a little money; I found it inside myvest. I suppose I must have put it there before----' and then hebecame silent, while the strange, wistful look in his eyes wasintensified. 

'What is your name?' I asked. 

'I haven't the slightest idea. It's very awkward, isn't it?' and helaughed nervously. 'Sometimes dim pictures float before my mind, and Iseem to have vague recollections of things that happened ages and agesago. But they pass away in a second. I am afraid you think my conductunpardonable, but I can hardly help myself. You see, having no memory, I act on impulse. That was why I spoke to you. '

'The poor fellow must be mad, ' I said to myself; 'it would be akindness to him to take him to a police station, and ask theauthorities to take care of him. ' But as I looked at him again, I wasnot sure of this. In spite of his strange attire, and in spite, too, of the wistful look in his eyes, there was no suggestion of insanity. That he had passed through great trouble I was sure, and I had afeeling that he must, at some time, have undergone some awfulexperiences. But his eyes were not those of a madman. In some sensesthey were bold and resolute, and suggested great courage; in othersthey expressed gentleness and kindness. 

'Then you have no idea what you are going to do, now you have landed atPlymouth?'

'I'm afraid I haven't. Perhaps I ought not to have got off here atall. But again I acted on impulse. You see, when I first saw theharbour, I had a feeling that I had been here before, so seeing theothers landing, I followed them. My reason for speaking to you was, Ithink, this, '--and he touched my tunic. 'Besides, there was somethingin your eyes which made me trust you. '

'Are you a soldier, then?' I asked. 

'I don't know. You see, I don't know anything. But I rather think Imust have been interested in the Army, because I am instinctively drawnto any one wearing a soldier's uniform. You are a captain, I see. '

'Yes, ' I replied. 'I'm afraid my position in the Army is somewhatanomalous, but there it is. When the war broke out, I was asked by theWar Office to do some recruiting, and thinking that I should have moreinfluence as a soldier, a commission was given me. I don't know muchabout soldiering, although I have taken a great deal of interest in theArmy all my life. '

He looked at me in a puzzled sort of way. 'War broke out?' he queried. 'Is England at war?'

'Didn't you know?'

He shook his head pathetically. 'I know nothing. All the way home Italked to no one. I didn't feel as though I could. You see, peoplelooked upon me as a kind of curiosity, and I resented it somewhat. But, England at war! By Jove, that's interesting!'

His eyes flashed with a new light, and another tone came into hisvoice. 'Who are we at war with?' he added. 

'Principally with Germany, ' I replied, 'but it'll take a lot ofexplaining, if you've heard nothing about it. Roughly speaking, England, France, and Russia are at war with Germany, Austria andTurkey. '

'I always said it would come--always. The Germans have meant it foryears. '

'The fellow is contradicting himself; he begins to have a memory in aremarkable manner, ' I thought. 'When did you think it would come?' Iasked. 

He looked at me in a puzzled way as if he were trying to co-ordinatehis thoughts, and then, with a sigh, gave it up as if in despair. 'Itis always that way, ' he said with a sigh, 'sometimes flashes of thepast come to me, but they never remain. But what is England at warabout?'

'I am afraid it would take too long to tell you. I say, ' and I turnedto him suddenly, 'have you done anything wrong in India, that you comehome in this way?'

I was sorry the moment I had spoken, for I knew by the look in his eyesthat my suspicion was unjust. 

'Not that I know of, ' he replied. 'I am simply a fellow who can'tremember. You don't know how I have struggled to recall the past, andwhat a weary business it is. '

I must confess I felt interested in him. That he had been educated asa gentleman was evident from every word he spoke, and in spite of hismotley garb, no one would take him for an ordinary man. I wanted toknow more about him, and to look behind the curtain which hid his pastfrom him. 

'I'm afraid I must be an awful nuisance to you, ' he said. 'I'm takingup a lot of your time, and doubtless you have your affairs to attendto. '

'No, I'm at a loose end just now. If you like, I'll help you to getsome other clothes, and then you'll feel more comfortable. '

'It would be awfully good of you if you would. '

Two hours later, he sat with me in the dining-room of a hotel whichfaced The Hoe. His nondescript garments were discarded, and he was nowclothed in decent British attire. That he had a good upbringing, andwas accustomed to the polite forms of society, was more than everevidenced while we were together at the hotel. There was no suggestionof awkwardness in his movements, and everything he did betrayed thefact that he had been accustomed to the habits and associations of anEnglish gentleman. 

After dinner, we went for a walk on The Hoe. 

'It would be really ever so much easier to talk to you, ' I said with alaugh, 'if you had a name. Have you no remembrance of what you werecalled?'

'Not the slightest. In a vague way I know I am an Englishman, andthat's about all. Months ago I seemed to awake out of a deep sleep, and I realized that I was in India. By a kind of intuition, I found myway to Bombay, and hearing that a boat was immediately starting forEngland, I came by it. It was by the merest chance that I was able tocome. I had walked a good way, and was foot-sore. I had a bathe in apond by the roadside, and on examining a pocket inside my vest I foundseveral £5 notes. '

'And you knew their value?' I asked. 

'Oh, yes, perfectly, ' he replied. 

'Did you not realize that they might not belong to you?'

'No, I was perfectly sure that they belonged to me, and that I had putthem there before I lost my memory, I can't give you any reason forthis, but I know it was so. I have just another remembrance, ' headded, and he shuddered as he spoke. 

'What is that?'

'That I had been with Indians. Even now I dream about them, and I wakeup in the night sometimes, seeing the glitter of their eyes, and theflash of their knives. I think they tortured me, too. I have curiousscars on my body. Still, I don't think about that if I can help it. '

'And you have no recollection of your father or mother?'

He shook his head. 

'No memories of your boyhood?'

'No. '

'Then I must give you a name. What would you like to be called?'

He laughed almost merrily. 'I don't know. One name is as good asanother. What a beautiful place!' and he pointed to one of theproudest dwellings in that part of the country. 'What is it called?'

'That is Mount Edgecumbe, ' I said. 

'Mount Edgecumbe, ' he repeated, 'Edgecumbe? That sounds rather nice. Call me Edgecumbe. '

'All right, ' I laughed; 'but what about your Christian name?'

'I don't mind what it is. What do you suggest?'

'There was a scriptural character who had strange experiences, calledPaul. '

'Paul Edgecumbe, --that wouldn't sound bad, would it?'

'No, it sounds very well. '

'For the future, then, I'll be Paul Edgecumbe, until--my memory comesback;--if ever it does, ' he added with a sigh. 'Paul Edgecumbe, PaulEdgecumbe, --yes, I shall remember that. '

'And what are you going to do?' I asked. 'Your little store of moneywill soon be gone. Have you any idea what you are fit for?'

'Not the slightest. Stay though----' A group of newly-made soldierspassed by as he spoke, and each of them, according to the custom ofsoldiers, saluted me. 'Strapping lot of chaps, aren't they?' he said, like one talking to himself; 'they'll need a lot of licking into shape, though. By Jove, that'll do. '

'What'll do?'

'You say England is at war, and you've been on a recruiting stunt. That will suit me. Recruit me, will you?'

'Do you know anything about soldiering?'

'I don't think so. I remember nothing. Why do you ask?'

'Because when those soldiers saluted me just now, you returned thesalute. '

'Did I? I didn't know. Perhaps I saw you doing so and I unconsciouslyfollowed your lead. But I don't think I do know anything aboutsoldiering. I remember nothing about it, anyhow. '

This conversation took place in the early spring of 1915, just asEngland began to realize that we were actually at war. The first flushof recruiting had passed, and hundreds of thousands of our finest youngmen had volunteered for the Army. But a kind of apathy had settledupon the nation, and fellows who should have come forward willinglyhung back. 

I had been fairly successful in my recruiting campaign; nevertheless Iwas often disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm manifested. I foundthat young men gave all sorts of foolish excuses as reasons for notjoining; and when this stranger volunteered, as it seemed to me, unthinkingly, and without realizing the gravity of the step he wastaking, I hesitated. 

'Of course you understand that you are doing a very important thing?' Isaid. 'We are at war, and fellows who volunteer know that they arepossibly volunteering for death. '

'Oh yes, of course. ' He said this in what seemed to me such a casualand matter-of-fact way that I could not believe he realized what warwas. 

'The casualty list is already becoming very serious, ' I continued. 'You see, we are having to send out men after a very short training, and thus it comes about that the lads who, when war broke out, neverdreamed of being soldiers, are now, many of them, either maimed andcrippled for life, or dead. You quite realize what you are doing?'

'Certainly, ' he replied, 'but then, although I have forgotten nearlyeverything else, I have not forgotten that I am an Englishman, and ofcourse, as an Englishman, I could do no other than offer myself to mycountry. Still, I'd like to know the exact nature of our quarrel withGermany. '

'You've not forgotten there is such a country as Germany, then?'

'Oh, no. ' And then he sighed, as if trying to recollect something. 'Isay, ' he went on, 'my mind is a curious business. I know that Germanyis a country in Europe. I can even remember the German language. Iknow that Berlin is the capital of the country, and I can recall thenames of many of their big towns, --Leipzig, Frankfurt, Munich, Nuremburg; I have a sort of fancy that I have visited them; but I knownothing of the history of Germany, --that is all a blank. Funny, isn'tit?' and then he sighed again. 

'As it happens, ' I said, 'I have to speak at a recruiting meetingto-night, here in Plymouth. Would you like to come? I am going todeal with the reasons for the war, and to show why it is every chap'sduty to do his bit. '

'I'd love to come. My word! what's that?'

Away in the distance there was a sound of martial music, and as thewind was blowing from the south-west the strains reached us clearly. Evidently some soldiers were marching with a band. 

'It's fine, isn't it!' he cried. He threw back his shoulders, stoodperfectly erect, and his footsteps kept perfect time to the music. Ifelt more than ever convinced that he had had some former associationwith the Army. 

On our way to the recruiting meeting, however, he seemed to haveforgotten all about it. He was very listless, and languid, anddepressed. He was like a man who wanted to hide himself from thecrowd, and he slunk along the streets as though apologizing for hispresence. 

'That's the hall, ' I said, pointing to a big building into which thepeople were thronging. 

'I shall not be noticed, shall I? If you think I should, I'd rathernot go. '

'Certainly not. Who's going to notice you? I'll get you a seat on theplatform if you like. '

'Oh, no, no. Let me slink behind a pillar somewhere. No, please don'tbother about me, I'll go in with that crowd. I'll find you after themeeting. ' He left me as he spoke, and a minute later I had lost sightof him. 

I am afraid I paid scanty attention to what was said to me in theanteroom, prior to going into the hall. The man interested me morethan I can say. I found myself wondering who he was, where he camefrom, and what his experiences had been. More than once, I doubtedwhether I had not been the victim of an impostor. The story of hisloss of memory was very weak and did not accord with the spirit of themen in the anteroom, who were eagerly talking about the war; or withthe purposes of the meeting. And yet I could not help trusting in him, he was so frank and manly. In a way, he was transparent, too, andtalked like a grown-up child. 

When I entered the hall, which was by this time crowded with, perhaps, two thousand people, I scanned the sea of faces eagerly, but couldnowhere see the man who had adopted the name of Paul Edgecumbe. Idoubted whether he was there at all, and whether I should ever see himagain. Still, I did not see what purpose he could have had indeceiving me. He had received nothing from me, save his dinner at thehotel, which I had persisted in paying for in spite of his protests. The clothes he wore were paid for by his own money, and he showed notthe slightest expectation of receiving any benefits from me. 

Just as I was called upon to speak, I caught sight of him. He wassitting only a few rows back from the platform, close to a pillar, andhis eyes, I thought, had a vacant stare. When my name was mentioned, however, and I stood by the table on the platform, waiting for theapplause which is usual on such an occasion to die down, the vacantlook had gone. He was eager, alert, attentive. 

Usually I am not a ready speaker, but that night my work seemed easy. After I had sketched the story of the events which led to the war, theatmosphere became electric, and the cause I had espoused gripped me asnever before, and presently, when I came to the application of thestory I had told, and of our duty as a nation which pretended to standfor honour and truth, and Christianity, my heart grew hot, and themeeting became wild with enthusiasm. 

Just as I was closing, I looked toward the pillar by which PaulEdgecumbe sat, and his face had become so changed that I scarcely knewhim. There were no evidences of the drawn, parchment-like skin;instead, his cheeks were flushed, and looked youthful. His eyes wereno longer wistful and sad, but burned like coals of fire. He was likea man consumed by a great passion. If he had forgotten the past, thepresent, at all events, was vividly revealed to him. 

Before I sat down, I appealed for volunteers. I asked the young men, who believed in the sacredness of promises, in the honour of life, inthe sanctity of women, to come on to the platform, and to give in theirnames as soldiers of the King. 

There was no applause, a kind of hush rested on the audience; but formore than a minute no one came forward. Then I saw Paul Edgecumbe makehis way from behind the pillar, and come towards the platform, thepeople cheering as he did so. He climbed the platform steps, andwalked straight toward the chairman, who looked at him curiously. 

'Will you take me, sir?' he said, and his voice rang out clearly amongthe now hushed audience. 

'You wish to join, do you?'

'Join!' he said passionately, 'how can a man, who is a man, do anythingelse?'

What I have related describes how I first met Paul Edgecumbe, and howhe joined the Army. At least a hundred other volunteers came forwardthat night, but I paid little attention to them. The man whose historywas unknown to me, and whose life-story was unknown even to himself, had laid a strong hand upon me. 

As I look back on that night now, and as I remember what has sincetaken place, I should, if power had been given me to read the future, have been even more excited than I was. 

CHAPTER II

SIR ROGER GRANVILLE'S SUGGESTION

When the meeting was over, I looked around for my new acquaintance, buthe was nowhere to be found. I waited at the hall door until the lastman had departed, but could not see him. Thinking he might have goneto the hotel where we had had dinner, I went up to The Hoe, andinquired for him; but he had not been seen. He had vanished assuddenly as he had appeared. 

I must confess that I was somewhat anxious about him, and wondered whathad become of him. He was alone; he knew no one but myself; he hadlost his memory; he was utterly ignorant of Plymouth, and I feared lestsomething untoward should have happened to him. However, I reflectedthat, as volunteers had been ordered to report themselves at thebarracks at nine o'clock on the following morning, I should find himthere. 

I went to the house I was staying at, therefore, hoping, in spite of mymisgivings, that all would be well. 

I had no opportunity of going to the barracks, however. Before I hadfinished breakfast the next day a telegram arrived, ordering me to goto Falmouth by the earliest possible train on an urgent matter. Thisnecessitated my leaving Plymouth almost before my breakfast wasfinished. All I could do, therefore, was to scribble him a hasty line, explaining the situation, and urging him to communicate with me at anaddress I gave him in Falmouth. I also told him that on my return toPlymouth I would look him up, and do all I could for him. 

As events turned out, however, I did not get back for more than a week, and when I did, although I made careful inquiries, I could learnnothing. Whether he remained in Plymouth, or not, I could not tell, and of course, among the thousands of men who were daily enlisting, itwas difficult to discover the whereabouts of an unknown volunteer. Moreover, there were several recruiting stations in Plymouth besidesthe barracks, and thus it was easy for me to miss him. 

Months passed, and I heard nothing about Paul Edgecumbe, and if thetruth must be told, owing to the multifarious duties which pressed uponme at that time, I almost forgot him. But not altogether. Little as Iknew of him, his personality had impressed itself upon me, while theremembrance of that wild flash in his eyes as he came on to theplatform in Plymouth, and declared that he should join the Army, wasnot easily forgotten. 

One day, about three months after our meeting, I was lunching withColonel Gray in Exeter, when Sir Roger Granville, who was chairman ofthe meeting at which Edgecumbe had enlisted, joined us. 

'I have often thought about that fellow who joined up at Plymouth, Luscombe, ' he said. 'Have you ever heard any more about him?'

I shook my head. 'I've tried to follow him up, too. The fellow hashad a curious history. ' Whereupon I told Sir Roger what I knew abouthim. 

'Quite a romance, ' laughed Colonel Gray. 'It would be interesting toknow what becomes of him. '

'I wonder who and what he is?' mused Sir Roger. 

'Anything might happen to a fellow like that. He may be a peer or apauper; he may be married or single, and there may be all sorts ofinteresting developments. '

He grew quite eloquent, I remember, as to the poor fellow's possiblefuture, and would not listen to Colonel Gray's suggestions thatprobably everything would turn out in the most prosaic fashion. 

About five o'clock that evening our train arrived at a little roadsidestation, where Sir Roger Granville's motor-car awaited us. It was abeautiful day in early summer, and the whole countryside was lovely. 

'No wonder you Devonshire people are proud of your county, ' I said, asthe car swept along a winding country lane. 

'Yes, you Cornishmen may well be jealous of us, although, for thatmatter, I don't know whether I am a Cornishman or a Devonshire man. There has always been a quarrel, you know, as to whether the Granvillesbelonged to Cornwall or Devon, although I believe old Sir Richard wasborn on the Cornish side of the county boundary. In fact, there areseveral families around here who can hardly tell the county they hailfrom. You see that place over there?' and he pointed to a fine oldmansion that stood on the slopes of a wooded hill. 

'It's a lovely spot, ' I ventured. 

'It is lovely, and George St. Mabyn is a lucky fellow. But _à propos_of our conversation, George does not know which county his family camefrom originally, Cornwall or Devon. St. Mabyn, you know, is a Cornishparish, and I suppose that some of the St. Mabyns came to Devonshirefrom Cornwall three centuries ago. That reminds me, he is dining withus to-night. If I mistake not, he is a bit gone on a lady who'sstaying at my house, --fascinating girl she is, too; but whether she'llhave him or not, I have my doubts. '

'Why?' I asked. 

'Oh, she was engaged to his elder brother, who was killed in Egypt, andwho was heir to the estate. It was awfully sad about Maurice, --finefellow he was. But there was a row with the Arabs up by the Nilesomewhere, and Maurice got potted. '

'And George not only came into the estate, but may also succeed to hisbrother's sweetheart?' I laughed. 

'That's so. It's years ago now since Maurice's regiment was sent toEgypt, and the engagement, so I am informed, was fixed up the nightbefore he went. '

'And is George St. Mabyn a good chap?'

'Oh, yes. He was a captain in the Territorials before the war brokeout, and was very active in recruiting last autumn. In November he gotsent to Ypres, and had a rough time there, I suppose. He was thereuntil two months ago, when he was wounded. He's home on leave now. This war's likely to drag on, isn't it? We've been at it nine months, and there are no signs of the Germans crumbling up. '

'From all I can hear, ' I said, 'it was touch and go with us a littlewhile ago. If they had broken through our lines at Ypres, we shouldhave been in a bad way. '

'My word, we should! Still, the way our fellows stuck it wasmagnificent. '

The car entered the drive just then which led to Sir Roger's place, andafter passing more than a mile through fine park land, we swept up toan old, grey stone mansion. 

'You possess one of the finest specimens of an Old English home that Iknow, Sir Roger, ' I said. 

'Yes, I do, ' and there was a touch of pride in his voice. 'I loveevery stone of it, --I love every outbuilding, --I love every acre of theold place. I suppose it's natural, too, --my people have lived here solong. Heavens! suppose the Germans were to get here, and treat it asthey have treated the old French chateaux! Hallo, here we are!' and heshouted to some people near the house. 'You see I have brought theorator with me!'

We alighted from the car, and made our way towards three ladies who satin a secluded nook on the lawn. One I knew immediately as LadyGranville, the other two were strangers to me. But as they will figuremore or less prominently in this story, and were closely associatedwith the events which followed, it will be necessary for me to givesome description of them. 

CHAPTER III

THE STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF GEORGE ST. MABYN

One was a tall, stylishly dressed, handsome girl, of strikingappearance. I had almost called her a woman, for although she wasstill young, her appearance could not be called strictly girlish. Shemight be about twenty-five years of age, and her face, though free fromlines, suggested a history. I thought, too, that there was a lack offrankness in her face, and that she had a furtive look in her eyes. There was nothing else in her appearance, however, which suggestedthis. She gave me a pleasant greeting, and expressed the hope that weshould have a good meeting in the little town near Granitelands, whichwas the name of Lord Granville's house. 

'I have heard such tremendous things about you, Captain Luscombe, ' shesaid, 'that I am quite excited. Report has it that you are quite anorator. '

'Report is a lying jade, ' I replied; 'still, I suppose since the peopleat the War Office think I am no use as a fighter, they must use me topersuade others to do their bit. '

'Of course I am going, ' she laughed, 'although, personally, I don'tlike the Army. '

'Not like the Army, Norah!' It was the other girl who spoke, and whothus drew my attention to her. 

I was not much impressed by Lorna Bolivick when I had been firstintroduced to her, but a second glance showed me that she was by farthe more interesting of the two. In one sense, she looked only achild, and I judged her to be about nineteen or twenty years of age. She had all a child's innocence, and _naïveté_, too; I thought sheseemed as free from care as the lambs I had seen sporting in themeadows, or the birds singing among the trees. I judged her to be justa happy-go-lucky child of nature, who had lived among the shoals oflife, and had never realized its depths. Her brown eyes were full oflaughter and fun. Her frank, untrammelled ways suggested a creature ofimpulse. 

'That girl never had a care in her life, ' I reflected; 'she's just ahappy kid who, although nearly a woman in years, is not grown up. '

I soon found myself mistaken, however. Something was said, I haveforgotten what, which evidently moved her, and her face changed as ifby magic. The look of carelessness left her in a moment, her greatbrown eyes burned with a new light, her face revealed possibilitieswhich I had not dreamt of. I knew then that Lorna Bolivick could feeldeeply, that she was one who heard voices, and had plumbed the depthsof life which were unknown to the other. 

She was not handsome, a passing observer would not even call herpretty, but she had a wondrous face. 

'Do you like my name, Captain Luscombe?' she asked. 

'It is one of the most musical I know, ' I replied. 

'I don't like it, ' she laughed. 'You see, in a way it gives me such alot to live up to. I suppose dad was reading Blackmore's great novelwhen I was born, and so, although all the family protested, he insistedon my being called Lorna. But I'm not a bit like her. She was gentle, and winsome, and beautiful, and I am not a bit gentle, I am not a bitwinsome, and I am as ugly as sin, --my brothers all tell me so. Besides, in spite of the people who talk so much about Lorna Doone, Ithink she was insipid, --a sort of wax doll. '

Just then we heard the tooting of a motor horn, and turning, saw a carapproaching the house. 

'There's George St. Mabyn, ' cried Sir Roger. 'You're just in time, George, --I was wondering if you would be in time for our early dinner. '

Immediately afterwards, I was introduced to a young fellow abouttwenty-eight years of age, who struck me as a remarkably good specimenof the English squire class. He had, as I was afterwards told, conducted himself with great bravery in Belgium and France, and hadbeen mentioned in the dispatches. I quickly saw that Sir RogerGranville had been right when he said that George St. Mabyn was deeplyin love with Norah Blackwater. In fact, he took no trouble to hide thefact. He flushed like a boy as he approached her, and then, as Ithought, his face looked pained as he noticed her cold greeting. Theywere evidently well known to each other, however, as he called her byher Christian name, and assumed the attitude of an old friend. 

I did not think Lorna Bolivick liked him. Her greeting was cordialenough, and yet I thought I detected a certain reserve; but of courseit might be only my fancy. In any case, they were nothing to me. Iwas simply a bird of passage, and would, in all probability, go away onthe morrow, never to see them again. 

During the informal and somewhat hurried evening meal which had beenprepared, I found myself much interested in the young squire. He had afrank, boyish manner which charmed me, and in spite of his being stillsomewhat of an invalid, his fresh, open-air way of looking at thingswas very pleasant. 

'By the way, Luscombe, ' said Sir Roger, as the ladies rushed away totheir rooms to prepare for their motor drive, 'tell St. Mabyn aboutthat fellow we were talking of to-day; he'll be interested. '

'It's only a man I met with in Plymouth some time ago, who has lost hismemory, ' I responded. 

'Lost his memory? What do you mean?'

I gave him a brief outline of the story I have related in these pages, and then added: 'It is not so strange after all; I have heard ofseveral cases since, where, through some accident, or shock, men havebeen robbed of the past. In some cases their memory has returned tothem suddenly, and they have gone back to their people, who had giventhem up for dead. On the other hand, I suppose there have been lotswho have never recovered. '

'The thing that struck me, ' said Sir Roger, 'was the possibility of avery interesting _dénouement_ in this case. I was chairman of themeeting at Plymouth, where the fellow enlisted, and he struck me as anextraordinary chap. He had all the antiquity of Adam on his face, andyet he might have been young. He had the look of a gentleman, too, andfrom what Luscombe tells me, he is a gentleman. But there it is; heremembers nothing, the past is a perfect blank to him. What'll happen, if his memory comes back?'

'Probably nothing, ' said St. Mabyn; 'he may have had the most humdrumpast imaginable. '

'Of course he may, but on the other hand there may be quite a romancein the story. As I said to Luscombe, he may have a wife, or asweetheart, who has been waiting for him for years, and perhaps givenhim up as dead. Think of his memory coming back, and of the meetingwhich would follow! Or supposing he is an heir to some estate, andsomebody else has got it? Why, George, think if something like thathad happened to your brother Maurice! It might, in fact it _would_alter everything. But there are the motors at the door; we must beoff. '

He turned toward the door as he spoke, and did not see George St. Mabyn's face; but I did. It had become drawn and haggard, while in hiseyes was a look which suggested anguish. 

In spite of myself, a suspicion flashed across my mind. Of course thething was improbable, if not impossible. But, perhaps influenced bySir Roger's insistence upon the romantic possibilities of the story, Icould not help thinking of it. There could be no doubt, too, thatGeorge St. Mabyn looked positively ghastly. A few minutes before, helooked ruddy and well, but now his face was haggard, as if he were ingreat pain. 

Of course it was all nonsense; nevertheless I caught myself constantlythinking about it on my way to the meeting. In fact, so much did itoccupy my attention that Lorna Bolivick, who sat with me in the car, laughingly suggested that I was a dull companion, and was evidentlythinking more about my speech than how to be agreeable to a lady. 

'St. Mabyn ought to be the speaker, not I, ' I said. 'He has been tothe front, and knows what real fighting means. '

'Oh, George can't speak, ' she replied laughingly; 'why, even when headdressed his tenants, after Maurice was killed, he nearly broke down. '

'What sort of fellow was Maurice?' I asked. 

'Oh, just splendid. Everybody loved Maurice. But he ought not to havestayed in the Army. '

'Why?'

'Because, --because--oh, I don't know why, but it didn't seem right. His father was old and feeble when he went away, and as he was the heirhe ought to have stayed at home and looked after him, and the estate. But he would go. There were rumours about trouble in Egypt, andMaurice said he wanted to see some fighting. I suppose it was hisduty, too. After all, he was a soldier, and when his regiment wasordered abroad, he had to go. But it seems an awful shame. '

'What kind of a looking fellow was he?'

'I don't think I am a judge; I was only a kiddy at the time, and peoplesaid I made an idol of Maurice. But to me he was just splendid, justthe handsomest fellow I ever saw. He had such a way with him, too; noone could refuse him anything. '

'I suppose he was engaged to Miss Blackwater?'

The girl was silent. Evidently she did not wish to talk about it. 

'Were the two brothers fond of each other?' I asked. 

'Oh, yes, awfully fond. The news of Maurice's death almost killedGeorge. You see, it happened not long after his father's death. Youhave no idea how he was cut up; it was just horrible to see him. Buthe's got over it now. It nearly broke my heart too, so I can quiteunderstand what George felt. But this must be very uninteresting toyou. '

'On the other hand, it is very interesting. Did you tell me thatGeorge St. Mabyn was engaged to Miss Blackwater?'

'No, I didn't tell you that. '

'Is he going to be?'

I knew I was rather overstepping the bounds of good taste, but thequestion escaped me almost before I was aware. 

'I don't know. Oh, won't it be lovely when the war is over! You thinkit will be over soon, don't you?'

'I am afraid not, ' I said; 'as far as I can see, we are only at thebeginning of it. '

'Have you reason for saying that?'

'The gravest, ' I replied; 'why do you ask?'

'Only that I feel so ashamed of myself. Here are you going to ameeting to-night to persuade men to join the Army, while some of uswomen do practically nothing. But I'm going to; I told dad I should, only this morning, but he laughed at me. He said I should stay at homeand stick to my knitting. '

'What did you tell him you were going to do?'

'Train as a nurse. But he wouldn't hear of it. He said it was not afit thing for a young girl to nurse wounded men. But if they arewounded for their country, surely we women ought to stop at nothing. But here we are at the hall. Mind you make a good speech, CaptainLuscombe; I am going to be an awfully severe critic. '

After the meeting, George St. Mabyn returned with us to Granitelands, and Sir Roger, in talking about the men who had volunteered for servicethat night, again referred to the meeting at Plymouth, and to the manwho had enlisted. He also again insisted upon the possible romanticoutcome of the situation. Again I thought I saw the haunted look inGeorge St. Mabyn's eyes, and I fancied that the cigar he held betweenhis fingers trembled. 

Miss Blackwater, however, showed very little interest in the story, andseemed to be somewhat bored by its recital. Lorna Bolivick, however, was greatly interested. 

'And do you mean to say, ' she asked, 'that you don't know where he is?'

'I have not the slightest idea. '

'And aren't you going to find out?'

'If I can, certainly. '

'Why, --why, '--and she spoke in a childish, impetuous way--'I think itis just cruel of you. If I were in your place, I wouldn't rest until Ihad found him. I would hunt the whole Army through. '

'I should have a long job, ' I replied. 'Besides, he may not havejoined the Army. '

'But he has, --of course he has. He could not help himself. It is yourduty to be with him, and to help him. I think you are responsible forhim. '

Of course every one laughed at this. 

'But I _do_!' she insisted. 'It was not for nothing that they met likethat. Mr. Luscombe was meant to meet him, meant to help him. It washe who persuaded him to join the Army, and now it is his bounden dutyto find him out, wherever he is. Why, think of the people who may begrieving about him! Here he is, a gentleman, with all a gentleman'sinstincts, an ordinary private; and of course having no memory he'll, in a way, be helpless, and may be led to do all sorts of foolishthings. I mean it, Captain Luscombe; I think it's just--just awful ofyou to be so careless. '

Again there was general laughter, and yet the girl's words made me feeluneasy. Although I could not explain it, it seemed to me that somePower higher than our own had drawn us together, that in some way thisman's life would be linked with mine, and that I should have to take mypart in the unravelling of a mystery. 

All this time, George St. Mabyn had not spoken. He sat staring intovacancy, and what he was thinking about it was impossible to tell. Ofcourse the thoughts which, in spite of myself, haunted my mind, wereabsurd. If I had not seen that ashen pallor come to his face, andcaught the haunted look in his eyes, when earlier in the evening SirRoger Granville had almost jokingly associated the unknown man withMaurice St. Mabyn, I do not suppose such foolish fancies would haveentered-my mind. But now, although I told myself that I wasentertaining an absurd suspicion, that suspicion would not leave me. 

I looked for a resemblance between him and Paul Edgecumbe, but couldfind none. Was he, I wondered, in doubt about his brother's death?Had he entered into possession on insufficient proof? Many strangethings happened in the East; soldiers had more than once been reportedto be dead, and then turned up in a most remarkable way. Had GeorgeSt. Mabyn, in his desire to become owner of the beautiful old house Ihad seen, taken his brother's death for granted, on insufficientgrounds, and had not troubled about it since?

'Promise me, ' said Lorna Bolivick, in her impetuous way, 'that you willnever rest until you find this man again! Promise me that you willbefriend him!' and she looked eagerly into my eyes as she spoke. 

'Of course I will, ' I said laughingly. 

'No, but that won't do. Promise me that you will look for him as if hewere your own brother!'

'That's a pretty large order. But why should you be so interested inthis stranger?'

'I never give reasons, ' she laughed, 'they are so stupid. But you_will_ promise me, won't you?'

'Of course I will, ' I replied. 

'That's a bargain, then. '

'When are you leaving this neighbourhood?' asked George St. Mabyn, whenpresently he was leaving the house. 

'To-morrow afternoon, ' I replied. 'They are working me pretty hard, Ican tell you. '

'Won't you look me up to-morrow morning?' he asked. 'There's a manstaying with me whom you'd like to know. I tried to persuade him tocome to the meeting to-night, but he did not feel up to it. He isconvalescing at my place; he's had a baddish time. He could tell yousome good stories, too, that would help you in this recruiting stunt. '

'By all means, ' said Sir Roger, to whom I looked, as St. Mabyn spoke. 'I can send you over in the car. '

The next day, about eleven o'clock, I started to pay my promised visit, and passed through the same beautiful countryside which had so appealedto me before. I found that St. Mabyn's house was not quite so large asGranitelands, but it was a place to rejoice in nevertheless. It wasapproached by a long avenue of trees, which skirted park lands wheredeer disported themselves. Giant oaks studded the park, and the house, I judged, was built in the Elizabethan period. An air of comfort andhomeliness was everywhere; the grey walls were lichen-covered, and thediamond-paned, stone-mullioned windows seemed to suggest security andpeace. 

'I wonder why he wanted me to come here?' I reflected, as the car drewup at the old, ivy-covered porch. 

CHAPTER IV

I MEET CAPTAIN SPRINGFIELD

I stood at the window of the room into which I had been shown, lookingover the flower-beds towards the beautiful landscape. Devonshire hasbeen called the Queen of the English counties, perhaps not withoutreason. Even my beloved Cornwall could provide no fairer sight thanthat which spread itself before me. For a coast scenery, Cornwall isunrivalled in the whole of England, but for sweet, rustic loveliness, Ihad to confess that we had nothing to surpass what I saw that day. 

Mile after mile of field, and woodland, in undulating beauty, spreadthemselves out before me, while away in the distance was a fringe ofrocky tors and wild moor-land. 

At the bottom of the hill on the side of which the house stood ran aclear, sparkling river, which wound itself away down the valley like aribbon of silver, hidden only here and there by trees and brushwood. 

So enamoured was I that I stood like one entranced, and did not noticethe two men who had entered, until St. Mabyn spoke. 

Captain Horace Springfield was a tall, dark, lean man from thirty tothirty-five years of age, and from what I learnt afterwards, had spenta great deal of time abroad. Although still young, his intensely blackhair was becoming tinged with grey, and his deeply-lined cheeks, andsomewhat sunken eyes made him look older than he really was. Althoughhe was home on sick leave, he showed no sign of weakness; his everymovement suggested strength and decision. 

'Glad to know you, ' he said; 'it's a degrading sort of business to goround the country persuading men to do their duty, but since there areso many shirkers in the country, some one's obliged to do it. We shallneed all the strength of England, and of the Empire, before we've done, if this job is to be finished satisfactorily; the Germans will need alot of licking. '

'Still, our chaps are doing very well, ' I ventured. 

'Oh, yes, they are all right. But naturally these new fellows haven'tthe staying power of the men in the old Army. They, poor chaps, werenearly all done for in the early days of the war. Still, theTerritorials saved the situation. '

'You've seen service in the East?' I ventured. 

'Yes, Egypt and India. '

'It was in Egypt that Captain Springfield knew my brother Maurice, ' andGeorge St. Mabyn glanced quickly at him as he spoke. 

'The country lost a fine soldier in Maurice St. Mabyn, ' saidSpringfield. 'If he had lived, he'd have been colonel by now; in fact, there is no knowing what he mightn't have become. He had a big mind, and was able to take a broad grasp of things. I'd like to have seenhim at the General Headquarters in France. What Maurice St. Mabyndidn't know about soldiering wasn't worth knowing. Still, he's dead, poor chap. '

'Were you with him when he died?' I asked. 

'Yes, I was, --that is I was in the show when he was killed. It was oneof those affairs which make it hard to forgive Providence. You see, itwas only a small skirmish; some mad mullah of a fellow became a paidagitator among the natives. He stirred up a good deal of religiousfeeling, and quite a number of poor fools joined him. By some means, too, he obtained arms for them. St. Mabyn was ordered to put down whatthe English press called "a native rebellion. " He was able to do iteasily for although he hadn't many men, he planned our attack soperfectly that we blew them into smithereens in a few hours. '

'And you were in it?' I asked. 

'Yes, ' and then in a few words he described how Maurice St. Mabyn waskilled. 

'It's jolly hard when a friend dies like that, ' I said awkwardly. 

'Yes, ' was Springfield's reply, 'it is. Of course it is one of therisks of the Army, and I am sure that Maurice would have gone into it, even if he had known what would take place. He was that sort. In away, too, it was a glorious death. By his pluck and foresight he madethe whole job easy, and put down what might have been a big rebellion. But that isn't quite how I look at it. I lost a pal, the best pal aman ever had. His death bowled me over, too, and I wasn't fit foranything for months. Poor old Maurice!'

I must confess that I was moved by the man's evident feeling. He hadnot struck me as an emotional man, --rather, at first, he gave me theimpression of being somewhat hard and callous. His deep-set eyes, highcheek-bones, and tall gaunt form, suggested one of those men who was ashard as nails, and who could see his own mother die without a quiver ofhis lips. 

'Forgive me, Luscombe, ' he said, 'I'm not a sloppy kind of chap as arule, and sentiment isn't my strong point. I have seen as much hardservice as few men, and death has not been a rare thing to me. I havebeen in one or two little affairs out in India, and seen men die fast. It is no make-belief over in France, either, although I have seen nobig engagement there. But to lose a pal is---- I say, shall we changethe subject?'

After this, we went out into the grounds, and talked of anything ratherthan war or soldiering, and I must confess that Springfield talkedwell. There was a kind of rough strength about him which impressed me. That he was on good terms with George St. Mabyn was evident, for theycalled each other by their Christian names, and I judged that theirfriendship was of long standing. 

After I had been there a little over an hour, and was on the point oftelling the chauffeur to take me back to Granitelands, George St. Mabyninformed me that he and Springfield were going there to lunch. I wasrather surprised at this, as no mention of it had been made before, andI wondered why, if they had arranged to be at Granitelands, I shouldhave been asked to visit them that morning. Still, I did not give thematter a second thought, and before one o'clock St. Mabyn appeared inthe seventh heaven of delight, for he was walking around the grounds ofGranitelands with Norah Blackwater by his side. 

I left soon after lunch, but before I went I had a few minutes' chatwith Lorna Bolivick. 

'You will remember your promise, won't you?' and she looked eagerlyinto my face as she spoke. 

'What promise?'

'You know. The promise, you made about that man, Paul Edgecumbe. Iwant you to promise something else, too. '

'What is that?'

'I want you to let me know when you have found him. '

'What possible interest can you have in him, Miss Bolivick?'

'I only know that I _am_ interested in him; I couldn't sleep last nightfor thinking about him. It's--it's just awful, isn't it? Do you likeCaptain Springfield?'

'I neither like nor dislike him. I only met him an hour or two ago, and in all probability I shall never see him again. '

'Oh, but you will. You are a friend of Sir Roger Granville's, aren'tyou?'

'Scarcely. I happen to have been brought into contact with him becauseof this work I am doing, and he has been very kind to me. That is all. I have never been here before, and probably I shall never come again. '

'Oh, yes, you will. Sir Roger likes you, so does Lady Granville; theysaid so last night after you went to bed. I am sure you will come hereagain. '

'I shall be awfully glad if I do, especially if it will lead to myseeing you. '

'Don't be silly, ' and she spoke with all the freedom of a child; 'allthe same, I'd like you to meet my father. He'd like to know you, too. We only live about five miles away. Ours is a dear old house; it isclose by the village of South Petherwin. Can you remember that?'

'If I have to write you about Paul Edgecumbe, will that find you?'

'Yes. You needn't put Bolivick, which is the name of the house, because every one who is called Bolivick lives at Bolivick, don't yousee? I shall expect to hear from you directly you find him. You aresure you won't forget?'

I laughed at the girl's insistence. 'To make it impossible, ' I said, 'I will put it down in my diary. Here we are. May 29, --you see thereis a good big space for writing. "I give my promise, that as soon as Ihave found the man, Paul Edgecumbe, I will write Miss Lorna Bolivickand acquaint her of the fact. "'

'That's right. Now then, sign your name. '

I laughingly did as she desired. 

'I am going to witness it, ' she said, and there was quite a serioustone in her voice. She took my pencil, and wrote in a somewhat crude, schoolgirl hand, --'Witnessed by Lorna Bolivick, Bolivick, SouthPetherwin. ' 'You can't get rid of it now, ' she said. 

While she was writing, I happened to look up, and saw Norah Blackwater, who was accompanied by George St. Mabyn and Captain Springfield. 

'What deep plot are you engaged in?' asked Norah Blackwater. 

'It's only some private business Mr. Luscombe and I are transacting, 'she replied, whereupon the others laughed and passed on. 

'Do you know what that Captain Springfield makes me think of?' sheasked. 

'No, ' I replied. 

'Snakes, ' she said. 

As I watched the captain's retreating form, I shook my head. 

'I can't help it. Have you noticed his eyes? There now, put yourdiary in your pocket, and don't forget what you've promised. '

'One thing is certain, ' I said to myself, as I was driven along to thestation that afternoon, 'my suspicions about George St. Mabyn aregroundless. What a fool a man is when he lets his imagination run awaywith him! Here was I, building up all sorts of mad theories, and thenI meet a man who knows nothing about my thoughts, but who destroys mytheories in half a dozen sentences. Whoever Paul Edgecumbe is, it iscertain he is not Maurice St. Mabyn. '

Several months passed, and still I heard nothing of Paul Edgecumbe. Imade all sorts of inquiries, and did my best to find him, all withoutsuccess, until I came to the conclusion that the man had not joined theArmy at all. Then, suddenly, I ceased thinking about him. Myrecruiting work came to an end, and I was pitchforked into the activework of the Army. As I have said, I knew practically nothing aboutsoldiering, and the little I had learnt was wellnigh useless, because, being merely an officer in the old Volunteers, my knowledge was largelyout of date. Still, there it was. New schemes for obtaining soldierswere on foot, and as a commission had been given to me, and there beingno need for me at the University, I became a soldier, not only in name, but in actuality. I suppose I was not altogether a failure as abattalion officer; indeed, I was told I picked up my duties withremarkable ease. Anyhow, I worked very hard. And then, before I hadtime to realize what had happened to me, I was ordered to the front. 

Some one has described life at the front as two weeks of monotony andone week of hell. I do not say it is quite like that, although itcertainly gives a hint of the truth. When one is in the trenches, itis often a very ghastly business, so ghastly that I will not attempt todescribe it. On the other hand, life behind the lines is dreadfullymonotonous, especially in the winter months, when the whole of ourbattle-line is a sea of mud and the quintessence of discomfort. Still, I did not fare badly. I was engaged in two small skirmishes, fromwhich my battalion came out well, and although, during the winter of1915-1916, things could not be described as lively, a great deal ofuseful work was done. 

Then something took place which bade fair to put an end to myactivities for the duration of the war, and which calamity was avertedin what I cannot help describing now as a miraculous way. I need notgo into the matter at length; it was a little affair as far as I wasconcerned, but was intended as a preliminary to something far moreserious, but of which I had no knowledge. It was on a dark night, Iremember, and my work was to raid a bit of the Boches' trenches, and doall the damage possible. Preparations had been carefully made, and asfar as we could gather, everything promised success. I had twenty menunder my command, and early in the morning, about an hour beforedaylight, we set out to do it. Everything seemed favourable to ourenterprise. The German searchlights were not at work, and the bit ofNo Man's Land which we had to cross did not seem to be under enemyobservation. 

I was given to understand that my little stunt was only one of severalothers which was to take place, and so, although naturally our nerveswere a bit strung up when we crawled over the parapets, we did notanticipate a difficult job. 

As a matter of fact, however, the Boches had evidently been warned ofour intentions, and had made their plans accordingly. We were allowedto cross the No Man's Land, which at this spot was about three hundredyards wide, and were nearing the place from which we could commenceoperations, when, without warning, a number of the enemy attacked us. The odds were against us at the very start; they had double ournumbers, and were able to take advantage of a situation strongly intheir favour. 

Evidently some one on our side had either conveyed information to them, or their Intelligence Department was better served than we imagined. Anyhow, there it was. Instead of entering their trenches, and taking anumber of prisoners, we had the worst of it. Still, we made a goodfight, and I imagine their losses were greater than ours, in spite oftheir superiority of numbers. Most of our fellows managed to get away, but I was not so fortunate. Just at the first streak of dawn, I foundmyself a prisoner; while four of the men whom I had brought suffered asimilar fate. 

It was no use my trying to do anything, they out-numbered us severaltimes over, and I was led away to what I suppose they regarded as aplace of safety, until reports could be made concerning us. 

I knew German fairly well, although I spoke it badly, and I tried toget some information as to the plans concerning me; but I could get nodefinite reply. It was bitterly cold, and in spite of all the Bocheshad done to make their condition comfortable, it was no picnic. Mudand slush abounded, and I heard the German soldiers complain one toanother that it was ten hours since they had tasted any food. 

Then, suddenly, there was a tremendous boom, followed by a terrificexplosion, and although I was not wounded, I was wellnigh stunned. ABritish shell had fallen close to where we were, and, as far as I couldjudge, several Boches had been accounted for. A few seconds later, there was a regular tornado. 

As I have said our work that night was intended to be preparatory to abig bombardment, and I had the misfortune to learn from the Germantrenches what a British bombardment meant. 

'_Gott in Himmel!_' said one of my captors, 'let's get away from this. 'Whereupon I was hurried on to what I supposed to be a safer place. Afew minutes later, I was descending what seemed to me a concretestairway, until I came to what struck me as a great cave, capable ofholding two or three hundred men. 

As I entered, a German officer looked up from some papers he had beenexamining, and saw us. 

'What have you here?' he asked. 

'English prisoners, sir. '

'Prisoners! what use have we for prisoners? Better put a bullet intotheir brains. They will mean only so many more mouths to feed. '

'One is an officer, sir, ' and the soldier nodded toward me. 

'Ah well, he may be useful. But I have no time to deal with him now. _Himmel!_ what's that?'

It was the noise of a tremendous explosion, and the whole place shookas though there were an earthquake. 

The captain gave some rapid instructions which I did not hear, and thenhurried away. 

CHAPTER V

HOW A MAN WORKED A MIRACLE

Since then, I have been under some terrific bombardments, but up tothat time I had never experienced anything so terrible. Evidently ourbig guns were turned on, and they had located the German trenches to anicety. Moreover, I judged that something serious was on hand, for itcontinued hour after hour. Before long all lights went out, and I knewby the hoarse cries which the Germans were making that they were in astate of panic. 

The bombardment had lasted perhaps an hour, when part of the roof ofthe cave fell in with a tremendous crash, and I imagined that severalmen were buried. 

'We'll get out of this, ' said the lieutenant who had been left incharge; 'there's a safer place further down. '

'Yes, sir, ' replied the soldier, evidently glad of the order, 'but whatabout the prisoners?'

The young officer seemed in doubt about us, and then grumbled somethingabout his captain's orders. 

'Our numbers are up, sergeant, ' I said, for Sergeant Smith and I werethe only two who were left alive. 'Either we shall be killed by ourown guns, or else we shall suffer worse than death at the hands ofthese fellows. '

'Never say die, sir, ' replied Sergeant Smith, who was noted for hisoptimistic temperament; 'anyhow, these chaps are all in a blue funk. '

'There can be no doubt about that, ' was my reply. 'If we live throughit, and if this bombardment is but the preliminary to an attack, there's a sporting chance that we may get away. '

'About a hundred to one, sir. '

After this, I have no clear recollection as to what took place. Iremember that we moved along a tunnel until we came to anotherdug-out, --after that everything became a blank to me. Either I hadbeen stunned by my captors, or I had been hurt by falling _débris_. 

When I came to my senses again, the guns were still booming, althoughthey seemed at a greater distance, and I judged that our captorsregarded us as in a safer place. Then, suddenly, I heard a voice whichset my nerves tingling. It was an English voice, too, although hespoke in German. 

'You chaps are in an awful hole, ' I heard some one say, in quietmatter-of-fact tones, as though the situation were of a most ordinarynature. 'Do you know what I think of you? You are a lot of idiots. '

'We're better off than you, anyhow, ' and this time it was a German whospoke. 'If we come alive out of this, we shall be all right; but youare our prisoners. '

'Prisoners if you like, my dear fellow, but what's the good of that toyou?'

'Every English prisoner taken is one step nearer to German victory, 'replied the soldier sententiously. 

'Nonsense! There'll never be a German victory, and you know it. You've never been behind the British lines, have you? Why, man, thereare mountains of guns and ammunition--every day is adding to the stock, and soon, mark you, very soon, all these places of yours will become somany death-traps. '

The German laughed incredulously. 

'Do you know what'll happen soon?' went on the English voice, 'therewill be bombing parties along here; you may be safe for the moment, butyou can't get out, --not one of you dare try. If you did, it would beall up with you. '

'What are you getting at?' snarled the German. 'You are our prisoner, anyhow, and if we are killed, so will you be!'

'Just so. But then I don't want to get killed, neither do you. '

'I know it's a beastly business, ' said the German, 'and I wish thiscursed war would come to an end. '

'Yes, you see you were mistaken now, don't you?' and the Englishmanwith the quiet voice laughed. 'You were told it was all going to beover in a few weeks, and that it was going to be a picnic. "Bah!" yousaid, "what can the English do?" But, my dear fellow, the English haveonly just begun. You are just ramming your heads against a stone wall. You won't hurt the wall, but your heads will get mightily battered. Ohyes, we are your prisoners, there are just three of us left alive, andyou are thirty. But what is the good of it?'

'What are you getting at, Tommy?' asked another, 'and why are youtalking all this humbug?'

'Because I can get you out of this. '

'Get us out of it! How?'

'Ah, that is my secret, but I can. '

'What! Every one of us, unhurt?'

'Every one of you, unhurt. '

There was a general laugh of incredulity. 

'You don't believe me, I know. But I swear to you I can do it. '

'How?'

'By taking you as prisoners to the British lines. I know a way bywhich it can be done. '

As may be imagined, I was not an uninterested listener to thisconversation. Evidently another man had been taken prisoner; who I hadno knowledge, but we had somehow been brought together. But it was notaltogether the quiet confidence of the speaker which interested me, itwas the sound of his voice. While it was not familiar to me, I feltsure I had heard it before. The light was so dim, that I could seeneither his face nor any marks whereby I could discover his rank; buthe spoke German so well that I judged him to be an officer. TheGermans laughed aloud at his last remark. 

'Your prisoners!' they shouted, 'and we ten to your one!'

'Why not, ' he asked, 'if I take you to safety? Now just think, supposeyou all get out of this, and we are lodged in one of your German prisoncamps; you remain here at the front, and be fodder for cannon. Howmany of you will come through this war alive, think you? Perhaps oneout of ten. And the end of it will be that your country will bebeaten. I am as sure of that as I am that the sun will rise to-morrow. Now supposing you adopt my plan, suppose you go with me as prisoners ofwar; I will take you to the British lines unhurt, and then you will besent to the Isle of Wight, or some such place; you will be well housed, well clothed, well fed, until the war's over. Don't you think you aresilly asses to stay here and play a losing game, amidst all this miseryand suffering, when you can get away unhurt and enjoy yourselves?'

In spite of the madness of the proposal, he spoke in such a convincingway that he impressed them in spite of themselves. Indeed I, who amrelating the conversation as nearly word for word as I can remember, cannot give anything like an idea of the subtle persuasion whichaccompanied his words. It might seem as though he were master of thesituation, and they had to do his will; in fact, he seemed to hypnotizethem by the persuasiveness of his voice, and by some magnetic charm ofhis presence. 

'You may be safe here for the moment, ' he went on, 'but I can tell youwhat'll happen. By this time your trenches are nearly level with theground, --not a man in them will be alive. Your machine-gunemplacements will be all blown into smithereens, for this is noordinary bombardment; it is tremendous, man, tremendous! In less thantwo hours from now, either the outlets of these dug-outs of yours willbe stopped up, and you will die of foul air or starvation, or bombingparties will come, and then it'll be all up with you. I tell you, Iknow what I am talking about. '

'Yes, but if we are killed, so will you be!'

'And if we are, what good'll that do to any of us? We are young, wewant to live. '

Just then we heard a terrific explosion, louder even than any which hadpreceded it. The ground shook; it seemed as though hell were let loose. 

'Do you hear that?' he went on, when there was a moment's quiet. 'That's just a foretaste of what's coming. That's one of the big newguns, and there are hundreds of them, hundreds. Well, if you won't, you won't. '

'What do you want us to do?' and one of the Germans spoke excitedly. 

'I tell you I know a way by which I can lead you out of this. I knowthe country round here, inch by inch; I have made it my business tostudy it; and I give you my word I will take you back to the Britishlines unhurt. And then your life as an English prisoner will be just apicnic. '

'Your word!' said one of them scornfully, 'what is it worth? You areonly a Tommy. '

'Yes, my word, ' and he spoke it in such a way that they felt him to betheir master. It was one of those cases where one personalitydominated thirty. 

'Are you an officer?' said one of the Germans after a pause. 'Youspeak like a gentleman, but your uniform is that of a Tommy. '

'No matter what I am, I give you my promise, and I never broke mypromise yet. '

Again it was not the words which affected them, it was the manner inwhich he spoke them. He might have been a king speaking to hissubjects. 

'Now then, which shall it be?' he went on; 'if we stay here, in allprobability we shall every one of us be killed. Listen to that!There! there! don't you feel it?--the whole earth is trembling, I tellyou, and all these fortifications of yours will be nothing but so muchcardboard! And our men have mountains of munitions, man, mountains! Ihave seen them. It will be rather a horrible death, too, won't it?Whether we are buried alive, or blown up by bombs, it won't bepleasant. It seems such a pity, too, when in ten minutes from now wecan be in safety. '

The man was working a miracle; he was accomplishing that which, according to every canon of common sense, was impossible. He was aprisoner in the power of thirty men, and yet he was persuading them tobecome his prisoners. Even Sergeant Smith, who could not understand aword of what was being said, knew it. He knew it by the tenseatmosphere of the place, by the look on the faces of the Germansoldiers. 

We had become so interested, that neither of us dared to move; we justsat and listened while the unknown man, with quiet, persuasive words, was working his will on them. 

As I said, I could not see his face. For one thing, the light was dim, and for another his features were turned away from me; but I could hearevery word he said. Even above the roar of the artillery, whichsounded like distant thunder, and in spite of the trembling earth, every tone reached me, and I knew that his every word was sapping theGermans' resistance, just as a strong current of water frets away afoundation of sand. What at first I had felt like laughing at, becameto me first a possibility, then a probability, then almost a certainty. So excited did I become that, more than once, I longed with an intenselonging to join my persuasions to that of the stranger. But when Itried to speak, no words came. It might have been as though somemagician were at work, or some powerful mesmerist, who mesmerized hishearers into obedience. 

'I say, you fellows, ' said one of the Germans to his companions, 'whatdo you say? Our life here is one prolonged hell, --what is the use ofit? Our officers tell us to hold on, hold on. And why should we holdon? Just to become fodder for cannon? I had four brothers, and everyone of them is killed. Who's to look after my mother, if I am dead?'

Three minutes later he had accomplished the impossible. He was leadingthe way out of the dug-out towards the open. Sergeant Smith and I wentwith him like men in a dream. 

When we came out in the open air, the night had again fallen. Morethan twelve hours had elapsed since I had been taken prisoner; mostlikely I had been unconscious a great part of the time. I did not knowwhere we were going. The guns were still booming, while the heavenswere every now and then illuminated as if by some tremendous fireworks. 

'Sergeant, ' I whispered, 'the man's a magician. '

'Never heard of such a thing in my life, sir. I'm like a man dreaming. Who is he? He's got a Tommy's togs on, but he might be a fieldmarshal. '

All this time I had not once caught sight of our deliverer's face, butthe tones of his voice still haunted me like some half-forgotten dream. I had almost forgotten the wonder of our freedom in the excitementwrought by the way it was given to us. 

When at length we entered the British trenches, and the Germanprisoners had been taken care of, I saw the face of the man who hadwrought the miracle, and I recognized him as the stranger whom I hadmet at Plymouth Harbour many months before, and who had adopted thename of Paul Edgecumbe. [1]

[1] The incident related above is not an invention on the part of theauthor. It was told me by a British officer, and it took place asnearly as possible as I have described it. 

CHAPTER VI

PAUL EDGECUMBE'S MEMORY

'You!' I exclaimed. 

He stood like a soldier on parade, and saluted me. 

'Yes, Captain Luscombe. I hope you are well, sir. '

He spoke as though nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. 

'But--but--this is great!' I gasped. 'Tell me, how did you do it?'

But he had no time to answer the question, as at that moment orderscame for us to report ourselves. 

Never had I seen a man so excited as the colonel was when the story wastold to him. First of all he stared at us as though we were madmen, then laughter overcame his astonishment, and he fairly roared withmerriment. 

'The brigadier and the divisional general must hear of it at once!' hecried. 'Why, it is the greatest thing since the war began! And youdid nothing, Luscombe?'

'Nothing, ' I said; 'this man did it all. ' And I enlarged upon thedifficulties of the situation, and the way Paul Edgecumbe had overcomethem. 

'Well, Edgecumbe, ' I said, when at length I had an opportunity ofspeaking to him alone, 'give me an account of yourself. Where have youbeen? what have you been doing? and how have things been going withyou?'

'All right, sir. As to where I have been, and what I have been doing, it's not worth telling about. '

'You don't mind my asking you awkward questions, do you?'

'Not a bit. Ask what you like, sir. '

'Has your memory come back?'

A shadow passed over his face, and a suggestion of the old yearninglook came into his eyes. 

'No, --no, nothing. Strange, isn't it? Ever since that day when Ifound myself a good many miles away from Bombay, and realized that Iwas alive, everything stands out plainly in my memory; but beforethat, --nothing. I could describe to you in detail almost everythingthat has taken place since then. But there seems to be a great, blackwall which hides everything that took place before. I shudder at itsometimes because it looks so impenetrable. Now and then I havedreams, the same old dreams of black, evil faces, and flashing knives, and cries of agony; but they are only dreams, --I remember nothing. '

'During the time you were in England training, ' I said, 'you went tovarious parts of the country?'

'Yes, I was in Exeter, Swindon, Bramshott, Salisbury Plain. '

'And you recognized none of them, you'd no feeling that you had seenthose places before?'

'No. '

'Faces, now, ' I urged; 'do you ever see faces which suggest people youhave known in the past?'

He was silent for two or three seconds. 

'Yes, and no, ' he replied. 'I see faces sometimes which, while theydon't cause me to remember, give me strange fancies andincomprehensible longings. Sometimes I hear names which have the sameeffect upon me. '

'And your memory has been good for ordinary things?'

He laughed gaily. 'I think that whatever I went through has increasedmy powers of memory, --that is, those things that took place since Iwoke up. If you will ask the sub. , or the drill sergeant who gave memy training, they will tell you that there was never any need to tellme anything twice. I forget nothing, I never have to make an effort toremember. When I hear a thing, or see a man's face, I never forget it. I worked hard, too. I have read a good deal. I found that I knewnothing of mathematics, and that my knowledge of German and French wasvery hazy. It is not so now. Things like _that_ have come to me in amiraculous way. '

'Have you tried for a commission?'

'No. I have been offered one, but I wouldn't have it. Something, Idon't know what, told me not to. I wouldn't even have a corporal'sstripe. '

'And you have no more idea of who you really are than you had when Isaw you first?'

'No, not a bit. '

'Let me see if I can help your memory, ' I said. 'Devonshire, think ofthat word, now, and what it represents, --does it bring back anything toyou?'

'Nothing, except that yearning. I have a feeling that I know somethingabout it, --a great longing to--to--I hardly know what. '

I tried him a little farther. 'Granitelands, --does that mean anythingto you?'

Again he hesitated. 'No, nothing. '

'Can you ever recall any remembrance of, or has the name of Maurice St. Mabyn any interest for you?'

I asked this because, even in spite of what Captain Springfield hadtold me, vague fancies had come to me that perhaps there might be somemistake, and--and----but I dared not bring my thoughts to a conclusion. 

'Maurice St. Mabyn, ' he repeated, 'Maurice St. Mabyn. It might be aname I heard when I was a kiddy, but--no. '

'Norah Blackwater. ' I uttered the name suddenly, impressively, and Ithought I saw his lips tremble, and certainly his eyes had a far-awaylook. He was like a man trying to see in a great darkness, trying tooutline objects which were invisible to the natural eye. 

'That seems like a dream name. Who is she? Why do you ask about her?'

'I am trying to help you, ' I said. 'She is a lady I met at the houseof Sir Roger Granville. She must be about twenty-five, perhaps notquite so old, a tall, stylish-looking girl. I expect by this time sheis engaged to a fellow called George St. Mabyn. He is a brother toMaurice, who was killed in Egypt. '

'Maurice killed in Egypt!' he repeated. 

'Yes. I think Maurice had a friend called Springfield. '

'I remember that, --Springfield. Springfield, --Springfield. '

For a moment there was a change in his voice, a change, too, in thelook of his eyes. At least I thought so. I could fancy I detectedanger, contempt; but perhaps it was only fancy, and it was only for amoment. 

'A tall, dark fellow. He has rather a receding forehead, black hairstreaked with grey, a thin, somewhat cadaverous-looking face, deep-seteyes, a scar on his cheek, just below his right temple. '

He laughed again. 'By Jove, sir, ' he said, 'you might be describing aman I know. I seem to see his face as plainly as I see yours. I don'tthink I like him, either, but--but--no, it has gone, gone! Have youany suspicions about me? Have _you_ found out anything?'

'No, ' I said, 'I have found out nothing. But I have a hundredsuspicions. You see, you interested me tremendously when I saw youfirst, and I wondered greatly about you. I was awfully disappointedwhen I could not find you. '

'Why should you want to find me?' he asked. 

'Because I told some one about you, and she got tremendouslyinterested. She got angry with me because I had lost sight of you. '

'Who was she, sir?'

'Her name is Lorna Bolivick, and, I say, --I have something to showyou. ' And I searched in my tunic until I had found the previous year'sdiary in which I had written the promise. 

'There, ' I said, and opened the diary at May 29. 

'And this girl was interested in me, was she?'

Our conversation suddenly terminated at that moment, as an urgentmessage reached me that my colonel wanted to see me. A few minuteslater I learnt that little short of a calamity had befallen us; thatthe Germans had broken into some trenches which had lately been taken, and that there was imminent danger of some of our best positionsfalling into their hands. 

Twelve hours later, the danger was averted; but it was at a frightfulcost. It was reported to me that a battalion was largely decimated, and the positions which we ought to have gained remained in the handsof the enemy. 

I saw that the colonel looked very perturbed; indeed his face, whichwas usually ruddy and hopeful, was haggard and drawn. 

'Anything serious the matter?' I asked. 

'Serious!' he replied, 'it is calamitous!'

'But we've cleared them out, haven't we?'

'Cleared them out! Why, man!' and he walked to and fro like onedemented. 'There's sure to be an inquiry, ' he said at length, 'andthere'll be no end of a row; there ought to be, too. But what couldone do?'

'What is the trouble, then?' for the look in his eyes had made me veryanxious. 

He made no reply, but I could see that his mind was busily at work. 

'You remember that chap who got you out of that hole the day beforeyesterday?' he asked. 

'What, Edgecumbe? I should think I do!'

'I hear he is missing. '

'Edgecumbe missing? Taken prisoner, you mean?'

'I don't know. I have not heard particulars yet. I should not haveheard anything about him at all, but for the way he brought himselfinto prominence over that affair. But it seems he was last seenfighting with two Huns, so I expect he is done for. Terrible pity, isn't it? I was going to recommend him for decoration, and--and otherthings. '

In a way I could not understand, my heart grew heavy; I felt as thoughI were responsible for it, and that I had failed in my duty. And I hada sort of feverish desire to know what had become of him. 

'Good night, colonel, ' I said suddenly, and I hurried away into thedarkness. I felt that at all costs I must find out the truth aboutPaul Edgecumbe. 

CHAPTER VII

A CAUSE OF FAILURE

In spite of all my inquiries that night, I could discover nothing of asatisfactory nature. The reports I obtained were conflicting. One manhad it that he was wounded badly, and left dying on No Man's Land;another told me he had seen him taken prisoner by two Germans; another, still, that he was seen to break away from them. But everything wasconfused and contradictory. The truth was, that there was a great dealof hand-to-hand fighting, and when that is the case it is ofttimesdifficult to tell what becomes of a single individual. The factremained, however, that he was missing, and no one knew anythingdefinite about him. 

As a battalion officer, moreover, I had many duties to perform, and inspite of my desires, I had to give up my inquiries about him, andattend to my work. 

The following day I was sitting in my quarters, and was on the point ofwriting a letter to Lorna Bolivick, telling her what had taken place, when my orderly informed me that a soldier wished to see me. 

'He gave me this, sir, ' added Jenkins, handing me a slip of paper. 

No sooner did I see it than, starting to my feet, I rushed to the door, and saw Paul Edgecumbe, pale and wan, but standing erect nevertheless. 

I quickly got him into the room of the cottage where I was billeted, and then took a second look at him. 

'You are ill--wounded, man! You ought not to be here, ' I said, scarcely realizing what I was saying. 

'The wound's nothing, sir. I lost a little blood, that's all; and Igot the M. O. 's consent to come and see you. I shall be right as everin two or three days. '

'You are sure of that?' I asked eagerly. 

'Certain, sir. '

I laughed aloud, I was so much relieved. I need not send my letter toLorna Bolivick after-all. 

'I've wasted a lot of good sentiment over you, Edgecumbe, ' I said. 'I've heard all sorts of things about you. '

'I did have a curious experience, ' he replied, 'and at one time Ithought my number was up; still I got out of it. '

'Tell me about it, ' I said. 

'It's very difficult, sir. As I told you, my memory has been speciallygood since the time when----but you know. In these skirmishes, however, it's difficult to carry anything definite in your mind, thingsget mixed up so. You are fighting for your life, and that's all youknow. Two German chaps did get hold of me, and then, I don't know howit was, but we found ourselves in No Man's Land. The Huns were twobig, strong chaps, too, but I managed to get away from them. '

'How did you do it?'

'You see they were drugged, ' he replied. 

'Drugged?'

'Yes, drugged with ether, or something of that sort, and although theyfought as though they were possessed with devils, their minds were notclear, they acted like men dazed. So I watched for my opportunity, andgot it. I spent the whole day in a shell hole, --it wasn't pleasant, Ican tell you. Still, it offered very good cover, and if my arm hadn'tbeen bleeding, and if I wasn't so beastly faint and hungry, I shouldn'thave minded. However, I tied up my arm as well as I could, and made upmy mind to stay there. I got back under the cover of night, and--hereI am. '

'I saw nothing of the affair, ' I said. 'I had a job to do fartherback, and so was out of it. I wish I had been in it. '

'I wish you had, sir. ' There was a change in his voice, and he lookedat me almost pathetically. 

'What's the matter?'

'Of course I have no right to say anything, ' he said. 'Discipline isdiscipline, and I am only a private soldier. Are you busy, sir? Ifyou are, I will go away. But, owing to this scratch, I am at a looseend, and--and--I'd like a chat with you, sir, if you don't mind. '

'Say what you want to say. '

He was silent for a little while, and seemed to be in doubt how toexpress what he had in his mind. I saw the old, yearning, wistful lookin his eyes, too, the look I had noticed when we were walking on TheHoe at Plymouth. 

'Has your memory come back?' I asked eagerly. 'Has it anything to dowith that?'

'No, ' he replied, 'my memory has not come back. The old black wallstands still, and yet I think it has something to do with it. I amafraid I forget myself sometimes, sir, forget that you are an officer, and I am a private. '

'Never mind about that now. Tell me what you have to say. '

'This war has shaken me up a bit, it has made me think. I don't knowwhat kind of a man I was before I lost my memory; but I have an ideathat I look at things without prejudice. You see, I have nopreconceived notions. I am a full-grown man starting life with a cleanpage, that's why I can't understand. '

'Understand what?'

'I don't think I am a religious man, ' he went on, without seeming toheed me. 'When we were in England I went to Church parade and all thatsort of thing, but it had no effect upon me; it seemed to mean nothing. Perhaps it will some day, I don't know. At present I look at thingsfrom the outside; I judge by face values. Forgive me if I am talking agreat deal about myself, sir, and pardon me if I seem egotistical, Idon't mean to be. But you are the only officer with whom I amfriendly, and I was led to look upon you as a man of influence inEngland. The truth is, I am mystified, confused, bewildered. Either Iam wrong, mad; or else we are waging this war in a wrong way. '

'Yes, how?'

'While I was in the training camps, I was so much influenced by thatspeech which you gave in Plymouth, that I determined to study thecauses of this war carefully. I did so. I gave months to it. I readthe whole German case from their own standpoint. I thought out thewhole thing as clearly as I was able, and certainly I had noprejudices. '

'Well?' I asked. 

'If ever a country ought to have gone to war, we ought. If ever acountry had a righteous cause, we had, and have; if ever a Power neededcrushing, it was German power. Prussianism is the devil. I tell you, I have been physically sick as I have read the story of what they didin Belgium and France. I have gone, as far as I have been able, to thetap-roots of the whole business. I have got at the philosophy of theGerman position. I have studied the resources of our country; I havetried to realize what we stand for. I fancy I must have been a fairlyintelligent man before I lost my memory. Perhaps I was tolerably welleducated, too. Anyhow, I think I have got a grasp of the wholeposition. '

I did not speak, but waited for him to proceed. 

'I am saying this, sir, that you may see that I am not talking wildly, and my conviction is that Germany ought to have been beaten before now;but it's nowhere like beaten, the devil stalks about undaunted. '

'You forget that Germany is a great country, ' I answered, 'and that sheis supported by Austria, and Turkey, and Bulgaria. You forget, too, that she had all the advantages at the start, and that she had beenpreparing for this for forty years. You forget that she had the finesttrained fighting machine in the world, the biggest and best-equippedarmy ever known. You forget, too, that she took the world practicallyunawares, and that all her successes, especially in the West, weregained at the beginning. '

'No, I do not forget, ' he replied, and there was passion in his voice;'I have gone through all that; I made allowance for it. All the same, they ought to have been beaten before now. Anyhow, their backs oughtto have been broken, and we ought to be within sight of the end. '

'I am afraid I don't understand. The whole resources of the countryhave been strained to the utmost. Besides, see what we have done; seethe army we have made; think of all the preparations in big guns andmunitions!'

'Yes, yes, ' he cried, 'but man-power is the final court of appeal, andwe have been wasting our man-power, wasting it, --wasting it!'

'What do you mean by that? A finer lot of men never put on uniformthan we had. '

'In a way you are right. No one could admire the heroism of ourfellows more than I do. You have to get farther back. '

'How can we get farther back?'

'You have to get back to the Government. Look here, Luscombe, ' andevidently he had forgotten the difference in our ranks, 'let me put thecase into a nutshell. I was sent over here, to France, in a hurry. Never mind how I found out what I am going to tell you, --it is a fact. Two battalions of ours were urgently ordered here; our men here werehardly pressed, the Germans outnumbered us. Our chaps hadn't enoughrest, and the slaughter was ghastly. So we were ordered over torelieve them, and the command was that we were to travel night and day, so urgent was the necessity. 

'What happened? The boat by which I came was held up in the harbourfor twenty-four hours. Why? I am not talking without my book, --Iknow, I have made investigations, and I will tell you why. The firemenwere in public-houses, and would not come away. And the Governmentallowed those public-houses to be open; the Government allowed thosefiremen to drink until they were in an unfit condition to take usacross. The Government allowed the stuff that robbed them of theirmanhood, and of their sense of responsibility, to be manufactured. TheGovernment allowed private individuals to make fortunes out of thatstuff! Just think of it! There we were, all waiting, but we could notgo. Why could not we go? Why were we held up, when the lives ofthousands of others depended upon us? when the success of the warprobably depended upon it? Drink! there is your answer in one word. 

'Here's this affair of the last two or three days; it didn't come off. Ammunition was wasted, men's lives were wasted, hearts were broken; butit didn't come off. Why was it?

'What are we fighting? We are fighting devilry, inhumanity, Prussianbarbarism. Search your dictionary, and you can't find names too bad todescribe what we are fighting. But in order to do it, we use one ofthe devil's chief weapons, which is robbing us of victory. 

There was a strange intensity in his voice, and I think he forgot allabout himself in what he said. 

'Look here, ' he went on, 'you remember how some time ago we were cryingout for munitions. "Let us have more guns, more munitions, " we said. The Germans, who had been preparing for war for so many years, hadmountains of it, and as some one has said, thousands of our men wereblown into bloody rags each day. And we could not answer back. We hadneither guns nor shells. Why?'

'Because we were not properly organized. You see----'

'Yes, it was partly that, but more because our power was wasted, in thegun factories and the munition factories. You know as well as I dothat it was on the continual and persistent work of the people in thosefactories that our supplies depended. What happened? Hundreds, thousands of them left work at noon on Saturdays, and then starteddrinking, and did not appear at their work until the Tuesday orWednesday following, and when they came they were inefficient, muddled. Work that required skilled hands and clear brains had to be done bytrembling hands and muddled brains. The War Minister told us thatthere was a wastage of 10 per cent. Of our munition-making power. Hetold us, too, that between thirty and forty days of the whole workingforce of the country were lost every year, --what by? Drink. 

'And meanwhile our chaps out here were killed by the thousand, becauseof shortage of munitions. Is it any wonder that the war drags on? Isit any wonder that we are not gaining ground? We were told months agothat we should shorten the war by blockading Germany, by keeping foodfrom the nation. Now I hear rumours that there is going to be ashortage of food in our own country. Whether that will be the case ornot, I don't know. If there is a shortage, it will be our own fault. I see by the English newspapers that bread is becoming dearer everyday, and people say that there'll soon be a scarcity, and all the timemillions upon millions of bushels of grain intended for man's food isbeing wasted in breweries and distilleries. Hundreds of thousands oftons of sugar, which are almost essential to human life, are utilizedfor man's damnation; and all by the consent of the Government. 

'When the war broke out, the King signed the pledge, so did LordKitchener, so did the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Did the peoplefollow? They only laughed. I tell you, Luscombe, every distillery andevery brewery is lengthening the war, and I sometimes doubt whether weshall ever win it, --until the nation is purged of this crime! Yes, weare making vast preparations, and we have raised a fine Army. But allthe time, we are like a man trying to put out a fire by pouring wateron it with one hand, and oil with the other. '

'But, my dear chap, ' I said, 'these brewers and distillers have puttheir fortunes into their business, and they employ thousands of hands. Would you rob them of their properties, and would you throw all thesepeople out of work?'

'Great God! man, ' was his reply, 'but the country's at stake, theEmpire's at stake! Truth, righteousness, liberty are at stake! If wedon't win in this war, German devilry will rule the world, and shallthe country allow the Trade, as it calls itself, to batten upon thevitals of the nation? That's why I am bewildered. I told you just nowthat perhaps I look at things differently from what I ought to look atthem. I have lost all memory of my past life, and I judge these thingsby their face value, without any preconceived notions or prejudices. Ihave to begin _de novo_, and perhaps can't take into account all theforces which have been growing up through the ages. But, Heavens! man, this is a crisis! and if we are going to win this war, not only mustevery one do his bit, but all that weakens and all that destroys theresources of the nation must be annihilated!'

Our conversation came abruptly to an end at that moment, caused by theentrance of my orderly, who told me that a gentleman wished to see me. 

'Who is it, Jenkins?' I asked. 

'Major St. Mabyn, sir. '

He had scarcely spoken when, with a lack of ceremony common at thefront, George St. Mabyn entered. 

'Ah, there you are, Luscombe! Did you know that both Springfield and Ihave had a remove? We got here last night. I fancy there are going tobe busy times. I was awfully glad when I heard you were here too. '

'No, I never heard of your coming, ' I replied, 'but this is really agreat piece of luck. '

I had scarcely uttered the words, when I turned towards Paul Edgecumbe, who was looking steadily at St. Mabyn. There was no suggestion ofrecognition in his eyes, but I noticed that far-away wistful look, asthough he were trying to remember something. 

Instinctively I turned towards George St. Mabyn, who at that momentfirst gave a glance at Edgecumbe. Then I felt sure that althoughEdgecumbe knew nothing of St. Mabyn, his presence startled the othervery considerably. There was a look in George St. Mabyn's eyesdifficult to describe; doubt, wonder, fear, astonishment, were allthere. His ruddy cheeks became pale, too, and I was sure his lipsquivered. 

'Who--who have you got here?' he asked. 

'It's a chap who has got knocked about in a scrap, ' I replied. 

St. Mabyn gave Edgecumbe a second look, and then I thought his facesomewhat cleared. His colour came back; his lips ceased twitching. 

'What did you say your name was, my man?'

'Edgecumbe, sir. '

'D. C. L. I. , I see. '

'Yes, sir. ' He saluted as he spoke, and left the room, while GeorgeSt. Mabyn stood looking after him. 

CHAPTER VIII

I BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER

For some seconds he was silent, while I, with a score of conflictingthoughts in my mind, stood watching him. I had often wondered how Icould bring these two men together, for, while I had but little reasonto believe that they were in any way connected, I was constantlyhaunted by the idea that had been born in my mind on the night I hadfirst met George St. Mabyn. I had imagined that if they could suddenlybe brought together, my suspicions could be tested, and now, as itseemed to me, by sheer good fortune, my wishes had been gratified; butthey had led to nothing definite. 

'Who is that fellow, Luscombe?' he asked presently. 

'Don't you remember?' I replied. 'He is the man whom I met at PlymouthHarbour, the man who had lost his memory. '

'Oh, yes. Funny-looking fellow; he--he almost startled me, ' and helaughed nervously. 

'Do you know him? Did you ever see him before?' I asked. 

'No, I never saw him before. '

'I thought you looked as though you--you recognized him. '

'No, I never saw him before. '

He spoke quite naturally, and in spite of everything I could not helpbeing convinced that he and Paul Edgecumbe had met for the first time. 

'Have you heard from Devonshire lately?'

'No, ' I replied. 

'Then you don't know the news?'

'What news?' I asked eagerly. 

'Miss Blackwater and I are engaged. '

'Congratulations, ' I said; 'you'll be the envy of all the marriageablemen in Devonshire. '

'Shan't I just! Yes, I'm the happiest man in the British Army, andthat's saying a great deal. '

'I suppose it is publicly announced?' I said. 

'No, not yet. Norah wants to wait a bit. I would like to have gotmarried before I came out this time, but--but there's no understandingwomen. Still, if I live through this business, it'll come off in duetime. '

'Where do you hang out, exactly?' I asked. 

'At a village about two miles up the line. You can't miss the house Iam billeted in; it's the first decent house on your right-hand side, atthe entrance to the place. Springfield is with me. We are a bit quietjust now, but there'll be gay doings in a week or so. You must look meup, Luscombe, when you have a few hours to spare. By the way, youremember that Miss Bolivick you saw at the Granville's? She's out herein France somewhere. '

'What, nursing?'

'Yes, I suppose so. '

'A remarkably fine girl, ' I ventured; 'if I am a judge of character, she's capable of doing anything. '

'Is she? Lorna and I never hit it off somehow. She was great palswith my brother Maurice, although she was only a kid at the time. She--she didn't congratulate me on my engagement. You'll be sure tolook me up down at St. Pinto, won't you, Luscombe?'

When he had gone, I sat a long time thinking. It is true I no longerbelieved that Paul Edgecumbe could be his brother; but it set mewondering more than ever as to who Edgecumbe could be. I wondered ifthe poor fellow's memory would ever come back, and if the dark veilwhich hid his past life would be removed. 

Before going out, I scribbled a line to Lorna Bolivick, telling her ofmy meeting with Edgecumbe, and of the wonderful way he had helped me toescape from the German trenches. It was true that, according to St. Mabyn, she was in France, but I imagined that her letters would beforwarded to her. 

After that, several days elapsed before I had opportunity to pay mypromised visit to St. George Mabyn. It was a case of every man to thewheel, for we were making huge preparations for the great Somme pushwhich took place immediately afterwards. Still, I did at length findtime to go, and one evening I started to walk there just as the day wasbeginning to die. It had been very hot and sultry, I remember, and Iwas very tired. 

St. Pinto was well behind the lines, but I could hear the booming ofthe big guns away in the distance. I had no difficulty in finding thehouse where St. Mabyn was billeted, for, as he said, it was the firsthouse of importance that I came across on the outskirts of the village. 

I was disappointed, however, in finding that neither he nor Springfieldwas in. I could not complain of this, as I had not sent word that Iwas coming. But being tired, and having decided to walk, I did notrelish the thought of my tramp back, especially as I had not taken thetrouble to change my heavy field boots. 

Not a breath of wind blew, and the air was heavy and turgid. On my wayback, I had to pass a little copse which lay in a dell, and havingnoticed a little stream of water, I climbed over the fence in order toget a drink. Then, feeling deadly tired, I stretched myself at fulllength on the undergrowth, and determined to rest for an hour beforecompleting my journey. 

I think I must have fallen asleep, for presently I suddenly realizedthat it was quite dark, and that everything had become wonderfullystill. The guns no longer boomed, and it might seem as though theconflicting armies had agreed upon a truce. I imagine that even then Iwas scarcely awake, for I had little consciousness of anything save akind of dreamy restfulness, and the thought that I needn't hurry back. 

Suddenly, however, I was wholly awake, for I heard voices close by, andI judged that some one was standing close to where I was. I was aboutto get up, and make my way back to my billet, but I remained quitestill. I was arrested by a word, and that word was 'Edgecumbe. '

I did not realize that I was playing the part of an eaves-dropper, andeven if I had, I doubt if I should have made my presence known. Anything to do with Edgecumbe had a strong interest for me. 

The murmur of voices continued for some seconds without my being ableto detect another word. Then some one said distinctly:

'You say he has been down at our place to-night?'

'Yes, ' was the reply, and I recognized St. Mabyn's voice; 'he calledabout an hour before I got back. '

'What did he come for?' It was Springfield who spoke. 

'Oh, that's all right. I asked him to look us up, and I expect thathe, being off duty, came down to smoke a pipe with us. '

'I don't like the fellow. '

'Neither do I. '

Again there was low murmuring for several seconds, not a word of whichreached me. Then I heard Springfield say: 'I shan't sleep soundly tillI'm sure. '

'You weren't convinced, then?'

'I didn't see him plainly, ' was Springfield's reply. 'You see, I hadno business there, and we can't afford to arouse suspicions. '

'I tell you, Springfield, ' and George St. Mabyn spoke as though he weremuch perturbed, 'I don't like it. I was a fool to listen to you in thefirst place. If you hadn't told me you were certain about it, andthat----'

'Come that won't do, George. We are both in it together; if I havebenefited, so have you, and neither of us can afford to have the affairspoilt now. You are squire, and I am your friend, and you are going toremain squire, whatever turns up, unless, ' he added with a laugh, 'youare potted in this show. '

'What do you mean by that?'

'I mean that if it is he, he must never go back to England alive. Itwouldn't do, my dear fellow. '

'But he remembers nothing. He doesn't even know his own name. Hedoesn't know where he came from; he doesn't know what he did. '

'Yes, but if it is he, what would happen, if his memory suddenly cameback? Where should we be then? It won't bear thinking about!'

'But he knows nothing. Besides, who would take his word?'

'Are you sure Luscombe has no suspicions?' and Springfield asked thequestion sharply. 

'How can he have? and yet--oh hang it all, Springfield, it hangs like amillstone round one's neck! But mind you, I am going to have no foulplay. '

Springfield gave an unpleasant laugh. 'Foul play, my son?' he said, 'we are both too deep in this business to stick at trifles. You can'tafford it, neither can I. '

A few seconds later, I heard them trudging back towards St. Pinto, still talking eagerly. 

I lay on the thick undergrowth for some minutes without moving. Thescraps of conversation which I had heard, and which I have set downhere, gave me enough food for reflection for a long time. I was notyet quite clear as to the purport of it all, but I was clear thatvillainy was on foot, and that not only was Paul Edgecumbe's life indanger, but my own as well, and if the truth must be told, I fearedSpringfield's threat more than I feared the danger which I had to meetevery day as a soldier at the front in war time. 

The next day I received the following note:--

'MY DEAR LUSCOMBE, --

'I was awfully disappointed to learn, on my return to-night, that youhad looked us up in our show here, and had not found us. Why didn'tyou, like a decent chap, let us know you were coming? We would thenhave made it a point to be in. Springfield was even more disappointedthan I at our absence. Can't you come over on Thursday night and havea bit of grub with us? We will both make it a point to have the entireevening at liberty, always supposing that the Boches don't pay usspecial attention. Let me have a line by bearer. 

'Yours, with the best of regards 'GEORGE ST. MABYN. '

'Yes, ' I reflected, 'I will go. But I'll have another talk withEdgecumbe first. '

CHAPTER IX

EDGECUMBE IS MISSING

On the following Thursday I again made my way to St. Pinto, where Ireceived an almost effusive welcome from St. Mabyn and Springfield. Both expressed great vexation at being away when I had called before, and seemed to vie with each other in being friendly. In fact theyoverdid it. After all, I had barely known them in England, and thereseemed no reason why they should act as though I were a long lostbrother in France. 

'By the way, Luscombe, ' said St. Mabyn after dinner, 'Springfield isawfully interested in that experience of yours. He says it's one ofthe greatest jokes of the war. '

'By Jove, that's true, ' added Springfield. 'That fellow, --what do youcall him?--must be a great chap. I should like to hear more about him. '

'He is a great chap, ' I replied. 'I don't believe he knows what fearmeans, and the way he talked over those Boches was nothing short of amiracle. '

Almost before I realized it, I found myself submitted to a keenexamination as to what I knew about Edgecumbe. As I reflect on it now, I can see that Springfield's methods were very clever. He asked nodirect questions, but he led the conversation into channels which ledme, almost in spite of myself, to divulge my thoughts about him. StillI do not think I committed any grave error, and when at length I leftthem, I felt fairly satisfied with the interview. 

During my walk back to my billet I felt sure I was being followed andwatched. It was true I neither heard nor saw anything out of theordinary, but I seemed to be possessed of a sixth sense, and that sixthsense made me conscious of an unfriendly presence. But nothinghappened, and presently when I reached my quarters without molestationor happening of any sort, I laughed at myself for harbouring baselessimpressions. 

I found Edgecumbe awaiting me, as I had previously arranged. 

'Been here long?' I asked. 

'About an hour, ' and then he looked at me eagerly. 

'No, ' I said, noting his glance, 'I've nothing to tell you---yet. '

I could see he was disappointed. I had aroused his curiosity and hehad been wondering what I had in my mind. 

'Then I may as well be going, ' he said, after a few seconds' silence. 

'No, not yet. '

I could see the eager questions in his eyes, so I went on. 'I can'ttell you anything yet, Edgecumbe; it would not be fair to you, and itmight not be fair to others. It may be I'm only following thewill-o'-the-wisp of my fancies; all the same I want you to stay with meat least an hour. I think it will be the safest plan. I will send anote with you that will answer all questions, and meanwhile I'll getthese shutters closed. '

It was quite midnight when he left me, and I watched him as he walkedaway from my billet. He had not gone more than two minutes when Iheard the sound of angry voices, and as far as I could judge they camefrom the spot where he was likely to be. Then coming from the samelocality there was the sound of a pistol shot. 

Without hesitating a second, I ran towards the spot from which Ithought the sound came. It was not a very dark night, but there wasnot light enough to discern anything very plainly. For half an hour Isearched and listened, but I could discover nothing. 

I tried to persuade myself that what I had heard was only fancy, nevertheless I did not sleep well that night. As soon as morningdawned I hurried to the spot again, but if there had been a strugglethe rain which had fallen had washed the traces away. Neither wasthere anything suspicious to be seen. 

Later in the day, however, news came to me that Private Edgecumbe wasmissing, and as he had last been to my billet, I was to be questionedas to whether I knew anything of his whereabouts. 

As may be imagined when these questions were asked I could give nosatisfactory answers. I could not say that I suspected foul playwithout giving my reasons, and those reasons were not good enough togive. I could only say that he had come to me bringing a message fromCaptain Wilkins, that he had left me about midnight bearing my reply. That about two minutes after he had left I heard the sound of angryvoices, as well as a pistol shot, but beyond that nothing. 

'Have you no idea where he is?' I asked anxiously. 

'Not the slightest. I have made every inquiry--in vain. The fellowhas disappeared as though he had deserted. '

'He hasn't done that, ' I replied. 'He's not that sort. '

'Then what's become of him?'

I shook my head. I was very anxious, but I could say nothing. I darednot impugn two brother officers on such evidence as I had. Nevertheless, as may be imagined, I thought a great deal about what hadtaken place. 

CHAPTER X

THE STRUGGLE IN THE TRENCHES

The events I have been writing about took place towards the end of May, 1916, and, as I have before stated, we were at this time making hugepreparations for the Great Advance. As fortune would have it, moreover, I was, two days after my parting with Edgecumbe, given a jobfive miles further south, and then life became such a rush, that tomake anything like satisfactory inquiries about a missing soldier wasabsolutely impossible. I imagine that few newspaper readers at home, when they read the first accounts of the battle of the Somme, and notedthat we took a few villages and a few thousand prisoners on the firstdays of the battle, little realized the tremendous preparations whichhad to be made. So hardly were we kept at it, that oftimes we hadscarce time for food or rest. 

During the month of June, I received a letter from Lorna Bolivick, inreply to the one I had sent her informing her of my meeting with PaulEdgecumbe. It was so characteristic of her that I will insert it here. 

'Now please confess at once, ' she wrote, 'that it was because Iwitnessed your promise to tell me all about him, that you sent thatletter, otherwise you wouldn't have thought of writing to a poor sillygirl. And wasn't it interesting! I told you he was a wonderful man, and you see how he has paid you already for the little kindness youshowed him. Why, in all probability he saved your life! And now Iwant you to do something else for me; I want you to send me hisphotograph. I have conjured up a picture of what I think he is like, and I am anxious to see if I am right. Aren't I taking a lot ofliberties with you! But you see I like you, --I do really. I fell inlove with you when you came to Granitelands with Sir Roger Granvillethat day. Oh, no, there's nothing romantic about it, I can assure you!But you looked so kind, and trustworthy, and strong, that I took to youfrom the very first moment. Father tells me I am wrong to take violentlikes and dislikes to people at a first meeting; but I can't help it, Iam made that way. Of course you are not a bit attractive in theordinary way. You don't say sharp, clever things, and you don'tflatter. Besides, you're old. Now don't be angry. Every girl looksupon a man who is getting on for forty as old. But I am fond of youall the same. There's a sense of security about you; I am sure I couldtrust you, just the same as I trust my father. 

'Send me that photograph of your friend as soon as you can, I amanxious to get it. I am awfully busy here in this hospital, and thereare such a lot of wounded men, many of them with a limb shot off. Doyou know, I am tremendously interested in a poor Tommy who has lostboth his legs. Horrible, isn't it! But he's the most cheerful man inthe place, and keeps us laughing all day long. 

'He wrote a letter to his mother yesterday, and told her to get him apair of patent-leather dancing shoes. 

'You will be sure to be careful, won't you?--I can't bear the idea ofanything happening to you; and although I know you are old enough to becautious, and not to take foolish risks, --that is, in the ordinaryway, --I am sure you are one of those men who forget everything likecaution when you are aroused. This is awfully silly, isn't it? so I'llstop. I command you, write me at once, and do as I tell you. 

'Yours obediently, 'LORNA BOLIVICK. '

I answered this letter at once. I was in a dug-out at the time, and Iremember a lump of mud falling on the writing-pad and making a hugesmear, and explaining to her what the smear meant. As it happened, too, I was able to send her Paul Edgecumbe's photograph. It was not avery good one; it had been produced by one of his comrades who was anamateur photographer. But it gave a fair idea of him. I obtained itfrom him the last evening we were together. I did not tell her that hewas missing, even although my fears concerning him were very grave; Ithought it better not;--why, I don't know. 

At length the great first of July arrived, and it was impossible tothink of anything clearly. For days there had been a cannonade such asthe world had never witnessed before; the whole countryside shook, theair was thick with shrieking shells, the ground trembled with burstingbombs. Every breath one drew was poison; the acrid smells of highexplosives were everywhere. Then, after days of bombardment, which Iwill not try to describe, for it beggars all the language I everlearnt, the attack commenced. 

I have been sitting here trying to conjure up a picture of all I sawthat day, trying to find words in order to give some general impressionof what took place; but I simply can't. As I look back now, it onlyseems a combination of a vast mad-house and a vast charnel-house. Ihave confused memories of bodies of men creeping up behind deadlybarrages; I can see shells tearing up great holes in the earth, andscattering mud and stones around them. I can see, too, where trencheswere levelled, just as I have seen pits which children make on theseashore levelled by the incoming tide. Now and then there come backto my mind dim, weird pictures of Germans crawling out of theirdug-outs, holding up their hands, and piteously crying, 'Kamerad!Kamerad!'

I have recollections, too, of the great awkward tanks toiling alongtheir cumbersome way, smashing down whatever opposed them, and spittingout flame and death on every hand. But I can record nothing. Men talkabout the history of this war being written some day; it never willbe, --the whole thing is too tremendous, too ghastly. 

Personally, there are only a few incidents which I can recall clearly. In the main, the struggle comes back to me as a series of bewildering, chaotic, and incomplete events. Scraps of conversation come back tome, too, and those scraps have neither sequence nor meaning. 

'Fricourt taken, is it?'

'Yes, and La Boisselle. '

'No, La Boisselle is not taken. '

'Yes, it is, and Contalmaison too. '

'Nonsense, you fool! that's miles on. '

'The French are doing very well, too. Fritz is having a hot time. We'll be in Bapaume in no time. ' And so on. 

My general impression was that our men were doing very well south ofthe Ancre, up as far as Thiepval, but north of the Ancre we were not sosuccessful. The Germans were putting up a tremendous resistance, andI, unfortunately, was north of the Ancre. I will not give the exactlocality, nor the name of the village which was our objective; but thisvillage had been, as we thought, bombarded with such intensity that ourwork ought to be easy. Our casualties were very heavy, and I shallnever forget the heartaches I had when I knew that many of my men whomI had learned to know and to love were lying in nameless graves, torn, battered and unrecognizable, while many more would linger for a fewhours in agony, and presently a little mound would cover them, and alittle wooden cross would indicate their last resting-place. 

I never saw braver men. Even now my heart thrills at the abandon withwhich they rushed into every kind of danger, not grimly and doggedly, so much, as gaily, and with a laugh. They mocked at danger. I haveseen men crossing No Man's Land, with machine-gun bullets flying allround them, stop coolly to light their cigarettes, and then go on againhumming a song. 

The advance had been in progress some days, at least I think so, but Iam not sure, --one day seemed just like another. We had been at it formany hours, I remember, and we were all dead tired. I could see thatsome of the poor lads were half asleep, and ready to drop, throughsheer weariness. We had taken a difficult position, but we wereassured before we took it that our success would mean certainty to theaccomplishment of the larger plan. Our objective was the taking of afortified village a little farther on. 

Heavy-eyed and heavy-limbed, the boys still stuck to it, and lookedeagerly forward towards the accomplishment of their work. It is trueour ranks were terribly decimated, but the enemy had suffered far worsethan we, and therefore we were confident. Then the news came that wewere to be relieved. Fresh battalions had come up to take our places, and we were told that we might get back and rest. 

Our boys were disappointed at this, although they were glad of thereprieve. 

'Anyhow, we've done our bit, ' said one. 

'A dirty bit, too, ' said another. 'Still, the job's easy now, and afresh lot of men should take it in a couple of hours. '

'I'd rather go on with it, ' said a third. 'I don't see why these otherblokes should have the easy job, and we have the hard one. '

'Cheer up, old sport, ' said another, 'what do we care who does the job, as long as it's done? We're not here for a picnic. '

And so on, while we retired. How far we went back, I don't know. Ihave a confused remembrance of the fellows throwing themselves down onthe ground, almost sleeping as they fell, and not waiting for the foodwhich was provided for them, while others ate ravenously. 

'Anyhow, we've given Fritz a twisting up to-day, and we've left theother blokes a soft job, ' were the last words I heard as I dragged myweary legs to the place where I promised myself a good long sleep. 

How long I slept I don't know, but it did not seem to me two minutes, although it might have been as many hours. 

'The Boches have broken through!' Those were the words that came to mystupefied brain. 

'What!' I exclaimed, 'it is impossible!'

'Yes, back at once!'

There was no time to ask questions, no time to argue. The poor fellowswho had been fighting so long and bravely were with difficulty rousedout of their sleep, and all had to retrace their weary steps towardsthe positions for which we had fought, and which we had won. 

'Why is it? why is it?'--'There must be a mistake!'--'Why, we had got'em on toast. '--'I tell you, we left 'em nothing but a picnic!'

The men were angry, discontented, grumbling, but they went back totheir job determined to see it through nevertheless. 

After that, I have but a dim recollection of what took place, exceptthat it was grim, hard, stern fighting. The air was sulphurous, theground hideous with filth, and blood, and dead bodies. 

I don't know how it came about, but the Germans were more numerous thanwe. It was not we who were taking prisoners, but they, and thensuddenly I found myself alone, with three Germans before me. One, Iremember, had a rag saturated with blood tied round his head. He had agreat gash in his cheek, too, and was nearly beaten; but there was thelook of a devil in his eye. Had I been a private soldier, I expect Ishould have been killed without ado, but they called upon me tosurrender. I was mad at the idea. What, surrender after we had wonthe position! Surrender to the men whom we had sworn to conquer! TheArmy which had set out to make an advance must not surrender!

I was dog-tired, and a bit stupefied; but that was the feeling whichpossessed me. I remember that a dead German lay in the trench closebehind me, and that his rifle had fallen from his nerveless hand. Seizing the rifle by the barrel, I blindly and recklessly attackedthem; I had a grim sort of feeling that if I was to die, I would diefighting. I remember, too, that I comforted myself with the thoughtthat no one depended on me, and that I had no near relatives to bemoanmy death. 

It may be that my position gave me an advantage, otherwise they, beingthree, must have mastered me easily, although one of them was badlywounded; still, one desperate man can do much. I was thirty-nine yearsof age, and although not bred a soldier, I was an athlete. I was anold rowing blue, too, and that means good muscles and a strong heart. I weighed only a little over twelve stone, but I had not an ounce ofspare flesh, and I was desperate. I had a little advantage in reach, too; I am over six feet in height, and long in limb. 

But it was an unequal battle, and I knew they were bearing me down. One of my arms was numb, too; I expect it was from a blow, although Inever felt it. I saw the look of murder in their eyes, as little bylittle they pressed me back. Then a change came. 

It seems like a fantastic dream now, and the new-comer appeared to memore like a visitant from another world than tangible flesh and blood. I expect it was because my eyesight was failing me. My strength wasgone, and I remember panting for life, while sparks of fire flittedbefore my eyes. I fell against the side of the trench, and watched thenew-comer, who leapt upon two of the Germans, and hurled them from himas though they had been five-year-old children. It seemed to me that Ihad never seen such a feat of strength. A second later I knew that myantagonists would never fight again, and then my own senses departed. 

'It's all right, sir, it's all right! You'll be as fresh as a daisy ina few minutes. There, that's better. You've fought a great fight!'

The voice seemed to stir something within me, and I felt myself in myright mind with a flash. Moreover, he had taken me to a place ofcomparative safety. 

'Edgecumbe!' I cried, 'how in Heaven's name----!

'I've turned up like a bad penny, sir, haven't I? I was just in thenick of time, too. '

'This is twice you've saved my life, ' I said. 

'That's nothing, ' was his reply. 'I have found more than life. '

I looked at him curiously. His clothes were torn and caked with mud;here and there I saw they were soaked with blood. His face lookedhaggard and drawn, too, but in his eyes was such a look as I had neverseen before. The old wistfulness and yearning were gone; he no longerhad the appearance of a man grieving because he had lost his past. Joy, realization of something wonderful, a great satisfaction, allrevealed themselves in his eyes, as he looked at me. 

'His memory has come back, ' I said to myself. 

I did not think of what had become of him on the night I had dined withSpringfield and St. Mabyn, that was not worth troubling about. Hispast had come back, and evidently it was a joyous past, a past whichgave all sorts of promises for the future!

'I have great things to tell you!' he cried excitedly. 

CHAPTER XI

EDGECUMBE'S STORY

But my new-found strength was only fitful. He had barely spoken thewords, when I heard a great noise in my ears, and I knew that my senseswere becoming dim again. I heard other voices, too, and looking up Isaw my own colonel standing near, with three or four others near him. And then I have a faint recollection of hearing Paul Edgecumbe tellinghim what had taken place. I know, too, that I was angry at hisdescription. He was telling of the part I had taken in the struggle inglowing colours, while keeping his own part in it in the background. Iwas trying to tell the colonel this, when everything became black. 

When I came to myself again, I was in a rest-station behind the lines. I remember feeling very sore, and my head was aching badly, but nobones were broken. I could move my limbs, although with difficulty; Ifelt as though every inch of my body had been beaten with big sticks. Still, my mind was clear, I was able to think coherently, and to recallthe scenes through which I had passed. 

I lay for some minutes wishing I could hear news of what was going on, when a brother officer came to me. 

'Hullo, Luscombe, awake? That's right. You've had a rough time; youwere lucky to get out of it so well. '

'I am in the dark about everything, ' I said. 'Tell me what hashappened. '

He mistook my meaning, and replied with a laugh:

'Oh, you were saved by that chap who took thirty Boches Britishprisoners. He seems to be a guardian angel of yours. He's a greatman, too, there's no doubt about that. Ah, here's the M. O. Coming!'

The doctor and I were good friends, and when he had examined me, andpronounced me a fraud for being in bed, I eagerly questioned him, andthe sub. Who still remained, as to how we were doing. 

'Very well indeed, below Thiepval, ' was his reply, 'but up here badly. '

'Have we taken Thiepval?'

He shook his head gloomily. 'That'll need a bit of doing. It's aregular fortress, man! Of course we shall get it in time. Our newguns are tremendous; but we ought to have done better up this way. We've thrown away our chances, too. '

'I don't understand, ' I said. 'When we were relieved, we hadpractically won the key to the position we set out to get. '

'That's the mischief of the whole thing, ' he replied moodily. He usedlanguage which I will not set down here; it was too strong for politeears. 

'What's the matter?' I asked. 

'Oh, we're supposed to say nothing, but----'

'But what? Come, let us know. We hadn't been relieved long, when wewere called back again, and we found the Boches in the very place wehad taken. '

'Still, we are doing well south of the Ancre, and that's what thedispatches will be jubilant about, and that's what the people at homewill know of. If we'd taken G----, we should have had the key of thewhole position here, too. But there, I must be off. Cheer up, andlook perky, my boy. There'll be no obituary notices about you thistime. Yes, you can dress and get up when you want to, although I don'tthink you _will_ want to. You will be fit for duty in two or threedays. '

'By the way, do you know how Edgecumbe is?'

'He's all right. Wonderful chap! I hear he's to be recommended forall sorts of things. '

'He deserves them, ' I said; 'he ought to have a commission. '

'I hear that's coming, too. Good-bye, old man. '

The next day I came across Edgecumbe. His face looked more likeparchment than ever, but the wonderful look still remained in his eyes. 

'You are better, sir. You are all right!' he exclaimed eagerly. 

'Oh, yes, I am all right, ' I replied. 'Now let us hear about the greatthings you have to tell me of. Your memory's come back, hasn't it?'

He laughed gaily. 'Better than that, ' he cried, 'better than that, athousand times! I have no past, Sir, but I have a future!'

I looked at him wonderingly. A doubt even crossed my mind as towhether he was quite sane. 

'Tell me about it, anyhow, ' I said. 

'I have so much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. '

'Better begin at the beginning. What have you been doing since thatnight you were at my billet over at St. Pierre?'

'Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that. I say, you were right there; Ishould imagine that some people think I am in their way. Anyhow, I'dhardly left your place when I suddenly found myself surrounded by threemen, who went for me. They pretended to be drunk, but I am sure theywere not. '

'Were they soldiers?'

'I don't know. It was too dark to tell. But I am pretty handy with myfives, and I gave one something to remember, and then thinkingdiscretion was the better part of valour, I bolted. That was lucky, for they were trying to grab me. As you may remember, it was prettydark, but still not so dark as to keep one from seeing things. Ihadn't gone more than a few steps before a bullet whizzed by me. Itdidn't touch me, but as the road on which I ran was open, I turned up anarrow track, --I thought it might lead to a farmhouse, or something ofthat sort. '

'And then?'

'Then I had bad luck; The track led to a quarry, an old disused quarry. Then I must have had a very bad fall, for I was stunned and I sprainedmyself badly. When I came to myself, it was daylight, and I couldn'tmove; at least, I couldn't move without awful pain. '

'And what happened then?'

'I lay there a jolly long time. You see the blessed quarry had gotovergrown, and all that sort of thing, and it was a long way from theroad. I yelled, and yelled, but no one came. Then I saw that it wouldbe all up with me, if I could make no one hear. That seemed silly. '

'And what did you do?'

'It was a bit of a tussle; you see I'd bruised and sprained myself sobadly; but I got out after a bit, and--and--made an old man who waspassing down the main road with a horse and cart hear me. The rest wasvery simple. '

'Did you get any punishment?'

'Oh, no, sir. I have to thank you for that. The statement I madetallied so exactly with yours that I got off all right. Besides, I wasjolly shaken up. At the end of a fortnight I was able to get aroundagain. Still, it's worth thinking about. '

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, there's no doubt some one is having his knife into me. Of courseI can't help reflecting on what you said. In fact, it was your adviceto look out for squalls, that made me a bit prepared when I left you. Would you mind telling me the grounds you had for your suspicions?'

'Go on with your story first. What happened after that?'

'What happened after that!' he cried, 'everything--everything! Whathappened after that has made a new man of me; life has become new, theworld has become new!'

'You are talking riddles. Explain. '

'It's no riddle, sir, --it's a solution of all the riddles. I will tellyou. While I was convalescing, I went to a Y. M. C. A. Camp. I had neverbeen to one of these places before; I don't know why I went then, except that the time hung a bit heavy on my hands. You see, every manwas up to his neck in work, and there was great excitement in makingpreparations for the push, and I couldn't do anything. Not but what Ihad always respected the Y. M. C. A. , --what the British Army would havedone without it I don't know. In my opinion, that body is doing asmuch to win the war as the War Office is--perhaps a bit more. Theyhave kept thousands upon thousands of our chaps steady and straight. They have done more to fight the devil than--but there, I'll come tothat presently. 

'Well, one night I made my way into the Y. M. C. A. Hut. At first I didnothing but read the papers, but presently I realized that a servicewas going on. The hall wasn't full by any means. Before this push itwas full every night; but you see the boys were busy. Presently Icaught sight of the man who was speaking, and I liked his face. Iquickly found out that he was an intelligent man, too, and I went upnearer the platform to hear what he had to say. He was not a chaplainor anything of that sort, he was just one of the Y. M. C. A. Workers. Whohe was I didn't know then, --I don't now, although I have an idea Ishall meet him some day, and I shall thank him as a man was neverthanked yet. '

'Why?' I asked. 

'He made me know the greatest fact in the world, ' and he spoke veryearnestly. 'He made me realize that there was a God. That fact hadn'tcome within the realm of my vision, --I hadn't thought anything aboutit. You see, ' and I could see he had forgotten all about militaryetiquette and the difference in our ranks, 'as I have said to youbefore, I have been like a man beginning to write the story of his lifeat the middle. Having no memory, I have had no preconceived notions, and very few prejudices. I suppose if some one had asked me if Ibelieved that there was a God, I should have said yes, although Ishould have been a bit doubtful. Perhaps I should have thought thatthere was some great Force which brought all that we see into being, and then I should have said that, if this great Force were intelligent, He'd made an awful mess of things, that He'd found the Universe too biga thing to manage. But I didn't know; anyhow, the thought of God, thefact of God, hadn't troubled me, neither had I thought much aboutmyself in a deeper way. 

'Sometimes, when my pals were killed, I wondered in a vague way whathad become of them, and whether they were really dead; but there wasnothing clear or definite in my mind. But that night, while listeningto that man, I woke up to the fact that there was a God; it came to melike a flash of light. I seemed to know that there was an AlmightyPower Who was behind everything, --thinking, --controlling. Then I wasstaggered. '

'Staggered? How?' I asked. 

'He said that a Man called Jesus Christ told us what God waslike, --showed us by His own life and death. I expect I was a bitbewildered, for I seemed to see more than his words conveyed. '

He did not seem excited, he spoke quite calmly, although there was aquiver in his voice which showed how deeply he was moved, and his eyesglowed with that wonderful new light which made him seem like a newman. That he had experienced something wonderful, was evident. What Iand thousands of others regarded as a commonplace, something which wehad heard from our childhood, and which, I am afraid, did not hold usvery strongly, was to him a wonderful reality, the greatest, thedivinest thing in the world. 

'I got a New Testament, ' he went on, 'and for days I did nothing butread it. I think I could repeat those four Gospels. Man, it's themost wonderful thing ever known, --of course it is! Why----'

At that moment a change came over his face. It was as though he wereattacked by great pain, as though indeed his body were torn with agony. His fists were clenched and quivering, his body became rigid, his facedrawn and bloodless. 

'Hark, what's that?'

'I hear nothing. '

'Yes, but listen--there!'

It was a curious cry I heard; it sounded partly like the cry of aseagull, mingled with the wail of a wounded animal. It was repeatedonce, twice, and then there was a laugh. 

'I've heard that before, somewhere. Where?--where? It's back behindthe black wall!'

I looked, and saw half hidden by a small belt of brushwood, a group ofofficers, and I could hear them laughing. 

'Is that an Indian cry, Springfield?' some one said. 

'Yes, there's a legend that it is always heard the night before there'sa kind of vendetta. '

Springfield's voice reached us quite clearly, and I lookedinstinctively towards Paul Edgecumbe. 

'I know that voice! I know it!' and the intensity of his feeling wasmanifested in every word he spoke. 

'Silence, ' I whispered, 'and come with me, quickly!'

I drew him to a spot from which, without being observed, he could seeSpringfield's face. 

'That is he, _that's_ he, ' he whispered hoarsely. 'I know him, --I knowhim!'

'Who is he?' I asked. 

'I--oh!--no, --I don't know. '

From pain, almost amounting to agony, the expression on his face hadchanged to that of intense loathing, of infinite contempt. 

'Let's get away, ' he said; 'this air is polluted. '

A few minutes later, we had come to the rest-house where I had beenbrought after my shaking-up, and I saw that the letters had come. 

'Wait a minute, ' I said. 'I want to hear the end of your story. '

There was only one letter for me, and I saw at a glance that it hadcome from Lorna Bolivick. It was a long, newsy epistle, only one partof which I need quote here. It referred to Paul Edgecumbe's photograph. 

'Thank you, ' she wrote, 'for sending me that picture of your protegé. What a strange-looking man! I don't think I ever saw a face quite likeit before, and hasn't he wonderful eyes! I felt, even while looking atit, that he was reading my very soul. I am sure he has had wonderfulexperiences, and has seen things undreamed of by such as I. I had akind of feeling, when I asked you for it, that I might have met him, orseen him somewhere; but I never have. His face is like no other I haveever seen, although, in spite of its strangeness, it is wonderfullystriking. If ever you have a chance, you must bring him to see me. Iam sure I should like to talk to him. A man who has a face like thatcouldn't help being interesting. '

Here was the final blow which shattered all my suspicions. In spite ofrepeated assurances to the contrary, I retained the impression thatPaul Edgecumbe and Maurice St. Mabyn were the same person. Now I knewthat it was impossible. Lorna Bolivick's testimony was final, all themore final because she had no thought of what was in my own mind. 

And yet I knew that Paul Edgecumbe was in some way associated withSpringfield and St. Mabyn; everything pointed to that fact. Springfield's evident fear, St. Mabyn's anxiety, added to Edgecumbe'sstrange behaviour when he heard the peculiar cry, and saw Springfield'sface, made me sure that in some way these men's lives were boundtogether, in a way I could not understand. 

CHAPTER XII

THE STRUGGLE ON THE SOMME

I was not fated to hear the end of Edgecumbe's story. I had barelyfinished reading the letter, when events happened in quick successionwhich made it impossible for me to hear those things which he declaredmade all life new to him. 

It must be remembered that we were in the early part of July, when thegreat battle of the Somme was gaining intensity at every hour, and whenprivate experiences were at a discount. Each day the tornado of thegreat guns became more and more terrible, the air was full of theshrieks of shells, while the constant pep-pep-pep of machine-gunsalmost became monotonous. Village after village south of the Ancrefell into our hands, thousands of German prisoners were taken, whiledeadly fighting was the order of the day. It is no use trying todescribe it, it cannot be described. Incidents here and there can bevisualized, and to an extent made plain by words; but the movement as awhole, the constant roar of guns, the shriek of shells, the sulphur ofexplosives, the march of armies, the bringing in of prisoners, and ourown wounded men, cover too vast a field for any one picture. 

It was not one battle, it was a hundred battles, and each battle wasmore intense than the other. Position after position was taken, someof which were lost again, only to be retaken, amidst the thunder ofguns and the groans of dying men. 

If ever Tennyson's martial poem were true, it was true in that greatstruggle. Not that cavalry had much to do with it, neither was thereany pageantry or any of the panoply of war. It was all too grim, tooghastly, too sordid for that. And yet there was a pageantry of whichTennyson never dreamed. The boom of guns, the weird light of the starshells, the sulphurous atmosphere, the struggle of millions, formed apageant so Homeric, and on such an awful scale, that imagination reelsbefore it. 

It was towards the middle of July when my battalion was ordered southof the Ancre. What had become of Edgecumbe I did not know, and it wasimpossible to find out. Each battalion, each company, and eachplatoon, had its little scene of operations, and we knew nothing of whomight be a few hundred yards from us. As an infantry officer, I was, during the advance, for the most time in the trenches. Then, after theartillery had done its work, we leapt the parapets, and made our wayacross the open, oft-times through a hailstorm of bullets, whileshrieking shells fell and exploded at our feet. Now we were held up bybarbed wire, which here and there had not been swept away by ourartillery, or again we stumbled into shell holes, where we lay pantingand bruised. But these are only small incidents in the advance. 

I think it was toward the end of July when a section of my battalionlay in the trenches not far from Montauban. We had been there, Iremember, a considerable time; how long, I can scarcely tell, for hoursand sometimes days passed without definite note being taken. Above ourheads aircraft sped through the heavens, mostly our own, but now andthen Germans! We saw little puffs of cloud forming themselves aroundthem, as shells exploded in the skies. Now and then one of themachines would be hit, and I saw them swerve, as I have seen birdsswerve before they fall, at a shooting party. Behind us our guns werebooming, while a few hundred yards away in front of us, the Germantrenches were being levelled. It was a fascinating, yet horriblesight. More than once I saw machine-gun emplacements, with thegunners, struck by the projectiles from our great howitzers, and hurledmany feet high. 

Not that we had it all our own way, although our artillery was superiorto that of the enemy. If we had located their positions, so had theylocated ours, and their shells fell thick and fast along our lines, decimating our ranks. 

How long we had waited, I don't know. We knew by the artillerypreparations that the command for advance must soon come, and wecrouched there, some quivering with excitement, others cracking jokesand telling stories, and most of the men smoking cigarettes, until theword of command should pass down the line. We knew what it meant. Itwas true our barrage would make it comparatively safe; but we knew, too, that many of the lads who were joking with each other, and tellingstories of what they did in pre-war days, would never see Englandagain, while many more, if they went back, would go back mutilated andmaimed for life. Still, it was all in the day's work. The Boches hadto be beaten, and whatever might happen to us we must finish our job. 

The soldiers talked calmly about it, and even joked. 

'Think your number's up, Bill?'

'I don't know. I've been home to Blighty twice. Perhaps I shan't havesuch good luck next time. But what's the odds? We're giving Fritz arare old time. '

'Fritz ain't got no more fight in him. '

'Don't you be so sure of that, old cock. Fritz is chained to his guns, that's what _he_ is. '

'Is it true the Kaiser and old Hindenburg have come up to see this job, I wonder? Wouldn't I just like to take 'em prisoners!'

And so on, minute after minute, while the heavens and the earth werefull of the messengers of death. 

The command to go over came at length, and I heard a cheer pass downthe line. It sounded strangely amid the booming of the guns, and thevoices of the men seemed small. All the same, it was hearty andconfident. Many of them, I knew, would have a sense of relief atgetting out into the open, and feel that they were no longer likerabbits in their burrows. Helter, skelter, we went across the openground, some carelessly and indifferently, others with stern, setfaces. Here one cracked a joke with his pal, while there anotherstopped suddenly, staggered, and fell. 

The ground, I remember, was flat just there, and I could see a long waydown the line, men struggling across the open space. There was nosuggestion of military precision, that is in the ordinary sense of theword, yet in another there was. Each man was ready, and each man hadthat strange light in his eyes which no pen can describe. 

We took the first trench without difficulty. The few Germans whoremained were dazed, bewildered, and eager to surrender. They came upout of their dug-outs, their arms uplifted, piteously crying for mercy. 

'All right, Fritz, old cock, we won't hurt you! You don't deserve it. But there, I suppose you had to do what you was told. '

Now and then, however, no mercy was shown. Many of the machine-gunnersheld up one hand, and cried for mercy, while with the other they workedthe guns. However, the first line of trenches was taken, a great manyprisoners captured, and then came the more difficult and dangerousbusiness. The second line must be taken as well as the first, and thesecond line was our objective. 

By this time we did not know where we were, and we were so mixed upthat we didn't know to what battalion or regiment we belonged. In thegigantic struggle, extending for miles, there was no possibility ofkeeping together. The one thing was to drive the Germans out of thesecond line of trenches, or better still to make them prisoners. Butevery inch of ground became more dangerous. German shells were blowingup the ground around us, and decimating our advancing forces. 

It was here that I thought my number was up. A shell exploded a fewyards from me, shook the ground under my feet, threw me into the air, and half buried me in the _débris_. It was one of those moments whenit seemed as though every man was for himself, and when, in the madcarnage, it was impossible to realize what had happened to each other. I was stunned by the explosion, and how long I lay in that condition Idon't know. 

When I became conscious, I felt as though my head were going to burst, while a sense of helplessness possessed me. Then I realized that, while my legs were buried, my head was in the open. Painfully and withdifficulty I extricated myself, and then, scarcely realizing what I wasdoing, I staggered along in the direction in which I thought my boyshad gone. 

Evening was now beginning to fall, and I had lost my whereabouts. Meanwhile, there was no cessation in the roar of artillery. As Istruggled along, I saw, not fifty yards away, a group of men. And thenI heard, coming through the air, that awful note which cannot bedescribed. It was a whine, a yell, a moan, a shriek, all in one. Beginning on a lower note, it rose higher and higher, then fell again, and suddenly a huge explosive dropped close where the men stood. Amoment later, a great mass of stuff went up, forming a tremendousmushroom-shaped body of earth. When it subsided, a curly cloud ofsmoke filled the air. I was sick and bewildered by what I had passedthrough, and could scarcely realize the purport of what I had justseen. But presently I saw a man digging, digging, as if for his life. 

Half mad, and bewildered, I made my way towards him. In differentstages of consciousness I saw several soldiers lying. When I arrivedclose to the spot, I recognized the digger. It was Paul Edgecumbe. Never did I see a man work as he worked. It seemed as though hepossessed the strength of three, while all the energy of his being wasdevoted to the rescue of some one who lay beneath the heap of _débris_. In a bewildered sort of way I realized the situation. Evidently theenemy had located it as an important spot, for shell after shelldropped near by, while the men who had so far recovered their senses asto be able to get away, crawled into the shell hole. 

'Come in here, you madman!' one man said. 'You can't get him out, andyou'll only get killed. '

But Paul Edgecumbe kept on digging, heedless of flying bullets, heedless of death. 

'He can't get him out, ' said a soldier to me in a dazed sort of way;'he's buried, that's what he is. '

'Who is it?' I asked. 

'Captain Springfield, ' replied the man. 'Come in here, ' he shouted toEdgecumbe, 'that fellow ain't worth it!'

Scarcely realizing what I was doing, and so weak that I could hardlywalk, I crawled nearer to my friend. 

'You have a hopeless task there, ' I remember saying. 'Leave it, andget into the hole there. '

'Is that you, Luscombe? I shall save him, I am sure I shall. I wasburied once myself, so I know what it means. There, I have got him!'He threw down the tool with which he was digging, and with his handspulled away the stones and earth which lay over the body. 

I don't quite recollect what took place after that. I have a confusedremembrance of lying in the shell hole, while the tornado went on. Iseemed to see, as in a dream, batches of soldiers pass by me in thenear distance; some of them Germans, while others were our own men. Everything was confused, unreal. Even now I could not swear to whattook place, --what I thought I saw and heard may not be in fact areality at all, but only phantoms of the mind. Flesh and blood, andnerves and brain were utterly exhausted, and although I was notwounded, I was more dead than alive. 

I have an indistinct remembrance of a dark night, and of being led overground seamed with deep furrows, and made hideous with dead bodies. Ihad a fancy, too, that the sky was lit up with star shells, and thatthere was a continuous booming of guns. But this may have been theresult of a disordered imagination. 

When I came to consciousness, I was at a clearing-station, suffering, Iwas told, from shell shock. 

'You're not a bad case, ' said the M. O. To me, with a laugh, 'butevidently you've had a rough time. From what I can hear, too, you hada very great time. '

'A great time!' I said. 'I scarcely remember anything. '

'Some of your men do, anyhow. Yes, the second line was taken, and thevillage with it. Not that any village is left, ' he added with a laugh. 'I hear that all that remains is one stump of a tree and one chimney. However, the ground's ours. Five hundred prisoners were taken. Therenow, you feel better, don't you? It's a wonder you are alive, youknow. '

'But I was in no danger. '

'Weren't you? One of your men, who couldn't move, poor chap, becauseof a smashed leg and a broken arm, watched you crawl out of a greatheap of stuff. He said that only your head was visible at first; butthe way you wormed yourself through the mud was as good as a play. '

'I knew very little about it, ' I said. 

'Very possibly. Corporal Wilkins watched you, and shouted after you, as you staggered away; but you took no notice, and then, I hear, although you were half dead, you did some rescuing work. '

'I did rescuing work!' I gasped. 

'Why, of course you did, you know you did. '

'But I didn't, ' I replied. 

'All right then, you didn't, ' and the doctor laughed again. 'Therenow, you're comfortable now, so be quiet. I'll tell some one to bringyou some soup. '

'But I say, I--I want to know. Is Captain Springfield all right?'

The doctor laughed again. 'I thought you didn't do any rescuing work?'

'I didn't, ' I replied, 'it was the other man who did that; but isSpringfield all right?'

'He's very bad. He _may_ pull through, but I doubt it. '

'Private Edgecumbe, --what of him? He did everything, you know. '

'I think he has gone back to duty. '

'Duty!' I gasped. 'Why--why----'

'The fellow's a miracle, from what I can hear. No, he wasn't wounded. The man who told me about it said that he might have a charmed life. He's all right, anyhow. Now be quiet, I must be off. '

For the next few days, although, as I was told, I was by no means a badcase, I knew what it was to be a shattered mass of nerves. A man witha limb shot away, or who has had shrapnel or bullets taken from hisbody, can laugh and be gay, --I have seen that again and again. But onesuffering from shell shock goes through agonies untold. I am not goingto _try_ to describe it, but I shall never forget what I suffered. Assoon as I was fit, I was moved to another hospital nearer the base, andthere, as fortune would have it, I met Edgecumbe's colonel. By thistime I was able to think coherently, and my spells of nerves werebecoming rarer and less violent. 

'Yes, my boy, you are a case for home, ' said Colonel Gray. 'You are alucky beggar to get out of it so well. I was talking with your C. O. Yesterday; you are going back to England at once. I won't tell youwhat else he told me about you; your nerves are not strong enough. '

'There's nothing wrong, is there?'

Colonel Gray laughed. 'No, it's all the other way. Don't your earstingle?'

'Not a tingle, ' I said. 'But what about Edgecumbe?'

'He's a friend of yours, isn't he?' asked the colonel. 

'Yes, ' I replied. 

'Who is he?'

'I don't know, --I wish I did. '

'He's a wonderful chap. I've had my eye on him for a long time, and Ihaven't been able to make him out. What really aroused my interest inhim was the way--but of course you know all about that, you were inthat show. I never laughed so much in my life as when those Bocheswere brought in. Of course you know he's to get his decoration? Itcouldn't be helped after that Springfield affair. '

As it happened, however, I did not cross to England for several days, but stayed at a base hospital until, in the opinion of the M. O. , I wasfit to be removed. Meanwhile the carnage went on, and the great battleof the Somme developed according to the plans we had made, althoughthere were some drawbacks. At length the day came when I was to goback to England, and no sooner had I stepped on board the boat than, tomy delight, I saw Edgecumbe. 

'I _am_ glad to see you!' I cried. 

'Thank you, sir. '

'Got it bad?'

'A mere nothing, sir. Just a bruised arm. In a few days I shall be asright as ever. '

It was a beautiful day, and as it happened the boat was not crowded. Ilooked for a quiet spot where we could talk. 

'You didn't finish telling me your story when we met last, ' I saidpresently. 'I want to hear it badly. '

'I want you to hear it, ' was his reply, and I noted that bright look inhis eyes which had so struck me before. 

CHAPTER XIII

EDGECUMBE'S MADNESS

'After all, it's nothing that one can talk much about, ' he continued. 'I've become a Christian, that's all. But it's changed everything, _everything_!'

'How?'

'I find it difficult to tell you, sir; but after I'd got back from theY. M. C. A. Meeting I got hold of a New Testament, and for days I didnothing but read it. You see it was a new book to me. '

He hesitated a few seconds and then went on. 'Loss of memory is acurious thing, isn't it? I suppose I must have read it as a boy, justas nearly all other English boys have, but it was a strange book to me. I had not forgotten how to read, but I had forgotten what I had read. I seemed to remember having heard of some one called Jesus Christ, butHe meant nothing to me. That was why the reading of the New Testamentwas such a revelation. '

'Well, go on, ' I said when he stopped. 

'Presently I began to pray, ' and his voice quivered as he spoke. 'Itwas something new to me, but I did it almost unconsciously. You see, when I left the Y. M. C. A. Hut, I had a consciousness that there was aGod, but after I'd read the New Testament----; no I can't explain, Ican't find words! But I prayed, and I felt that God was listening tome, and presently something new came into my life! It seemed to me asthough some part of my nature which had been lying dormant leapt intolife. I looked at things from a new standpoint. I saw new meanings ineverything. I knew that I was no longer an orphan in the world, butthat an Almighty, All-pervading God was my Father. That He cared forme, that nothing was outside the realm of His love. I saw what God waslike, too. As I read that story of Jesus, and opened my life to Him, my whole being was flooded with the consciousness that He cared for me, that He watched me, and protected me. I saw, too, that there was nodeath to the man in whom Christ lived. That the death of the body wasnothing because the man, the essential man lived on, --where I did notknow, did not care, because God was. '

He looked across the sunlit sea as he spoke, and I think he had almostforgotten me. 

'I had an awful time though, ' he went on. 

'How? In what way?'

'It was when I read the Sermon on the Mount. I could not for a timesee how a Christian could be a soldier. The whole idea of killing menseemed a violation of Christianity. '

'It is, ' I said. 

'Yes, in a way you are right, and when I read those words of the Lordtelling us that we must love our enemies, and bless them that cursedus, I was staggered. Where could there be any Christianity in greatguns hurling men by the thousand into eternity?'

'There isn't, ' I persisted. 

'That's what I believed at first, but I got deeper presently. I sawthat I had only been looking at the surface of things. '

'How?' I asked. I was curious to see how this man who had forgottenhis past would look at things. 

'I found after a daily study of this great Magna Charta of JesusChrist, that He meant us to live by the law of love. '

'There's not much living by the law of love over yonder, ' I said, nodding in the direction of the Somme. 

'Yes there is, ' he cried. 'Oh, I realize the apparent anomaly of itall, but don't you see? _It wouldn't be living by the law of love toallow Germany to master the world by brute force_! This was thesituation. Prussianism wanted to dominate the world. The Germanswanted to dethrone mercy, pity, kindness, love, and to set up a god whospoke only by big guns. They wanted to rule the world by brute force, devilry. Now then, what ought Christians to do? It would be poorChristianity, it would be poor love to the world, to allow the devil toreign. 

'You see, ' he went on, 'Christ's law is, not only that we must love ourenemies, but we must love our neighbours too. We must live for theoverthrow of wrong and the setting up of His Kingdom of truth, andmercy, and love. But how? Here were Germany's rulers who were bent onforcing war. They were moral madmen. They believed only in force. For forty years they had been feeding on the poison of the thought thatmight was right, and that it was right to do the thing you _could_ do. '

'And what is war but accepting that idea. It is simply overcomingforce by force. Where does Christianity come in?'

'You don't argue with a mad dog, ' he said. 'You kill it. It's bestfor the dog, and it's essential for the good of the community. Germany's a mad dog, and this virus of war must be overcome, destroyed. Oh, I've thought it all out. I believe in prayer. But it's no usepraying for good health while you live over foul drains, and it's justas little praying for the destruction of such a system while you donothing. God won't do for us what we can do for ourselves. That's whythis is a holy war! That's why we must fight until Prussianism isoverthrown. We are paying a ghastly price, but it has to be paid. Allthe same, we are fighting this war in the wrong way. '

'How?' I asked. 

'Because we've forgotten God. Because, to a large extent, we regardHim too much as a negligible quantity; because we have become too muchpoisoned with the German virus. '

'I don't follow, ' I said. 

'I will try to make my meaning plain. In this war we have thegreatest, the holiest cause man ever fought for. We are struggling forthe liberty, the well-being of the world. We are fighting God's cause;but we are not fighting it in God's way. We are fighting as if therewere no God. '

'How?'

'We started wrongly. Were our soldiers made to realize when theyjoined the Army that they were going to fight for God? Did thecountry, the Government ever tell them so? Oh, don't mistake me. I ama private soldier, and I've lived with the Tommies for a long time, andI know what kind of chaps they are. A finer lot of fellows neverlived. Braver than lions, and as tender as women many of them; butdoes God count with the great bulk of them? Is Tommy filled with apassion for God? Is he made to feel the necessity of God? Does Tommydepend primarily on God for victory?'

'Well, do we depend on God for victory?' I asked. 

'If God is not with us we are lost!' he said solemnly. 'And that's ourtrouble. I've read a good many of our English papers, our leadingdaily papers, and one might think from reading them that either therewas no God, or that He didn't count. "How are we to win this war, andcrush Germanism?" is the cry, and the answer of the British Governmentand of the British press is, "Big guns, mountains of munitions, conscription, national service, big battalions, and still more bigbattalions!"'

'Well, isn't that the only way to win? What can we do without thesethings?' I asked. 

'Big guns by all means. Mountains of munitions certainly, and all theother things; but they are not enough. If we forget God, we are lost. And because we do not seek the help of God, we lose a great part of ourdriving power. '

He was in deadly earnest. To him Christianity, religion was not someformal thing, it was a great vital reality. He could not understandfaith in God, without seeking Him and depending on Him. 

'We have chaplains, ' I urged. 'We are supposed to be a Christianpeople. '

'Yes, but do we depend on God? Do we seek Him humbly? When Tommy goesinto battle, does he go into it like Cromwell's soldiers determined tofight in God's strength? Oh, yes, Tommy is a grand fellow, take him asa whole, and there are tens of thousands of fine Christians in theArmy. But in the main Tommy is a fatalist; he does not pray, he doesnot depend on God. I tell you, if this battle of the Somme were foughtin the strength of God, the Germans would have fled like sheep. '

'That's all nonsense, ' I laughed. 'We can destroy brute force only bybrute force. '

'That's the German creed, ' he cried, 'and that creed will be theirdamnation. '

'No, ' I said, more for the sake of argument than because I believed it, 'we shall beat them because we are better men, and because we shall beable to "stick it" longer. '

'Have you been to Ypres?' he asked quickly. 

'No, ' I replied. 

'I have. I was there for months. I read the accounts of the Ypresbattles while I was there, and I was able to study the _terrain_, theconditions. And Germany ought to have won. Germany _would_ have wontoo, if force was the deciding power. Why, think, they had four men toour one, and a greater proportion of big guns and munitions. Humanlyspeaking, the battle was theirs and then Calais was theirs and theycould dominate the Channel. But it is "Not by might, nor by power; butby My Spirit, said the Lord of Hosts. " I tell you, Sir, no one canread the inwardness of the battles of Ypres without believing inAlmighty God. By the way, did you ever read Victor Hugo's _LesMiserables_?'

'Years ago. What has that to do with it?'

'He describes the battle of Waterloo. He says that Napoleon by everyhuman law ought to have won it. But Hugo says this: "Napoleon lostWaterloo because God was against him. " That's why Germany didn't takeYpres, and rush through to Calais. That's why they'll lose this war. '

'And yet the Germans are always saying that God is on their side. Theygo to battle singing--

 "A safe stronghold our God is still. "'

'Yes, they are like the men in the time of Christ who said "Lord, Lord, " and did not the things he said. I tell you, sir, if we hadfought in God's strength, and obeyed God's commands, _the war wouldhave been over by now_. German militarism would have been crushed andthe world would be at peace. '

'Nonsense, ' I replied with a laugh. 

'It's not nonsense. This, as it seems to me, is the case: We arefighting God's cause, but God counts but very little. We are notlaying hold of His Omnipotence; we are trusting entirely in big guns, while God is forgotten. That is why the war drags on. I tell you, 'and his voice quivered with passion, 'what I am afraid of is this. This ghastly carnage will drag on, with all its horrors; homes will bedecimated, lives will be sacrificed all because we believe more inmaterial things than in spiritual things. More in the devil than inGod. I think sometimes that God will not allow us to win because weare not worthy. '

'Come now, ' I said, 'it is very easy to speak in generalities aboutsuch a question; but tell me how, in a practical way, faith in God, andreligious enthusiasm would help us to win this war?'

'How?' he cried. 'Don't you see that in addition to what I will callthe spiritual power which would come through faith in, and obedience tothe will of God, you add a practical, human force? Let there be thisfaith, this enthusiasm, and the people, the soldiers, would be readyfor anything. Our workpeople would cease going on strike, employersand tradespeople would no longer be profiteers, grumbling and disunitywould cease. We should all _unitedly_ throw ourselves, heart and soulinto this great struggle, and nothing could withstand us. '

'But tell me why we are not worthy of victory, now, ' I urged. 

CHAPTER XIV

EDGECUMBE'S LOGIC

He was silent for a few seconds, and then went on quietly: 'You willforgive me, sir, if I seem assertive, but I look on you as myfriend--and--and you know all about me--that I know myself. As I havesaid before, I naturally look at things differently from others. Ihave to be always beginning _de novo_. But tell me, sir, what do youthink are the greatest curses in the British Army? What ruins most ofour soldiers, body and soul?'

I hesitated a second, and then replied, 'Drink and--and impurity. '

'Exactly; and how much is the latter owing to the former?'

'A great deal, I dare say. '

'Just so. Now go a step further. Did not one of England's mostprominent statesmen say that he feared drink more than he feared theGermans?'

'That was a rhetorical flourish, ' I laughed. 

'No, it was a sober considered statement. Now think. BeforeI--I--that is before God became real to me, I looked at this questionfrom the standpoint of policy. I considered the whole thing in thelight of the fact that it was sapping our strength, wasting ourmanhood. But I have had to go deeper, and now I see----great God, man, it's ghastly! positively ghastly!'

'What is ghastly?' I asked. 

'Look here, sir, '--and his voice became very intense, --'I suppose youare typical of the educated Britisher. You stand half-way between theextreme Puritan on the one hand, and the mere man of the world on theother. Tell me this: Do you regard the body as of more importance thanthe soul? Do you think material success more vital than the upliftingof the real man? Do you look upon any gain won at the expense of aman's character as a good thing?'

'No, ' I replied, 'I don't. I am afraid that, as a people, we aregripped very strongly by the material side of things, buttheoretically, at all events, yes, and in a deeper way, too, we knowthat character is of more importance than material advancement. '

'Go a step further, sir. Supposing we could win this war at theexpense of the highest ideals of the nation; supposing we could crushGerman militarism, and all the devilry which it has dragged at itsheels, by poisoning our own national life, and by binding ourselves bythe chains which we are trying to break in Germany; would it be a goodthing?'

'Very doubtful, at all events, ' I replied; 'but why are you harping onthat?'

'Because I am bewildered, staggered. Don't mistake me; I have not theslightest doubt about the righteousness of our cause. If ever therewas a call from Almighty God, there is a call now, and that call isincreasing in its intensity as the days go by. If Germany won, theworld would not be a fit place to live in; it would be crushed underthe iron heel of materialism and brutalism. All that we regard asbeautiful and holy, all that the best life of the world has beenstruggling after, would be strangled, and the race of the nations wouldbe after material gain, material power, brute force. The more I thinkof it, the more I realize this, --we are fighting for the liberty of theworld. But aren't our own men becoming enslaved while they arefighting? Aren't we seeking to win this war of God at the price of ourown manhood?'

He was so earnest, so sincere, that I could not help being impressed. Besides, there was truth, a tremendous amount of truth, in what he wassaying. 

'Either this is God's war, ' he went on, 'and we are fighting for God'scause, or we are not. If it is simply a matter of meeting force byforce, devilry by devilry then there is not much to choose between us. But if we as a nation, --the pioneer of nations, the greatest nationunder the sun, --are fighting for the advancement of the Kingdom of God, then we should eschew the devil's weapons. We should see to it that novictory is won at the cost of men's immortal souls. Besides, we gainno real advantage; I am certain of that. I have been in this war longenough to know that the stamina of our men, the quality of our men, isnot made better by this damnable thing. It is all the other way. OurArmy is a poorer army because of it, and we have lost more than we havegained by the use of it. That is looking at it purely from thephysical standpoint. But surely, if a man believes in Almighty God, hehas higher conceptions; when a man fights in the Spirit of God, andlooks to Him for strength and for guidance, he has Omnipotent forces onhis side. That is why we ought to have won months ago. In reality, this war at the beginning, was a war of might against right, and wehave been making it a war of might against might, and we have beenwilling to sacrifice right for might. '

'But surely, ' I said, 'you who have seen a lot of fighting, and havebeen over the top several times, know that the conditions are soterrible that men do need help. You know, as well as I do, that anartillery bombardment is hell, and that it needs a kind of artificialcourage to go through what the lads have to go through. '

'And that brings me back to the point from which I started, ' he cried. 'Are we willing to win this war at the cost of men's immortal souls?Mind you, I don't admit your premise for a moment; to admit it would beto impugn the courage of tens of thousands of the boys who have allalong refused to touch it. Do you mean to tell me that the abstainersin the Army are less courageous than those who drink? Does any onedare to state that the lads who have refused to touch it have been lessbrave than those who have had it? To say that would be to insult thefinest fellows who ever lived. But here is the point; we admit thatdrink is a curse, that it is a more baneful enemy than the Germans, that it is degrading not only the manhood of England, but cursingBritish womanhood, and yet we encourage its use. Now, assuming thatour victory depends on this stuff, are we justified in using it? Itmay be rank treason to say so, but I say better lose the war than winit by means of that which is cursing the souls of our men. But we arenot faced with that alternative. Our Army, brave as it is, great as itis, glorious as it is, would be braver, greater, and more glorious, ifthe thing were abolished for ever. And more than that, by making agreat sacrifice for the sake of our highest manhood, we should linkourselves to Almighty God, and thus realize a power now unknown. '

'Is that what the New Testament teaches you?' I said at length. 'Isthat the result of your becoming a Christian?'

'Yes, ' he replied eagerly. 'I have read through the New Testamentagain and again. Every word which is recorded of our Lord's sayings Ihave committed to memory, and I am sure that what I say is right. Either Christianity is a dead letter, a mockery, or we have beenfighting this war in a wrong way. We have not been trusting to God forstrength, and what is more, the best men in our Army and Navy realizeit. Take the two men who, humanly speaking, have the affairs of thiswar most largely in their hands: Admiral Beatty and Sir WilliamRobertson. What did Sir William Robertson say to one of the heads ofthe Church of Jesus Christ in England? "Make the men religious, Bishop, " he said, "make the men religious. " Have you seen that letterhe wrote? "We are trusting too much in horsemen and chariots, trustingtoo much in the arm of flesh, and when the nation depends more onspiritual forces, we shall be nearer victory. " What did Admiral Beattysay in that remarkable letter he wrote only a little while ago? "WhenEngland looks out with humbler eyes, and with prayer on her lips, thenshe can begin to count the days towards the end. " Does England believethat? "Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord ofHosts. " Does the British Government believe that? Do the peoplebelieve it? Do the Churches believe it?'

'But we must have might, and we must have power, ' I urged. 

'Of course we must. No one would think of denying it. But primarily, _primarily_, our great hope, our great confidence is not in materialforces, but in spiritual. That is the point to which we as a nationmust get back, and when we do, the hosts of German militarism willbecome but as thistledown. That is the call of God in these days, thatis what this war should do for our country, it should bring us back torealities, bring us to God. Is it doing that, Captain Luscombe?'

'You know as well as I, ' I replied. 'I have not been home for a longtime. '

'I shall see presently, ' he said, for by this time the shores ofEngland were becoming more and more plain to us. 'Of course, while Iwas at home during my training, I did not realize things as I do now;my eyes had not been opened. But I shall study England in the light ofthe New Testament. '

'You will have a busy time, ' I laughed. 

'I suppose I am to have a commission, sir, ' he said just before leavingthe boat, 'and I am to go away into an Officers' Training Corps atonce. But I have your address and you shall hear from me. '

That same night I wrote a letter to Lorna Bolivick, telling her of myarrival in England, and informing her that in all probability Edgecumbewould be in the country for some time. I wrote to Devonshire, becauseI had been previously informed that she had been obliged to return homeon account of her health. 

Three days later I got her reply. 

'"Dear Captain Luscombe, " she wrote, "I am awfully interested to hearthat you are back in England; of course you will come and see us. Father insists that you shall, and you must _be sure_ to bring yourfriend. _I shall take no refusal_. If you can give me his address, Iwill write to him at once, although, seeing we have never met, I thinkit will be better for you to convey my message. Tell him that I_insist_ on you both coming as soon as possible. I have heaps ofthings to tell you, but I can't write them. Besides, as we shall beseeing each other soon, there is no need. Telegraph at once the timeyou will arrive, and remember that I cannot possibly hear of any excusewhatever from either of you. "'

Edgecumbe having informed me of his whereabouts, I went to see him, andshowed him the letter. 

'Why on earth should she want to see me?' he asked. 

'I don't know, except that I told her about our meeting, ' I replied. 'She took a tremendous interest in you. Don't you remember?

For a few seconds there was a far-away look in his eyes, then evidentlyhe came to a decision. 

'Yes, I'll go, ' he said, 'I will. I--I--think----' But he did notfinish his sentence. 

A few days later, we were on our way to Devonshire together, I littlerealizing the influence our visit would have on the future. 

CHAPTER XV

DEVONSHIRE

Before leaving for England, I had learned that Captain Springfield wasat a base hospital, and that although he was in a bad way, and not fitto return home, there were good hopes of his recovery. Of St. Mabyn Ihad heard nothing, but I imagined that very possibly Lorna Bolivickwould have news of him. As I have said before, Lorna's letter, writtenon receipt of Paul Edgecumbe's photograph, had dispelled whatever ideasI had entertained about his being identical with Maurice St. Mabyn. Ofcourse it was unthinkable, after what she had said. She had been sopronounced in her statement that Edgecumbe's face was altogetherstrange to her, and that she had never seen one like it before, that Iwas obliged to abandon all my former suspicions; and yet, at the backof my mind, I could not help believing that Edgecumbe and Springfieldwere not strangers. 

Of another thing, too, I was certain. He had been an officer in theArmy. On the night before we started for Devonshire I had a talk withthe C. O. Of the Officers' Training Corps to which Edgecumbe wasattached. He had been under his command only a few days, but theattention of the C. O. Had already been drawn to him. This man happenedto be an old acquaintance of mine, and he talked with me freely. 

'You say you know Edgecumbe?' he asked. 

'Yes, ' I replied; 'he is a friend of mine. '

'I had a long report of him from France, where he seems to have donesome fine things, ' said the colonel. 'Of course you know he is to bedecorated?'

'I had a hint of it before I left France, ' I replied. 

'Would it be an indiscretion to ask you to tell me what you know ofhim?'

'I don't know that it would, ' was my answer. 'Only I should like youto understand that what I am going to tell you is in confidence. Yousee, the situation is rather peculiar, and I do not think he wants hismental condition known. '

'Why? Is there anything wrong about him?'

'Oh, no, nothing. ' And then I repeated the story of our meeting inPlymouth. 

'And his memory's not come back?' said Colonel Heywood. 

'No. '

'I can tell you this about him, though. He is an old artilleryofficer. '

'How do you know?' I asked. 

'The thing is as plain as daylight, ' was the reply. 'The man may haveno memory for certain things, and the story of his past may be a blankto him, but he knows his job already. '

'You mean----?'

'I mean this, ' interrupted the colonel, 'no man could have theknowledge he has of an artillery officer's work, without a long andsevere training. If he had forgotten it has come to him like magic. You know what our work is, and you know, too, that gunners are not madein a day. But he had it all at his fingers' ends. The major drew myattention to it almost immediately he joined us, so I determined totest him myself. He is fit to be sent out right away; he could takecharge of a battery, without an hour's more training. There is not theslightest doubt about it. I shall take steps to try and find outparticulars about our Indian Army, and whether any officers have beenmissing. The fellow interests me tremendously. Why, he has almost agenius for gunnery! He is full of ideas, too, ' and the colonellaughed. 'He, a cadet, could teach many of us older men our business. Some day I'm inclined to think there'll be a romantic revelation!'

It was through Colonel Heywood's good offices that I was allowed totake Edgecumbe to Devonshire with me, as of course he, only having justjoined the corps, was not entitled to leave so soon. As it was, he wasallowed only a long week-end. I thought of these things on our way toDevonshire, and I wondered what the future would bring forth. Anyhow, it was a further blow, if further blow were needed to my suspicions. Neither Captain Springfield nor Maurice St. Mabyn was an artilleryofficer, and if Colonel Heywood was right, even although they had knowneach other, they had belonged to different services. 

'I feel awfully nervous, ' said Edgecumbe to me, after the train hadleft Exeter. 

'Why?'

'I am acting against my judgment in accepting this invitation; whyshould I go to this house? I never saw this girl before, and from whatyou tell me, you have met her only once. '

'For that matter, ' I said, 'I feel rather sensitive myself. The factthat we have only met once makes it a bit awkward for me to be going toher father's house. '

'Did you fall in love with her, or anything of that sort?' he asked. 

'No-o, ' I replied. 'I was tremendously impressed by her, and, for sucha short acquaintance, we became great friends. The fact that we havekept up a correspondence ever since proves it. But there is nosuggestion of anything like love between us. I admire hertremendously, but I am not a marrying man. '

'I wonder how she'll regard _me_?' And Edgecumbe looked towards themirror on the opposite side of the railway carriage. 'I am acurious-looking animal, aren't I? Look at my parched skin. '

'It is not nearly as bad as it used to be, ' I replied; 'it has becomealmost normal. You are not so pale as you were, either. '

'Don't you think so? Heavens, Luscombe, but I must have had a strangeexperience to make me look as I did when you saw me first!' Then hismood changed. 'Isn't this wonderful country? I am sure I have seen itall before. ' And he looked out of the carriage window towards theundulating landscape which spread itself out before us. 

'It is a glorious country, ' he went on, like one thinking aloud. 'France is like a parched desert after this. Think of the peacefulnessof it, too! See that little village nestling on the hillside! see theold grey church tower almost hidden by the trees! That is what acountry village ought to be. Yes, I'll go to Bolivick, after all. IfI am uncomfortable, I can easily make an excuse for leaving. But Iwant to see her; yes, I do really. You've made me interested in her. I feel, too, as if something were going to happen. I am excited!'

'Well, you won't be long now, ' I replied, for just then the train drewup at South Petherwin station. 

An old servant in livery approached me as we alighted. 'CaptainLuscombe, sir?' he queried in a way which suggested the old familyretainer. 

'Yes, ' I replied. 

A few minutes later we were seated in an open carriage, while a pair ofspanking horses drew us along some typical Devonshire lanes. 

'This is better than any motor-car, after all!' cried Edgecumbe, as helooked across the richly wooded valleys towards the wild moorlandbeyond. 'After all, horses belong to a countryside like this;motor-cars don't. If ever I----' but he did not complete his sentence. He was looking towards an old stone mansion nestling among the trees. 

'That's it, that's surely it, ' he cried. 

'Is that Bolivick?' I asked the coachman. 

'Yes, sir. '

'You might have been here before, Edgecumbe, ' I said. 

'No, no, I don't think I have--and yet--I don't know. It is familiarto me in a way, and yet it isn't. But it _is_ glorious. See, thesun's rim is almost touching the hill tops, --what colour! what infinitebeauty! Must not God be beautiful!'

The carriage dashed through a pair of great grey granite pillars, and aminute later we were in park lands, where the trees still threw theirshade over the cattle which were lying beneath them. 

'An English home, ' I heard him say, 'just a typical English home. Oh, the thought of it is lovely!'

The carriage drew up at the door of the old mansion, and getting out, Isaw Lorna Bolivick standing there. 

'I am glad you've come, ' and she gave a happy laugh. 'I should neverhave forgiven you if you hadn't, ' and she shook my hand just asnaturally as if she had known me all her life. Then she turned towardsEdgecumbe. 'And this is your friend, ' she said; 'you don't know howpleased I am to see you. '

But Edgecumbe did not speak. His eyes were riveted on her face, andthey burned like coals of fire. I saw, too, by the tremor of his lips, how deeply moved he was. 

CHAPTER XVI

LORNA BOLIVICK'S HOME

For a moment I thought that Lorna Bolivick was somewhat annoyed at theintense and searching look which Edgecumbe gave her. Her face flushedsomewhat, and a suggestion of anger flashed from her eyes. But thiswas only for a moment; probably she remembered Edgecumbe's mentalcondition, and made allowance accordingly. 

Edgecumbe still continued to look at her steadily, and I noticed thathis eyes, which, except at the times when they were wistful, were quietand steadfast, now shone like coals of fire. I saw, too, that he wasunable to govern his lips, which were trembling visibly. 

'Why do you look at me like that?' she said nervously; 'any one wouldthink you had seen me before somewhere. '

'I have, ' he replied. 

'Where?'

He hesitated a second, and then said, 'In my dreams, '--and then, realizing that his behaviour, to say the least of it, was not ordinary, he hurriedly went on, 'Please forgive me, Miss Bolivick, but I neverremember having spoken to a woman before. '

She looked at him in astonishment. I suppose the statement to herseemed foolish and outrageous. 

'It is quite true, ' he went on earnestly; 'ever since I met CaptainLuscombe at Plymouth I have been in the Army, and I am afraid I havenot been a very sociable kind of character. I have lived with men allthat time, and have been somewhat of a hermit. Of course I have seenwomen, in England and in France, ' and he laughed nervously. 'But--but--no, I have never spoken to one. '

'And how do I strike you?'

'You seem like a being from another and a more beautiful world, ' hereplied gravely. 'I don't know, though, the world as one sees it hereis very beautiful'; and he glanced quickly across the park away to themoors in the distance, which the setting sun had lit up with a purpleglow. 

At that moment Sir Thomas Bolivick, Lorna's father, came to the door, and in a hearty West Country fashion gave us both a warm welcome. 

'Awfully good of you to come, Captain Luscombe, ' he said. 'Granvillehas spoken so much about you, that I feel as though you were an oldfriend. Nonsense, nonsense!'--this in reply to my apologies foraccepting the invitation. 'In times like these, we can't stand uponceremony. You are a friend of Granville's, and you are a Britishsoldier, that's enough for me. Whatever this war has done, it hassmashed up a lot of silly conventions, it has helped us to be morenatural, and when Lorna here told me about you, I wanted to see you. You see, I have read reports of your speeches, and when I saw that youwere mentioned in the dispatches, I wanted to know you more than ever. So let there be no nonsense about your being a stranger. '

Soon after, we were shown to our bedrooms, and after dressing fordinner I went to Edgecumbe's room. 

'I--I--had forgotten, ' he gasped. 'How--long have I been here?'

'Twenty minutes. Aren't you going to put on your new togs?'

He looked at me like a man in a dream. 'I had forgotten everything, 'he said, 'except----'

'Except what? What's the matter, old fellow?'

'I have no business to be here. I ought not to have come. Who amI?--what am I? Just a poor wreck without a memory. '

'A poor wreck without a memory!' I laughed. 'Don't be an ass, man. Look at that ribbon on your new tunic! Think of all the flatteringthings that have been said about you, and then talk about being a poorwreck without a memory!'

'I am an old man before my time, ' and his voice was unnatural as hespoke. 'Look at my face, seamed and lined. I am here on sufferance, here because you have been a friend to me. I have no name, no past, and no--no future. '

'That's not like you, Edgecumbe, ' I protested. 'You've always been ajolly, optimistic beggar, and now you talk like an undertaker. Future!why, you're a young fellow barely thirty. As for your name, you'vemade one, my boy, and you'll make a bigger one yet, if I'm notmistaken. You are a welcome guest here, too, --there is not theslightest doubt about that. '

'Yes, but what have I?'

'Come now, get into those togs quick; we mustn't keep them waiting, youknow; it would not be courteous on our part, after all their kindness, too. '

A sudden change swept across his face. 'You are right, Luscombe, ' hesaid; 'I'm ashamed of myself. After all---- I'll be ready in fiveminutes. There's one thing about a soldier's togs, it doesn't takelong to put 'em on. '

It was a very quiet dinner party. The two Bolivick boys were away atthe front, and Lorna was the only one of the children at home. SirThomas and Lady Bolivick were there, but beyond Norah Blackwater, Edgecumbe and I were the only guests. 

It was evident to me that Edgecumbe was an entire stranger to NorahBlackwater. Her face did not move a muscle at his appearance; andalthough he sat next to her at table, she seemed to find no interest inhis conversation. He was very quiet during dinner, and although SirThomas tried to draw him out, and make him describe some of the scenesthrough which he had passed, he was peculiarly reticent. 

As I sat at the opposite side of the table, I was able to watch hisface closely, and I could not help being impressed by the fact that, although he was very quiet, he was evidently under great excitement. Isaw, too, that sometimes for seconds together he, forgetful of NorahBlackwater, would gaze steadily at Lorna Bolivick, as though shefascinated him. I was afraid Sir Thomas did not like him, and aspresently the conversation led to our experiences at the front, Idetermined that, although Edgecumbe might feel uncomfortable, I wouldshow the baronet the kind of man he really was. 

'Talking about tight corners, ' I said, 'I got out of one of thetightest corners ever I was in, in a peculiar way. '

'Do tell us, Captain Luscombe, ' cried Lorna, who had evidently beenuncomfortable under Edgecumbe's gaze. 'We have heard nothing aboutyour experiences, and I should like to hear something. '

'It's a story of how one Englishman took thirty Germans prisoners, ' Isaid with a laugh. 

'One Englishman took thirty German prisoners!' cried the squire. 'Goodold English bull-dog! But how did he do it? Man, it's impossible!'

'Nothing is impossible to a man who keeps his head cool, and has aready wit, ' was my answer. I thereupon, without mentioning Edgecumbe'sname, described how I had been taken prisoner, and how I found myselfin the German trenches. 

'But how did you get out of such a hole as that?' cried the squire. 

'As I told you, ' I said, 'I found myself with my sergeant in a hugedug-out with thirty Germans. Of course our position was apparentlyhopeless. They had got us, and meant to keep us. I had beenunconscious for a long time owing to a nasty knock I had got, andtherefore I was tremendously surprised when I presently heard anEnglish voice talking to the Germans. Evidently another Englishprisoner had been brought in. '

'Then you were three against thirty, ' laughed the squire. 

'Three against thirty if you will, ' I replied, 'but only one inreality. I was no good, and my sergeant had no other hope than to beburied in a German prison. The new-comer, however, evidently meantbusiness. All the time the English guns were booming, and ourexplosives were tearing the Boches' trenches to pieces. As ithappened, we were too deep for them to reach us, although the dangerwas that we might be buried alive. That gave this chap, whose face Icould not see, his chance, and he began to tell the Germans what idiotsthey were to stay there in imminent danger of death, when they couldget to safety. He described the jolly times which German prisoners hadin England, and of the absolute certainty of their being licked on thebattle-field. Of course at first the Germans laughed at him, but hewent on talking, and in a few minutes he had got every one of them tosurrender. '

'But that's impossible!' cried the squire. 

'It's a fact, ' I said. 'Never in my life had I realized the effectwhich a cool, courageous man could have upon a crowd of men. Call it amiracle if you like, --indeed I always shall think of it as amiracle, --but without once losing his nerve, or once revealing theslightest lack of confidence, he worked upon the fears and hopes ofthose Boches in such a way that he persuaded them to follow him, andgive themselves up in a body as prisoners. It was one of the mostamusing things you ever saw in your life, to see this one man leadthose thirty Boches, while they held up their hands and cried"Kamerad. "'

'By George, sir!' said the squire, 'that's great, great, sir! No onebut an Englishman could do a thing like that. Ah, the old country isthe old country still! But who was he, an officer or a private?'

'A private, ' I replied. 

'And he rescued you, and took the whole thirty Huns as prisoners? ByJove, I should like to know that man! Is he alive now?'

'Very much alive, ' I laughed. 

'Where is he, then?'

I nodded my head towards Edgecumbe, who all the time had been sittingin silent protest. 

But my story had done its work. The squire's apparent dislike wasover, and, acting upon the generous impulse of the moment, he startedto his feet and rushed to Edgecumbe's side. 

'Give me your hand, sir, ' he cried; 'I am proud to know you, proud tohave you sitting at my table!'

What Edgecumbe would have said, I do not know. He had been protestingall the time as much as a man could protest with his eyes, and I knewthat like all men of his class he hated to have such deeds dragged intothe light of day, although I had done it with a set purpose. But as ithappened, there was no need for him to say anything. At that momentthe butler came behind Lady Bolivick's chair and spoke to her. 

'Captain Springfield!' she cried, 'and Charlie Buller. Oh, I am soglad. Charlie's evidently better, then. He wrote, telling me, when Iasked him to come over to-night, that he was afraid he wouldn't be wellenough. '

I do not know why it was, but at that moment I looked towards LornaBolivick, and I saw her face flush with excitement. Evidently themention of the new-comers' names meant a great deal to her. 

Then I looked at Edgecumbe, and I saw that he too had been watching her. 

CHAPTER XVII

A NEW DEVELOPMENT

Charlie Buller, as Lady Bolivick had called him, was a young fellowabout twenty-four years of age, and was first lieutenant in theDevonshire yeomanry. He had been wounded in France, and some timebefore my return to England had been in a hospital in London. Only afew days before he had been discharged from the hospital, and had nowreturned to his Devonshire home on leave. He was the only son of asquire whose lands joined those of Sir Thomas Bolivick, and was, asNorah Blackwater told me during the evening, a suitor for LornaBolivick's hand. 

'I think it is as good as settled, ' she said to me, 'although noengagement has been announced. He will be a splendid match for her, too, and owns one of the finest estates in Devonshire. Didn't you seehow excited Lorna became when she heard that he had come?'

This was the first time I had seen Springfield since I had helpedEdgecumbe to dig him from under a heap of rubbish in France. 

They had both dined early, they said, and the night being fine, hadmotored over, Charlie Buller's home being only four miles from Bolivick. 

Buller was a good-looking boy, fresh-coloured, curly-haired, andalthough in no way remarkable, quite likeable. Springfield I likedless now than when I had first seen him. His face looked paler andless wholesome than ever. The old scar which I had noticed on ourfirst meeting revealed itself more plainly, while his somewhat sinisterappearance repelled me. 

Sir Thomas, however, gave him a hearty greeting, and welcomed him tohis house with great cordiality. Sir Thomas had dined well, and was bythis time in great good humour. 

'This is splendid!' he cried, 'four men in khaki here all together!Ah, don't I wish my boys were at home to complete the party! Butthere, never mind, please God they'll come back. '

Springfield was introduced to Edgecumbe as though he were an entirestranger, and neither of them gave the slightest indication that theyhad ever met before. I wondered, as I saw them, whether Springfieldhad been aware of the name of the man who had, in all probability, saved him from death. I did not quite see how he could have beenignorant of it, and yet, from the way he greeted Edgecumbe, it mighthave been that he was in entire ignorance. 

But one thing was evident to me. He hated him, and what was more, feared him. I could see his face quite plainly, and there was nomistaking the look in his eyes. The conversation I had heard whilelying in that copse in France months before flashed back to my mind, and I knew that in some way the life of Captain Springfield was linkedto that of Edgecumbe, and that if the truth were known evil forces wereat work. What they were, I could not divine, but that they existed Ihad no doubt whatever. 

I soon realized, too, that he exercised a great influence over youngBuller. That ruddy-faced, fair-haired young fellow was but as wax inhis hands. There seemed no reason why I should be disturbed at this, but I was. I was apprehensive of the future. 

Another thing struck me, too. In a way, which I could not understand, he was wearing down Lorna Bolivick's former repugnance to him. As myreaders may remember, she had greatly disliked him at their firstmeeting, and had told me in confidence that he made her think ofsnakes. Now she listened to him eagerly, and seemed fascinated by hispresence. I had to admit, too, that the fellow talked well, andalthough he was anything but an Apollo in appearance, he possessed acharm of manner which I could not deny. 

I must confess that I felt angry at this. In spite of my admiration ofhis strength, I disliked him intensely. I was sure he wore a mask, andthat some dark mystery surrounded his life. So angry was I, that Idetermined if possible to turn the tables upon him. And so, at theclose of one of his stories, I broke in upon the conversation. 

'Yes, Captain Springfield, ' I said, 'what you say is quite true. Thequiet heroism shown by fellows whom the world regarded as entirelycommonplace is simply wonderful, and a great deal of it has never cometo light. By the way, you wouldn't have been here to-night but for theheroism of a man whose action you seem to have forgotten. '

'Is that so?' he asked. 'It is quite possible, although I am not awareof what you are thinking. '

'Surely you must be aware of it?' I replied. 

He looked at me curiously, as though he were in doubt whether I wasfriendly disposed towards him. 

'I wish you'd tell me exactly what you mean, ' he said. 

'Surely you are aware of what happened to you, and why you were sent tohospital, and why you are home on sick leave now?'

'To tell you the truth, I know precious little, ' he replied. 'All Iremember is the shriek of a shell, the noise of ten thousand thunders, absolute blackness, and then coming to consciousness in a hospital. '

'Then you don't know what happened between the noise of the tenthousand thunders and awaking in the hospital?'

'No, ' he replied, 'I don't. I do remember inquiring, but I was told tobe quiet, and when, on my becoming stronger, I was removed to the base, no one seemed to be able to tell me what had happened to me. I shouldbe jolly glad to know. Perhaps you can tell me'; and there was asuggestion of a sneer in his voice. 

'Yes, ' I replied, 'I can. '

By this time there was a deathly silence in the room. In a way which Ihad not imagined I had changed the whole atmosphere of the place. 

'As it happened, ' I said, 'I had a curious experience myself, close towhere you were. A shell had exploded not far from me, and I was halfburied, besides receiving a tremendous shock. I managed to drag myselfout from under the _débris_, however, and was in a confused kind of waytrying to find my men. You know what an awful day that was; theGermans had located us to a nicety, and were sending tons of explosiveson us. It was one of the hottest times I have ever known. '

'Heavens! it was, ' he said, and I thought he shuddered. 

'We had passed the Germans' first line, ' I continued, 'and I wasstruggling along in the open, hardly knowing what I was doing, when Isaw some men whom I thought I recognized. I heard the awful whine of ashell, which fell close by, and it was not a dud. It exploded with atremendous noise, and for some time I was wellnigh blinded by dust andsulphurous smoke. A great hole had been torn in the ground, and a hugeheap of rubbish hurled up. After a bit I saw a man digging as if forvery life. He was right out in the open, and in the greatest danger aman could be. The men who were still alive shouted to him to get intothe shell-hole, but he went on digging. '

I was silent for a few seconds. I did not know how best to concludethe story. 

'Well, what happened?' he asked. 

'He dug you out, ' I replied. 

'How do you know it was I?'

'Because I helped to carry you to a place of safety. '

'By Jove! I knew nothing about it. But who was the chap who dug meout? I should like to know. '

'Surely you know?'

'I told you I was unconscious for several days, ' was his answer, 'andwhen I asked questions, was told nothing. Who was the chap who dug meout? I--I should like to thank him. '

'He is there, ' I replied, nodding towards Edgecumbe, who seemed to bedeeply interested in Bairnfather's _Five Months at the Front_. 

'What!' he cried. 'Did--did----' The sentence died in anunintelligible mutter. He seemed to utter a name I could not catch. All the time I was watching him intently, and never shall I forget thelook that passed over his face. He had been very pale before, but nowhis pallor was ghastly. For a moment he looked almost like a dead man, save for the gleam in his eyes. He was like one struggling withhimself, struggling to obtain the mastery over some passion in his ownheart. 

It was some seconds before he spoke again, and then, in spite of mydislike for him, I could not help admiring him. The sinister gleampassed away from his eyes, and a look of seemingly great gladness cameinto his face. A second later, he had crossed the room to whereEdgecumbe was. 

'I say, Edgecumbe, ' he said, 'was it you who did that for me?' and heheld out his hand with frank heartiness. 

'Did what?' asked Edgecumbe quietly. 

'What--what Luscombe has been talking about. You heard, of course?'

For a moment Edgecumbe looked at him awkwardly. For the second timeduring that evening I had subjected him to an experience which he hated. 

'I wish Luscombe wouldn't talk such rot, ' he replied; 'after all, itwas nothing. '

'Oh, but it was!' was Springfield's reply. 'Give me your hand, man, --you saved my life. The doctors told me afterwards I had a nearshave, and--and--there, you understand, don't you?'

Seemingly he was overcome with emotion, and for some time he lapsedinto silence. The others in the room were greatly moved, too--toomoved to speak freely. There were none of those effusivecongratulations which might seem natural under the circumstance. In away the situation was dramatic, and we all felt it. 

Although he promised to come over on the following day, he seemed verysubdued as he bade us good night, though I thought he struggled tospeak naturally. It was only when he parted with Edgecumbe, however, that he showed any signs of emotion. 

'Good night, ' he said, as he grasped his hand. 'I shan't pretend tothank you. Words fail, don't they? But I shall never forget you, never--never; and if ever I can pay you back----'

He stopped short, and seemed to be struggling to say more, but no wordsescaped him. A minute later he had left the house. 

I had barely entered my room that night, when Edgecumbe knocked at thedoor which led from his apartment to mine. 'May I come in?' he asked. 

I opened the door, and scarcely noticing me he staggered to anarm-chair, and threw himself into it. 

'I want to tell you something, ' he said. 

'Well, what is it?'

But he did not speak. He sat staring into vacancy. 

'Come, old man, ' I said, after a lapse of many minutes, 'what is it?'

'If I weren't sure there was another life, ' was his reply, 'I--I shouldgo mad. '

'Go mad! Why?'

'Because this life is such a mockery, such a ghastly, hollow mockery!'

'Don't be silly. Why is it a mockery?'

'I don't suppose you can understand, ' he said, 'not even you. Oh, I ama fool!'

'How has that fact so suddenly dawned on you?' I asked with a laugh. 

'I was mad to come here, mad to see her. Why, just think, --here am I, without name, without home, without--without anything! But how did _I_know! Am _I_ to blame? I couldn't help falling in love with her. '

'Falling in love with her! With whom?'

'You must know; you must have seen. It is driving me mad, Luscombe! Iwould, --I would, --oh, God knows what I would do to get her! But thinkof it! Think of the ghastly mockery of it! There she is, young, fair, beautiful, a fit mate for the best in the world, and I--think of what Iam! Besides, there's that man, --I know him, --I know him, Luscombe. '

CHAPTER XVIII

A TRAGIC HAPPENING

I must confess I was staggered. The thought of Paul Edgecumbe fallingin love had never entered my mind. I do not know why it should havebeen so, but so it was. He had seemed so far removed from all thoughtsof the tender passion, and had been so indifferent to the society ofwomen, that to think of him falling in love at first sight seemed puremadness. But I did not doubt his words; the intensity of his voice, the look in his eyes, the tremor of his lips, all told their tale. Ofcourse it was madness, but the fact was patent enough. 

'You can't be serious, ' I said, although I knew I was speakingfoolishly. 

'Serious! It's a matter of life or death with me. Besides, there'sthat man. I know him, I say, --I know him. '

'Of course you know him, ' I replied. 'You saved his life, and prettynearly got killed yourself in doing it. '

'I wish I had been. But no, I don't; He must never have her, Luscombe, never! It would be a crime, and worse than a crime. Why, he is----'Then he stopped again, and with wild eyes seemed staring into vacancy. 

'Come, come, ' I said, 'this won't do. He has no thoughts about LornaBolivick. '

'Did he tell you so?'

'Of course he didn't; there is no reason why he should; but MissBlackwater told me it was as good as settled that she should marryyoung Buller. '

'No, the danger doesn't lie there. Why, you could see that, if you hadeyes. Didn't you watch him while he was talking during the early partof the evening?--didn't you see how he looked at her? He's a bad man, I tell you! Have you ever seen a serpent trying to fascinate a bird?I have--where I don't know, but I have. He was just like that, and sheyielded to his fascination, too; you must have noticed it! Buller is anonentity, just a harmless, good-natured, weak boy. He could be a toolin another man's hands, though, --Springfield could make him doanything. '

He did not look at me while he spoke; he seemed to be staring at somefar distant object. 

'You say you know Springfield, ' I said; 'what did you mean by that?'

'I mean, --I have met him before somewhere. '

'Where?'

'I don't know. I only know I have. Do you remember that time over inFrance, when he made that strange noise?'

I nodded. 

'It was an old Indian cry. It was a cry that always means vengeance. It was he who made it, --do you remember? Afterwards I saw his face. Iknew then I had seen him somewhere, but where, I don't know. Oh, ifonly this thick veil of the past could be turned aside, and I couldsee! Oh, if I could only remember!--but I can't. I tell you, that manknows me--he remembers. Did you watch his eyes when he looked at me?And I am helpless, helpless!--and she is so young, so beautiful, sopure. I can't understand it at all, and yet, when I saw her thisevening for the first time, as she stood in the doorway with the lightof the setting sun upon her face---- I am so helpless, ' he continued. 'I can do nothing. Besides----'

As I have said, I had learnt to love Paul Edgecumbe, and although Irealized his madness as much as he did, I wanted to lift the weight ofcare from his life. 

'If what you told me some months ago is true, there is no room fordespair, ' I urged. 

'What did I tell you?'

'You told me you had found a great secret, ' I replied; 'that you hadbecome sure of Almighty God. If that is true, there is no room forhopelessness; despair's out of the question. '

He sat quietly for a few seconds, and then leapt to his feet. 'You areright, ' he said; 'there is no chance in the world, there is no suchthing as luck. I can't explain it a bit, but there isn't. God nevermakes a mistake. After all, I could not help falling in love with her, and my love has a meaning. Of course she is not for me, --I am notworthy of her; but I can defend her, I can see that no harm happens toher. Yes, I see, I see. Good night, Luscombe, I--I want to be alonenow'; and without another word he passed back into his own room. 

The next day was Saturday, and we spent the morning roaming through thecountryside around Bolivick, and climbing a rugged tor which lay somedistance at the back of the house. 

As we neared the house after our long morning's walk, Lorna Bolivickbroke out abruptly: 'I am disappointed in your friend, CaptainLuscombe. '

'Why?' I asked. 

'I don't know. I think I admire him--in fact I am sure I do. Hepossesses a strange charm, and, in a way, he's just splendid. But whydoes he dislike me?'

'Does he dislike you?' I asked. 

'Can't you see? He avoids me. When for a few minutes we are together, he never speaks. '

'That doesn't prove he dislikes you. '

'Oh, but he does! He acts so strangely, too. '

'You must make allowances for him, ' I said. 'You must remember hishistory. He told you last night that you were the first lady he everremembered speaking to. It seemed an extravagant statement, but in away it is true. What his past has been I don't know, but since I knewhim his life has never been influenced by women. Think what that meansto a man! Besides, he is sensitive and shy. I can quite understandhis being uneasy in your presence. '

'Am I such an ogress, then?' And she looked into my face with a laugh. 'Besides, why should he be sensitive about me?'

'Might not his peculiar mental condition make him afraid of offendingyou?' I asked. 'Of course it is not for me to say, but I can quiteunderstand his being very anxious to impress you favourably. Andbecause he thinks he is awkward, and uninteresting, he is afraid to benatural, and to act as he would like to act. '

'I wish you could let him know, ' said Lorna in her childlikeoutspokenness, 'that I admire him tremendously. I had no idea he hadbeen such a hero. The way he saved Captain Springfield was just beyondwords. Oh, it must have been horrible for you all!'

'In a way it was, ' I replied. 'But do you know, in spite of the horrorof everything, most of the men look upon it as great sport. You arealtering your opinion of Captain Springfield, aren't you?'

'How do you know?' And I saw that her face flushed. 

'When we met him over at Granitelands, you told me that he made youthink of snakes. '

'Yes, but I was silly, and impulsive. Even you can't deny that he isfascinating. Besides, I always admire mysterious, strong men. '

'Will you promise me something, Lorna?' I ventured after an awkwardsilence. 

'Of course I will if I can. What is it?'

But I had not time to tell her; we had come up to the house at thatmoment, and I saw both Springfield and Buller, who had come over tolunch, hurrying towards us. 

Our greetings were scarcely over, when Edgecumbe and Norah Blackwatercame up. Immediately Springfield saw them a change came over his face. He had met Lorna Bolivick with a laugh, but as he saw Edgecumbe thelaugh died on his face, while the scar on his cheek became morepronounced. 

As far as I can remember, nothing of special note happened during theafternoon, but in the evening, just before dinner, I saw a ghastlypallor creep over Edgecumbe's face, and then suddenly and withoutwarning he fell down like one dead. 

CHAPTER XIX

A MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS

Of course Edgecumbe's sudden illness caused great commotion. Nearlyevery member of the family was present at the time, and confusionprevailed. Buller asked foolish questions, I was nearly beside myselfwith anxiety, Sir Thomas hazarded all sorts of guesses as to the reasonof his malady, Norah Blackwater became nearly hysterical, while LornaBolivick looked at him with horror-stricken eyes. 

The only two persons who seemed to retain their senses were CaptainSpringfield and Lady Bolivick. The former suggested that in allprobability it was a sudden attack resulting from the life he had ledin India, and also suggesting that a doctor should be sent for at once, while Lady Bolivick summoned the servants to carry him to bedimmediately. Both of these suggestions were immediately acted on. Agroom was dispatched to the nearest doctor, who lived at SouthPetherwin village, while a few minutes later Edgecumbe lay in bed witha look of death upon his face. 

The whole happening had been so sudden, that I was unable to view itcalmly. That morning he had looked more than usually well, so wellthat I could not help reflecting how much younger he appeared than onthe day when I had first seen him. He had taken a long walk, too, andshowed not the slightest sign of fatigue on his return. He had eatensparingly, and had drunk nothing but water with his lunch, and a cup oftea at four o'clock. Yet at half-past six he had the stamp of deathupon his face, he breathed with difficulty, and his features were drawnand haggard. 

As I sat by his side, watching him until the doctor came, I rememberedthat for perhaps an hour before his attack he was very silent, and hadmoved around as though he were lacking in energy, but I had thoughtlittle of it at the time. Now, however, his condition told its owntale. To all appearances, he was dying, and we were all powerless tohelp him. 

Of course dinner, as far as I was concerned, was out of the question, although, as I was afterwards informed, Captain Springfield made anexcellent meal. 

It was nearly eight o'clock when the doctor arrived, and never surelywas a man greeted with more eagerness than I greeted him. For, as Ihave already said, I had grown to love Edgecumbe with a great love; whyit was, I will not pretend to explain, but no man ever loved a brothermore than I loved him, and the thought of his death was simply horrible. 

Perhaps the suddenness of everything accounted for my intense feeling;anyhow, my intense anguish cannot be explained in any other way. 

Dr. Merril did not inspire me with any great hope. He was amiddle-aged man of the country practitioner's type. I judged that hecould be quite useful in dealing with ordinary ailments, but he did notstrike me as a man who looked beneath the surface of things, and whocould deal successfully with a case like Edgecumbe's. Evidently noparticulars of the case had been given to him, and from the confidentway I heard him talking to Sir Thomas, who brought him up to the room, he might have been called in to deal with a child who had a slightattack of measles. 

When he saw Edgecumbe, however, a change passed over his face. Thesight of my friend, gasping for breath, with what looked likedeath-dews on his agonized face, made him think that he had to dealwith a man in his death agony. 

A few minutes later I altered my opinion of Dr. Merril. He was not socommonplace, or so unobservant as I had imagined. He examinedEdgecumbe carefully, and, as I thought, asked sensible questions, whichSir Thomas and Lady Bolivick, both of whom had come into the room, answered readily. Although he did not speak to me, he doubtlessnoticed how interested I was in his patient, and more than once I sawthat he looked at me questioningly. 

'I admit I am baffled, ' he said at length. 

I took this as a good sign as far as he was concerned; anyhow, he wasnot a man who professed to be wise, while he was in actual ignorance. 

'I gather from what you say, ' he went on, speaking to Sir Thomas, 'thatCaptain Luscombe knows most about him. '

'That is so, Merril, ' replied Sir Thomas. 'I have explained to you thecircumstances under which he came here. '

'That being so, ' and the doctor spoke very gravely, 'I think it wouldbe best for you all to leave me, except Captain Luscombe. '

'There is something here beneath the surface, ' said Dr. Merril when wewere alone, 'something which I cannot grasp. Can you help me?Evidently you have been thinking a great deal. '

'I have, ' I replied. 

'As far as I can judge, he has sufficient vitality to keep him alivefor a few hours. I should judge him to be a man of remarkableconstitution and great physical strength. '

'You are quite right there. His power of endurance is extraordinary. '

'What I can't understand, ' said the doctor, 'is that there is noapparent cause for this, and yet there is some force of which I amignorant undermining the very citadel of his life. I have never metsuch a case before, and unless help comes, he will die in less thantwelve hours. I am speaking to you quite frankly, Captain Luscombe;from what I know of you, you are quite aware of the limitations of amedical man's power, and my experience during the time I have lived inthis district has not been of a nature to help me in such a case asthis. Will you tell me what you know of your friend?'

As briefly as I could, I gave an outline of what I have written inthese pages, while the doctor, without asking a single question, listened intently. 

'You say he does not drink?' he asked, when I had finished. 'He givesnot the slightest evidence of it, but it is necessary for me to know. '

'Intoxicants have not passed his lips for more than a year, ' I replied. 

'And his food?'

I detailed to him the food which Edgecumbe had eaten since he came tothe house, and which he had partaken of in common with the rest of themembers of the household. 

'And you have been with him all the day?'

'All the day. '

'And you say you thought he became somewhat lethargic about fiveo'clock?'

'That is so. Not enough to take particular note of at the time, but inthe light of what has happened since, I recall it to mind. '

'Now think, ' he said presently, 'has he not, say since lunch, shown anysymptom of light-headedness or anything of that sort?'

'Thank you for asking that, doctor, ' I replied. 'You have reminded meof something which I had forgotten. It may mean nothing, but at a timelike this one reflects upon the minutiae of life. We were walkingthrough a field this afternoon, which was dotted with rough graniterocks. I fancy he must have hitched his foot in one of them; at anyrate, he would have fallen heavily but for Captain Springfield, whojust in the nick of time helped him up. But he showed no signs oflight-headedness, not the slightest. We were all acting like a lot ofchildren, and romped as though we were boys home from school. Thehappening seemed perfectly natural to me at the time, and but for yourquestion I should not have mentioned it. '

'I am going to speak to you in an entirely unprofessional way, CaptainLuscombe, ' said the doctor. 'I am not sure, and therefore I speak withhesitation. But it looks to me as though your friend had beenpoisoned. I don't know how it could have happened, because, as far asI can judge, you account for almost every minute of his time since thismorning. But all his symptoms point in that direction. '

'May they not be the result of some slow-working malady which has beenin his system for years?' I asked. 

Dr. Merril shook his head. 'Hardly, ' he replied; 'if the malady wereslow-working, it would not have expressed itself so suddenly. In thecase of a slow-working poison, too, his suffering would have been of along drawn-out nature. This is altogether different. A few hours agohe was, according to your account, active, buoyant, strong. He wasplaying games with you in the fields, as though he were a boy. Now, '--and the doctor looked significantly at the bed. 

'Can you suggest nothing?' I asked again. 

The doctor shook his head. 'It is just as well to be frank, ' hereplied. 'The thing is a mystery to me. His symptoms baffle me. Hehas drunk nothing but what you have told me of, he has eaten nothingexcept what has been consumed by the whole household. I don't knowwhat to say. '

'And yet he'll die if nothing's done for him. '

'If symptoms mean anything, they mean that, ' he replied. 'Somethingdeadly is eating away at his vitals, and sapping the very foundationsof his life. You see, he can tell us nothing; he is unconscious. '

'Is there no doctor for whom we could send, with whom you could confer?'

Again Dr. Merril shook his head. 'We are away from everything here, 'he replied; 'it is fifty miles to Plymouth over rough, hilly roads, and----'

'I have it!' I cried, for the word Plymouth set my mind working. I hadspent some time there, and knew the town well. 

'Yes, what is it?' asked the doctor eagerly. 

'Do you happen to know Colonel McClure? He is chief of the St. George's Military Hospital in Plymouth. '

'An Army doctor, ' said Merril; 'no, I don't know him. I have heard ofhim. But how can he help? He has been most of his life in India. Iimagine, too, that while he may be very good for amputations andwounds, he would have no experience in such cases as this. Of course Ishall be glad to meet him, if you can get him here; but that seemsimpossible. No trains to Plymouth to-night, and to-morrow is Sunday. '

'May I ring for Sir Thomas?' I asked. 

'By all means. ' And a minute later not only Sir Thomas, but LadyBolivick, again entered the room. Evidently the old gentleman was muchmoved. The thought of having a dying man in his house was like anightmare to him. 

'There's no getting to Plymouth to-night!' he cried. 

'Haven't you got a motor-car here?'

'Yes, but no chauffeur. My car hasn't been used for weeks, as my manhas been called up. That is why I am obliged to use horses foreverything. You see, my coachman can't drive a car. '

'Didn't Springfield and Buller come in a car?' I asked. 

'Yes. But if I remember right, it was in a two-seater. '

'Never mind what it is, as long as it will get to Plymouth. Let us goand speak to them. '

We found the two men with Lorna Bolivick and Norah Blackwater in thelibrary. They had evidently finished dinner, and Springfield was inthe act of pouring a liqueur into his coffee as I entered. 

'How is the patient?' he asked almost indifferently. 

'Very ill indeed, ' I replied. 'Unless something is done for him soon, he will die. Could you, ' and I turned to Buller, 'motor to Plymouth, and fetch a doctor I will tell you of? I will give you a note for him. '

'Awfully sorry, ' said Buller, 'but I daren't drive. My left leg is soweak that I couldn't work the clutch. Springfield had to run us overhere to-day. There's barely enough petrol to take us back, either. '

'I have plenty of petrol, ' interposed Sir Thomas. 

'I could never get that little bassinette of yours to Plymouthto-night!' broke in Springfield. 'You see, I am still suffering frommy little stunt in France, and I am as weak as a rabbit. Besides, Buller's machine isn't fit for such a journey. '

'My car is all right, ' cried Sir Thomas. 'But I can't drive, and Ihaven't a man about the place who can. '

'Do you know the road to Plymouth?' I asked Buller. 

'Every inch of it, ' he replied. 

'Then I'll drive, if you will go with me to show me the way. '

I felt miserable at the idea of leaving Edgecumbe, but there seemed noother way out of it. 

'Surely you will not leave your friend?' interposed Springfield. 'Hemay not be as bad as you think, and to-morrow the journey could easilybe managed. '

'It is a matter of life and death, ' was my reply. 'Merril says thatunless something is done for him at once there is no hope for him. '

'What does he think is the matter with him?'

I did not reply. Something seemed to seal my lips. I sawSpringfield's features working strangely, while the scar under hisright ear was very strongly in evidence. 

'Look here, ' he said, as if with sudden decision, 'it's a shame for youto leave your friend under such circumstances. If Sir Thomas will lendhis car, I will drive to Plymouth. You just write a letter, Luscombe, giving your doctor friend full particulars, and I'll drag him here bythe hair of the head, if necessary. '

I had not time to reflect on his sudden change of front, and I wasabout to close with the offer, but something, I cannot tell what, stopped me. 

'It's awfully good of you, ' I said, 'but I think I'll go myself, ifBuller will go with me to show me the way. '

I found Dr. Merril, who had been giving some instructions as to thingshe wanted, and I led him aside. 

'You will keep near Edgecumbe, won't you?' I said hurriedly. 'Don'tlet any one but Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick enter the room. I haveparticular reasons for asking this. '

'What reasons?' And I could see he was surprised. 

'I can't tell you, but I don't speak without thought. Perhaps later Imay explain. '

A few minutes later I had started for Plymouth. 

CHAPTER XX

A STRANGE NIGHT

'I say, Luscombe, you're a nice fellow to drag one out in the middle ofthe night in this way!'

Colonel McClure had just entered the room where I had been shown. 

'I wouldn't have done it without reason, ' I said. 'I have travelledfifty miles to-night to get to you, and I want you to come with me to SirThomas Bolivick's at once. '

'Sir Thomas Bolivick? I don't know him. Why should I come with you?'

'At any rate, hear what I have to say, and then judge for yourself. '

He listened attentively, while I told him my story. At first he seemedto think lightly of it, and appeared to regard my visit to him as the actof a madman; but when I related my conversation with Dr. Merril, I sawthat his face changed colour, and his eyes contracted. 

'Tell me the symptoms again, ' he said abruptly. 

I described to him as minutely as I was able everything concerning myfriend, and then, without asking another question, he unlocked a cabinet, took out a number of things which were meaningless to me, and put them ina bag. 

'Go and get your car started again, ' he said, 'and wait for me. '

In an incredibly quick time, he had made himself ready for the journey, and insisted on taking his seat by my side. 

'You sit behind, ' he said to Buller, so peremptorily that he seemed likea man in anger. Then turning to me, he said, 'Drive like blazes!'

For the first hour of our return journey, he did not speak a word. Hewas evidently in deep thought, and his face was as rigid as marble. Then, suddenly, he began to ask questions, questions which at firstseemed meaningless. He asked me to describe the scenery around Bolivick, and then he questioned me concerning Sir Thomas Bolivick's household, after which he asked me to give him details concerning every member ofthe family. 

'Have you made up your mind concerning the case?' I asked presently. 

'How can I tell until I have examined the man?'

'But you heard what I have told you?'

'And you have told me nothing. '

'It seems to me I have told you a great deal, and I tell you this, McClure, --if it is within human skill to save him, you must. '

'Aren't I taking this long, beastly midnight journey, ' he replied, like aman in anger, 'do you think I am doing this for fun? I say, tell me moreabout this Edgecumbe; it is necessary that I should have fullparticulars. '

After I had described our meeting, and our experiences in France, heagain sat for some time perfectly silent. He took no notice of what Isaid to him, and did not even reply to direct questions. But that he wasthinking deeply I did not doubt. 

'That's South Petherwin church, ' I said, as the car dashed through thevillage; 'it's only a mile or two now. '

'That Dr. Merril seems a sensible chap. You say you asked him to admitno one into the room but Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick. Why?'

'I hardly know, ' I replied. 'I think I acted on impulse. '

'A very good thing, sometimes. ' And after that he did not speak anotherword till we reached the house. 

When I entered Edgecumbe's room I found him still alive, but weaker. Inoticed that a kind of froth had gathered around his mouth, and that hiseyes had a stony stare. He was still unconscious, and had not uttered acoherent sentence since I had left. 

'Will every one kindly leave the room except Dr. Merril?' And ColonelMcClure looked towards Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick as he spoke. 

'Do you wish me to go too, Colonel?' I said. 

'I think my words were plain enough, ' and he spoke like a man in a temper. 

'I suppose every one has gone to bed, ' I remarked to Sir Thomas. 

'No, Lorna is still up. She is a silly girl, --of course she can do nogood. '

'And Captain Springfield?'

'He left about midnight. He asked to be allowed to see the patient, butMerril wouldn't let him go into the room. I thought he behaved to thecaptain like a clown. '

'In what way?'

'Well, Springfield's a clever fellow, and has seen many curious cases ofillness while he has been in the East. He said that Edgecumbe'scondition reminded him of the illness of an orderly he once had, andwanted to tell Merril about him. But doctors are all the same, they allclaim to be autocrats in a sick-room. My word, Luscombe, you must havehad a weary night. My advice to you is to go to bed immediately. '

'Not until I have heard McClure's report. '

When we came into the library, we found Buller and Lorna Bolivick there. I thought the young squire seemed anxious and ill at ease, while Lornawas much excited. On seeing me, however, she asked eagerly for news ofEdgecumbe. 

'There is nothing to tell as yet, ' I replied. 'By the way, how didSpringfield get home?'

'Oh, he took the car. '

'And how did he imagine that Buller was to get back?'

'I expect he forgot all about Charlie, ' was the reply, 'but--he seemedrather excited, and insisted that he must return at once. Charlie willhave to stay here until daylight, and then some one can drive him over. '

As may be imagined, after driving a heavy car for over a hundred miles atnight-time, I was dead tired, but I offered to run Buller home. Thetruth was, I was in such a state of nervous tension that I could notremain inactive, and the thought of sitting still while McClure andMerril consulted about my friend's condition drove me to madness. 

'Will you?' asked Buller. 'I--I think I should like to get back, ' and Icould see that he also was nervous and ill at ease. 

'I can get you to your place in a few minutes, ' I said, 'and by the timeI get back I hope the doctors will have something to tell us. '

A few minutes later, as we were moving rapidly to Buller's house, I saidabruptly, 'Was it not rather strange that Springfield should take yourcar?'

'I suppose it was, ' he replied, 'but he is a funny fellow. '

'What do you know about him?' I asked. 

'There is not much to know, is there?' and he spoke hesitatingly. 'TheArmy List will give you full particulars of his career. I believe he hasspent most of his time abroad. '

'I have neither had time nor opportunity to study Army Lists. How longwas he in India?'

'Not long; only two or three years, I think. '

'Is he any one in particular?' I asked. 

I could see by the light of the moon, which was now high in the heavens, that the young fellow looked at me attentively, as though he was tryingto read my motive in asking these questions. 

'I think he expects to be, ' was his reply; 'he is as poor as a churchmouse now, but St. Mabyn says he is heir to a peerage, and that he willhave pots of money some time. '

'What peerage?'

'I really never asked him. It--it wasn't quite my business, was it? Heisn't the sort of chap to talk about himself. '

Sir Thomas was still up when I got back to the house, and the sight ofhis face struck terror into my heart. He, who was usually so florid, looked positively ghastly. His flesh hung loosely on his cheeks, whilehe was very baggy around the eyes. 

'Have you heard anything?' I asked. 

'I don't know, I am not sure, ' he replied, 'but I think it is all over. '

'All over! What do you mean?'

'As soon as you had gone, I sent my wife and Lorna to bed. I wouldn'thave them stay up any longer. You see, they could do no good. '

'Have you seen the doctors?'

'No. But I was frightfully nervous, and I crept up to the door ofEdgecumbe's room. I heard them talking together. '

'What did they say?'

'I could detect nothing plainly, but I am sure I heard one of them say, "It's all over. " Oh, it is positively awful! I never had such a thinghappen in my house before. Please don't think I blame you, Luscombe; youdidn't know that such a thing would happen when you brought him here. But the thought of a guest dying in my house is--is--don't you see----?'

'I am going to know the worst, anyhow, ' I said, for, although I quiteunderstood his feelings and was naturally upset at the thought of mybeing the occasion of his trouble, it was as nothing compared with myanxiety about my friend. 

I therefore abruptly left him, and rushed upstairs to Edgecumbe's room. I knocked, but receiving no answer I went in. 

'How is he?' I asked. 

Neither of them spoke, and from the look on their faces I judged that myworst fears were realized. 

CHAPTER XXI

COLONEL McCLURE'S VERDICT

I moved quickly towards the bed, and in the dim light of the lamp whichstood near saw that a change had come over my friend's face. A look ofperfect peace and tranquility had taken the place of anguish. 

'Tell me, ' I cried, 'he isn't dead, is he?'

'He is out of pain, at all events, ' and Colonel McClure spoke abruptly. 

Unmindful of what they might say, I went close to Edgecumbe, and gazed athim steadily. As far as I could judge, there was no sign of life. 

'Have--have you done anything for him?' I said, turning to the doctors. But neither of them spoke. They might have been waiting for something. 

I noticed that Edgecumbe's hands were lying on the coverlet almost easilyand naturally. Why I should have done it, I cannot tell, but I seizedthe lamp and held it close to them. They did not look like the hands ofa dead man. In spite of everything, there was a suggestion of nervousenergy in the long, capable-looking fingers. Then I put down the lamp, and took one of the hands in mine. 

'He is alive, ' I said; 'the right hand is warm, and it is not rigid. '

Still the doctors did not speak, but each looked at the other as ifquestioningly. They did not appear to resent my action; perhaps theymade allowances for my anxiety; both of them knew how dear he was to me. 

Then something struck me. I saw that one of his hands, although bothwere browned by exposure and hardened by labour, was different in colourfrom the other. 

'Have you noticed that?' I said. 

'Noticed what?'

'That his left hand is slightly blue. You can see it beneath the tan. '

'By gad, you are right!' It was Colonel McClure who whispered thisexcitedly, and I saw that my words had a meaning to him. What was in hismind I could not tell, but that he was thinking hard I was sure. 

'He isn't dead, ' I said excitedly; 'I am sure he isn't!' And again Itook his left hand in mine, and lifted it. Then I saw something else. It was very little, but it meant a great deal to me. I remembered howthat morning Edgecumbe had been using a pair of Indian clubs, and hadrolled up his shirt sleeves. I had remarked to myself at the time thewonderful ease with which he had swung the clubs, and what perfectlyshaped arms he had. They were large and hard, and firm, without a markof any sort. Now, just below the elbow, in the lower part of the arm, was a blue spot. It was so small that it might have been covered by athreepenny-piece, and in the dim light of the lamp would not be easilyseen. 

'Did you see this? Did you do it?' I almost gasped. 

Colonel McClure examined the spot closely, and then nodded to Dr. Merril. 

'Did you see this, Merril?' he asked. 

'No, ' replied Dr. Merril excitedly. 'As you know you--you----!' Hestopped suddenly like one afraid. 

Colonel McClure took a powerful glass from his case and examined the spotclosely for some seconds. Then he said to his fellow doctor, evidentlywith satisfaction, 'By gad, we've done the right thing!'

'What does it mean?' I asked. 'Tell me. '

'I will tell you in an hour from now, ' and I saw a new light in thecolonel's eyes. Then I heard him mutter to himself, 'I was an ass tohave missed that. '

I put my hand upon Edgecumbe's forehead; and I could have sworn that itwas warm and moist. The moisture was different from the clammy sweatwhich had poured out on his face when first we had brought him to bedhours before. 

Excitedly I told the doctors of my impression, and then McClure commandedme to stand aside, as if I were an interloper. Although I believe theold military doctor was as excited as I, he made no sign, save that hislips moved as if he were talking to himself. 

'Do you know what it means?' I asked, as he left the bed. 

'It means that you must get out of this, ' he replied gruffly. 

'I won't, ' I answered, for I had wellnigh lost control over myself. Something, I could not tell what, made me sure that an important changewas taking place in my friend's condition, and I forgot all about theetiquette of a sick-room. The experiences through which I had passed, mylong, midnight journey, together with the feverish anxiety under which Iwas suffering, made me forget myself. 

'I am his only friend, ' I went on, 'and I have a right to be here, and Ihave a right to know everything. What is it? What have you done?'

Scarcely realizing what I was doing, I went to the window and pulled upthe blinds. Day was breaking, the sky was clear, and the eastern horizonwas tinged with the light of the rising sun. In the light of thenew-born day, the lamp looked sickly and out of place. I remember, too, that it made a strange impression upon me; it seemed as though light werefighting with darkness, and that light was being triumphant. 

'Don't be an ass, Luscombe, ' said the Scotchman; 'I will tell youeverything presently, but can't you see that----'

'I can see that he's going to live, ' I interrupted. 'His face is morenatural; it doesn't look so rigid. I believe there is colour coming intohis lips. '

'Find your way into the kitchen, there are some servants there, and bringsome hot water immediately. '

For the next hour, I scarcely remember anything that happened. I imaginethat I was so excited that my experiences left no definite impress uponmy brain. I have indistinct remembrances of alternating between hope anddespair, between joy and sorrow. I remember, too, that I was called uponto perform certain actions, but to this day I do not know what they were. I was more like an automaton than a man. 

At the end of the hour, however, Colonel McClure accompanied me into mybedroom, which, as I have said, adjoined that of Edgecumbe. 

'We've done it, my boy, ' he said, and I noted the satisfaction in hisvoice. 

'He will live, then?'

He nodded. 'Barring accidents, he will. But it's a mystery to me. '

'What is a mystery?'

'I hardly like to tell you. But you are no hysterical woman, and youhave a steady head on you. Until an hour and a half ago, I was acting inthe dark, acting blindly. Even now I have no proof of anything. You sayyour friend was in India?'

'I have told you all I know, ' was my answer. 

'I spent twelve years there, ' went on the colonel. 'A great part of thetime I was with native regiments, and I have had some peculiarexperiences. India's a strange country, and in many things the peoplethere can teach us Westerners a lot. Look here, why did you come for me?'

'Instinct, ' I replied. 

'But instinct has a basis in reason. '

'Has it? I am not enough of a psychologist to answer that question. Tell me why you are asking me all this. '

'Because I am afraid to tell you what is in my mind. Do you rememberwhat Merril said?'

'Yes, ' I replied; 'he said that according to symptoms my friend had beenpoisoned. But he didn't see how it could possibly be, and he said thatthe case was completely beyond him. '

'Exactly. When I went into that room, I of course had your words in mymind. India has a hundred poisons unknown to the West, many of them aresubtle, almost undiscoverable. I called to my mind what I had learned inIndia, what I had seen and done there. Frankly, I don't understand yourfriend's case. Had it been in India, I should have understood it, andwhat was possible, ay, what would have amounted to certainty there, wasutterly impossible in England--at least, so it seemed to me. But I actedon the assumption that I was in India. '

'You mean that you injected an antidote for a poison that you know of?' Iventured. 

He looked at me steadily for a few seconds, but he did not speak. 

'Now look here, Luscombe, ' he said, after a long silence, 'I hesitated totell you this, because it is a serious business. '

I nodded. 

'You see, ' he went on, 'we are not in the realm of proof. But as sure asI am a living man, if your friend was poisoned, some one poisoned him, unless he had a curious way of trying to commit suicide. '

'He didn't try to commit suicide, ' I replied. 

'You remember that mark in the arm?'

I nodded. 

'In another hour it will be gone. If he had died, it would not be there. I was a blind fool not to have seen it. I examined his arm just beforewe came in here, --the discolourment has nearly passed away. In an hourthere'll be only a little spot about the size of a pin-prick. Do youfeel free to tell me anything of your suspicions? Remember, they canonly be suspicions. There can be no possible proof of anything, and evenalthough you may have drawn conclusions, which to you are unanswerable, you might be committing the cruellest crime against another man byspeaking them aloud. '

'Then I'll not tell you my suspicions, ' I said. 'I will only recountcertain incidents. '

Then I told him the things I remembered. 

Colonel McClure looked very grave. 

'No, ' he said, at length, 'this is something which we dare not speak ofaloud. I must think this out, my boy, so must you, and when our mindsare settled a bit we can talk again. '

When we returned to Edgecumbe's room, my friend was sleeping almostnaturally, while the relief of every member of the household, who had allbeen informed of Edgecumbe's remarkable recovery, can be better imaginedthan expressed. 

'Have the doctors told you what is the matter with him?' asked Sir Thomaseagerly. 

'No, ' I replied; 'perhaps they are not sure themselves. '

'But they must know, man! I gather that they performed a certainoperation, and they wouldn't do that without some definite object. '

'The ways of doctors are very mysterious, ' I laughed; 'anyhow, we arethankful that the danger is over. Merril tells me that Edgecumbe issleeping quite naturally, while McClure is quite sure that in a few hourshe will awake almost well. '

'But that seems impossible, man! A few hours ago he despaired of hislife, and now----'

'The great thing is he is better, ' I interrupted. I did not want the oldbaronet to have the least inkling of my suspicion. After all, I couldprove nothing, and indeed, as McClure had said, it might be a crime toaccuse any man of having anything to do with Edgecumbe's illness. 

During the time I had been in the Army, I had heard of cases of menlosing their memory, and of a sudden shock bringing their past back tothem. I wondered if this would be so in Edgecumbe's case. Might not thecrisis through which he had passed, the crisis which had brought himclose to the gates of death, tear aside the veil which hid his past fromhim? Might not the next few hours reveal the mystery of his life, andmake all things plain?

CHAPTER XXII

EDGECUMBE'S RESOLVE

Some hours later I saw Colonel McClure again. He had become sointerested in Edgecumbe's case, that he refused to go back to Plymouthuntil he was certain that all was well; and although Dr. Merril had leftearly that morning, in order to attend to his patients, he had arrangedto meet him at Bolivick later. 

'It's all right, Luscombe. Your friend's talking quite naturally withMerril. He is rather weak, but otherwise he's splendid. '

'May I see him?' I asked eagerly. 

'Oh, yes, certainly. '

When I entered the bedroom, I found Edgecumbe sitting up in bed, andalthough he looked rather tired, he spoke naturally. 

'I can't understand why I'm here, ' he said, with a laugh, 'but I supposeI must obey orders. I was tremendously surprised about half an hour agowhen on awaking I saw two men who told me they were doctors, and whoseemed frightfully interested in my condition. '

Dr. Merril went out of the room as he spoke, leaving us together. 

'Has anything particular happened to me, Luscombe? You needn't be afraidto tell me, man; I am all right. '

'Have you no remembrance of anything yourself?' I said. 

'Nothing, except that I was attacked by a horrible pain, and that Ibecame blind. After that I think my senses must have left me, for I canremember nothing more. '

I looked at him eagerly. I remembered Colonel McClure's injunction, andyet I was more anxious than I can say to ask him questions. 

'Did you feel nothing before the pain?'

'I felt awfully languid, ' he replied, after a few seconds' silence, 'butnothing more. '

He lifted himself up in the bed, and I could not help noticing that hisface looked younger, and that his skin was almost natural. The old, parched look had largely passed away; it might have been as though a newand rejuvenating force had entered his system. 

'Springfield and I are in for a big battle. '

I wondered whether he knew anything of my suspicions, and whether by somemeans or another the thoughts which haunted not only my mind, but that ofColonel McClure, had somehow reached his. 

'Springfield means to have her, but I am not going to let him. '

'You are thinking about Miss Bolivick, ' I said. 

'Who else?' And his face flushed as he spoke. 'When I saw her first, Iwas hopeless, but now----'

'Yes, now, ' I repeated, as I saw him hesitate, 'what now?'

For the moment I had forgotten all about his illness. I did not realizethat I might be doing wrong by allowing him to excite himself. 

'Buller is not the danger, ' he cried; 'he is but a puppet inSpringfield's hands. There's something between that man and me which Ican't explain; but there's going to be a battle royal between us. Hemeans to marry Lorna Bolivick. In his own way he has fallen in love withher. But he shall never have her. '

'How are you going to stop him?' I asked. 

I saw his lips quiver, while his eyes burnt with the light of resolution. 

'Surely you do not mean, ' I went on, 'that you hope to marry her?'

'I not only hope to, --I mean to, ' he said. 

I was silent for a few seconds. I did not want to hinder his recovery, by saying anything which might cause him to despair, but the thing whichhad been born in his mind seemed so senseless, so hopeless, that I feltit would be cruel on my part to allow him to entertain such a mad feeling. 

'Surely you have not considered the impossibility of such a thing, ' Isaid. 

'Nothing's impossible, ' he cried. 

'But do you not see the insuperable barriers in the way?'

'I see the barriers, but they must be swept aside. Why, man!' and hisvoice became stronger, 'when I awoke a few hours ago, and saw those twodoctor chaps, I was first of all bewildered, I could not understand. Then it suddenly came to me where I was, in whose house I was staying, and in a flash I realized everything. As I said, when I saw her first, Idespaired; but no man who believes in God should despair. I tell you, the thought of it means life, health, strength, to me! I have somethinggreat to live for. Why, think, man, think!'

'I am thinking hard, ' I replied. 'I need hardly tell you, Edgecumbe, that I am your friend, and that I wish you the best that you can hopefor. It seems cruel, too, after what you have gone through, to try todestroy the thought which is evidently dear to you, but I must do it. '

'But I love her, man!' and his voice trembled as he spoke. 'When I sawher standing in the doorway, as we drove up the other night, she was arevelation to me, --she made all the world new. One look into her eyeswas like opening the gates of heaven. Do you realize what a pure soulshe has?--how beautiful she is? She is a child woman. She has all theinnocence, all the artlessness of a child of ten, and all the resolution, and the foresight, and the daring of a woman. She seemed to me like abeing from another world, like one sent to tell me what life should be. She made everything larger, grander, holier, and before I had been in herpresence five seconds I knew that I was hers for ever and for ever. '

'It is because she is so pure, and so innocent, that you should give upall such thoughts at once, ' I said. 

'But why should I? Tell me that. '

'You will not think me harsh or unkind?'

'I shall not think anything wrong, ' and he laughed as he spoke. 'I willtell you why. Nothing can destroy my resolve. '

'My dear fellow, ' I said, 'evidently you don't realize the situation. '

'Well, help me to realize it; tell me what you have in your mind. '

'First of all, a woman's love may not be won easily, --it may be she caresfor some one else. '

'I will make her love me!' he cried; 'she will not be able to helpherself. She will see that my love for her fills my whole being, andthat I live to serve her, protect her, worship her. '

'Many men have loved in vain, ' I replied; 'but, assuming for the momentthat you could win her love, your hopes would be still as impossible asever. '

'Rule out the word impossible. But tell me why you believe it is so. '

'First of all, Lorna Bolivick is a young lady of position, she is a childof an old family, and when she marries she will naturally marry into herown class. '

'Naturally; but what of that? Am I not of--of her class?'

'Doubtless. But face facts. You have not a penny beyond yourpay;--would it be fair, would it be right of you, to go to such a girl asshe, reared as she has been, and offer her only poverty?'

'I will make a position, ' he cried enthusiastically. 'I'm not a fool!'

'How? When?' I asked. 

'For the moment I don't know how, or when, ' he replied, 'but it shall bedone. '

'Then think again, ' I went on, 'you could not marry her without herparents' consent, and if they know your purposes they would close theirdoors against you. Fancy Sir Thomas Bolivick allowing his daughter tomarry a man with only a subaltern's pay!'

'Number two, ' he replied with a laugh; 'go on, '--and I could see that heregarded my words as of no more weight than thistledown. 

'Yes, that is number two, ' I replied. 'Now to come to number three. Doyou think that you, alone, are strong enough to match yourself with yourrivals?'

'You mean Buller and Springfield? I have told you what I think aboutBuller; as for Springfield, he's a bad man. Besides, if I am poor, is henot poor, too? He's only a captain. '

'Buller tells me he's the heir to a peerage, ' I replied, 'and that whensomebody dies he will come into pots of money. And whatever else you maythink about him, he is a strong man, capable and determined. If you areright about him, and you think there's going to be a battle royal betweenyou two, you will have a dangerous enemy, an enemy who will stop atnothing. But that is not all. The greatest difficulty has not yet beenmentioned. '

'What is that?'

I hesitated before replying. I felt I was going to be cruel, and yet Icould not help it. 

'You have no right to ask any woman to be your wife, ' I urged--'least ofall a woman whom you love as you say you love Lorna Bolivick. '

'Why?' and there was a tone of anxiety in his voice. 

'Because you don't know who you are, or what you are. You are, I shouldjudge, a man thirty years of age. What your history has been you don'tknow. Possibly you have a wife somewhere. '

I was sorry the moment I had uttered the words, for he gave a cry almostamounting to agony. 

'No, no, ' he gasped, 'not that!'

'You don't know, ' I said; 'the past is an utter blank to you; you have norecollection of anything which happened before you lost your memory, and----'

'No, no, not that, Luscombe. I am sure that if I ever married, if I everloved a woman, I should know it, --I should feel it instinctively. '

'I am not sure. You say you have no memory of your father or mother;surely if you remembered anything you'd remember them? Now suppose, --ofcourse it is an almost impossible contingency, but suppose you won LornaBolivick's consent to be your wife; suppose you obtained a positionsufficiently good for Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick to consent to yourmarrying her; and then suppose your memory came back, and the whole ofyour past were made known to you, and you discovered that there was awoman here in England, or somewhere else, whom you married years ago, andwhom you loved, and who had been grieving because of your loss? Can'tyou see the situation?'

I could see I had impressed him. Instead of the light of resolution, there was a haunting fear in his eyes. 

'I had not thought of that, ' he murmured. 'Of course it is not so, --I amsure it is not so. Still, as you say, it would not be fair to submit herto a suspicion of danger. '

'Then of course you give up the thought?'

'Oh, no, ' he replied. 'Of course I must think it out, and I must meetthe situation; but I give up nothing--nothing. '

As I rose to leave him, McClure stood in the door of the bedroom andbeckoned to me. 

'Springfield and Buller are downstairs, ' he whispered to me; 'they havecome to lunch. Can you manage to get a chat with the fellow? It seemshorrible to have such suspicions, but----'

'Yes, I understand, ' I replied, noting his hesitation. 

'If what is in both our minds has any foundation in fact, ' he went on, 'Edgecumbe should be warned. I hate talking like this, and it is justhorrible. '

'I know what you feel, ' I said, 'but what can we do? As we both have toadmit, nothing can be proved, and it would be a crime to accuse aninnocent man of such a thing. '

'Yes, I know; but the more I have thought about the matter, the more I amsure that--that--anyhow, get a chat with him. I must get back toPlymouth soon, but before I go you and I must have a further talk. Thisthing must be bottomed, man, must! I'll be down in a minute. '

I made my way toward the dining-room, forming plans of action as I didso. I had by this time made up my mind concerning Springfield. Whetherhe were guilty of what Colonel McClure had hinted at, I was not sure, buta thousand things told me that he both feared and hated my friend. Howcould I pierce his armour, and protect Edgecumbe at the same time?

When I entered the dining-room, he and Lorna Bolivick were talkingtogether. I watched their faces for a few seconds unheeded by them. Ido not know what he was saying to her, but she was listening to himeagerly. In some way he had destroyed the instinctive feeling ofrevulsion which he had created in her mind months before. She seemedlike one fascinated; he held her as though by a strong personality, astrange fascination. There was no doubt in my mind, either, thatalthough he had come to Devonshire as the guest of young Buller, he was arival for Lorna Bolivick's hand. As much as such a man as he could lovea woman, he loved Lorna Bolivick, and meant to win her. 

CHAPTER XXIII

SPRINGFIELD'S PROGRESS

After lunch, I got my chance of a few minutes' chat with Springfield. Ithink I managed it without arousing any suspicions; certainly he did notmanifest any, neither did he appear in the slightest degree ruffled whenI talked with him about Edgecumbe's strange illness. 

'You have been in India, I think, Springfield?' I said. 

'Who told you that?'

'I have almost forgotten. Perhaps it was St. Mabyn, or it might havebeen Buller. Were you there long?'

'A couple of years, ' he replied. 'I was glad to get away, too. It is abeastly part of the world. '

'I asked, ' I said, 'because Edgecumbe had just come from India when Ifirst saw him, and I was wondering whether you could throw any light uponhis sudden illness. '

'My dear chap, I'm not a doctor. What does McClure say?'

'He's in a bit of a fog, ' I replied, 'so is Merril. '

'Doctors usually are, ' he laughed. 'For my own part, I think that agreat deal of fuss has been made about the whole business. After all, what did it amount to?'

'It was a very strange illness, ' I replied. 

'Was it? Certainly the fellow was taken bad suddenly, and he fell downin a sort of fit, but that is nothing strange. '

'It is to a man whose general health is as good as that of Edgecumbe. '

'Yes, but India plays ducks and drakes with any man's constitution, ' hereplied. 'You see, you know nothing about Edgecumbe, and his loss ofmemory may be a very convenient thing to him. '

'What do you mean?

'I mean nothing, except this: Edgecumbe, I presume, has been a man of theworld; how he lost his memory--assuming, of course, that he _has_ lostit--is a mystery. But he has lived in India, and possibly, while there, went the whole hog. Excuse me, Luscombe, but I have no romantic notionsabout him. He seems to be on the high moral horse just now, but what hispast has been neither of us know. As I said, life in India plays ducksand drakes with a man's constitution, especially if he has been a bitwild. Doubtless the remains of some old disease is in his system, and--and--we saw the results. ' He lit a cigarette as he spoke, and Inoticed that his hand was perfectly steady. 

'Is that your explanation?' I asked. 

'I have no explanation, ' he replied, 'but that seems to me as likely asany other. '

'Because, between ourselves, ' I went on, 'both McClure and Merril thinkhe was poisoned. '

He was silent for a few seconds, as though thinking, then he asked quitenaturally, 'How could that be?'

'McClure, as you know, was an Army doctor in India, ' I said. 

'Well, then, if any one ought to know, he ought, ' and he puffed at hiscigarette; 'but what symptoms did he give of being poisoned?'

I detailed Edgecumbe's condition, his torpor, and the symptoms whichfollowed. 

'Is there anything suggestive of poisoning in that?' he asked, like a mancurious. 

'McClure seems to think so. '

'Of course he may be right, ' he replied carelessly, 'but I don't knowenough about the subject to pass an opinion worth having. All the same, if he were poisoned, it is a wonder to me how he got well so quickly';and he hummed a popular music-hall air. 

'The thing which puzzles McClure, ' I went on, 'and he seems to know agood deal about Indian poisons, is the almost impossibility of such athing happening here in England. He says that the Indians have a trickof poisoning their enemies by pricking them with some little instrumentthat they possess, an instrument by which they can inject poison into theblood. It leaves no mark after death, but is followed by symptoms almostidentical with those which Edgecumbe had. During the time the victim issuffering, there is a little blue mark on the spot where the injectionwas made. '

I looked at him steadily as I spoke, trying to see whether he manifestedany uneasiness or emotion. But he baffled me. I thought I saw his lipstwitch, and his eyes contract, but I might easily have been mistaken. Ifhe were a guilty man, then he was the greatest actor, and had the mostsupreme command over himself, of any one I had ever seen. 

'And did you find such a mark on your friend?' he asked, after a fewseconds' silence. 

'Yes, ' I replied, 'close to the elbow. '

He showed no emotion whatever, and yet I could not help feeling that hewas conscious of what was in my mind. Of course this might be pureimagination on my part, and I do not think any detective of fiction famewould have gained the slightest inkling from his face that he was in anyway connected with it. 

Springfield took his cigarette case-from his tunic, and extracted anothercigarette. 'It seems a bit funny, doesn't it? but I don't pretend tooffer an explanation. By the way, will he be well enough to go back toduty when his leave is up?'

'I don't know, ' I replied. 'McClure will have to decide that. '

'I should think you will be glad to get rid of him, Luscombe. '

'Why?' I asked. 

'The fellow seems such an impossible bounder. Excuse me, but that is howhe struck me. '

'You didn't seem to think so when you thanked him for saving your life, 'was my reply. 

'No, of course that was different'; and his voice was somewhat strainedas he spoke. 'I--I ought not to have said that, Luscombe. When one manowes another his life, he--he should be careful. If I can do the fellowa good turn, I will; and since in these days anybody can become anofficer in the British Army, I--I----' He stammered uneasily, and thenwent on: 'Of course it is different when you have to meet a man as anequal in a friend's house. But there, --I must be going. I have to getback to town to-night. '

In spite of what I had said to Edgecumbe, I was angry at seeing thatSpringfield spent two hours that afternoon with Lorna Bolivick. Therecould be no doubt about it, the fellow had broken down all her antagonismtowards him, and was bent on making a good impression on her. I found, too, that Sir Thomas Bolivick regarded him with great favour. By somemeans or another, the news had come to him that Springfield was apossible heir to a peerage, and that while he was at present poor, hewould on the death of a distant relative become a very rich man. Thisfact had doubtless increased his interest in Springfield, and perhaps hadlessened his annoyance at the fact that Lorna had failed to fall in withhis previous wishes concerning her. 

'Remarkably clever fellow. ' he confided in me; 'the kind of man who makesan impression wherever he goes. When I saw him at St. Mabyn's more thana year ago, I did not like him so much, but he grows on one. '

'By the way, what peerage is he heir to?' I asked. 'I never heard of ituntil yesterday. '

'Oh, he'll come into Lord Carbis's title and estates. '

'Carbis? Then it's not an old affair?'

'Oh no, --the present Lord Carbis was created a peer in 1890. '

'A brewer, isn't he?' I asked. 

'Yes, ' and I thought Sir Thomas looked somewhat uneasy. 'Of course thereare very few old peerages now, ' he went on; 'the old families have a wayof dying out, somehow. But Carbis is one of the richest men in thecountry. I suppose he paid nearly a million for the Carbis estates. Carbis Castle is almost medieval, I suppose, and the oldest part of thebuilding was commenced I don't know how many hundreds of years ago. Oh, Springfield will be in a magnificent position when the present LordCarbis dies. '

'Beer seems a very profitable thing, ' I could not help laughing. 

'Personally I have no prejudice against these beer peerages, ' replied SirThomas somewhat warmly. 'Of course I would prefer a more ancientcreation, but these are democratic days. If a man creates a greatfortune by serving the State, why shouldn't he be honoured? When youcome to think about it, I suppose the brewing class has provided morepeerages than any other during the last fifty years. Come now, Luscombe, ' and Sir Thomas looked at me almost angrily. 

Just before Colonel McClure left, he drew me aside, and asked me if I hadspoken to Springfield, and on my describing our conversation, he lookedvery grave. 

'I can't make it out, Luscombe, ' he said. 'If my twelve years'experience in India goes for anything, your friend Edgecumbe waspoisoned. He had every symptom of a man who had a subtle and deadlypoison injected into his blood. And the way he responded to thetreatment I gave him coincided exactly with what I have seen a dozentimes in India. '

'Might it not be merely a coincidence?' I asked. 

'Of course almost anything is possible, ' he replied, 'and I could notswear in a court of law that he had been poisoned. I gather you are fondof Edgecumbe, ' he added. 

'Yes, ' I replied; 'it may be it is owing to the peculiar circumstances bywhich we were brought together, and from the fact that more than once hesaved my life. And no man could love his brother more than I love him. '

'Then, ' said Colonel McClure earnestly, 'watch over him, my friend; guardhim as if he were your own son. '

I spent a good deal of time in Edgecumbe's room that night, but wescarcely spoke. He was sleeping most of the time, and I was warnedagainst exciting him. The following day, however, he was quite like hisnatural self, and expressed his determination to get up. As ColonelMcClure had encouraged this, I made no attempt to oppose him, and theafternoon of the Monday being fine and sunny, we walked in the parktogether. 

'Springfield's gone to London, hasn't he?' he asked. 

'Yes, ' I replied; and then I blurted out, 'He spent yesterday afternoonwith Miss Bolivick. I am inclined to think you are right about hisintentions concerning her. '

'Do you think he has spoken to her?'

'I shouldn't be surprised, and for that matter I am inclined to think hehas had a serious conversation with her father. '

I was almost sorry, when I saw the look on his face, that I had spoken inthis way. He became very pale, and his lips quivered as though he weremuch moved. 'Of course, ' I went on, trying to make the best of my _fauxpas_, 'it may be a good thing for you. '

'Why?' he asked. 

'If he has been successful, it will make you see how foolish yourthoughts are. '

'Do you know me so little as that?' he asked. 

'But surely, my dear fellow, ' I said, 'in the face of what I saidyesterday, you will not think of entertaining such impossible ideas?'

'You mean about my having a wife somewhere, ' and he laughed. 

'I mean that, under the most favourable circumstances, no honourable mancould, in your position, ask a woman to marry him. '

'I mean to ask her, though, ' was his reply. 

'But, my dear fellow----'

'Luscombe, ' and there was a steady look in his eyes as he spoke, 'I havethought it all out. Almighty God never put such a love in a man's heartas He has put in my heart for Lorna Bolivick, to laugh at him. At thevery first opportunity I shall tell her everything. '

'And if she refuses you, ' I said, 'as most likely she will?'

'I shall still love her, and never give up hoping and striving. '

'You mean----?'

'I mean that nothing will turn me aside from my determination, nothing, --nothing. '

'But supposing you have a wife, --supposing that when you were a boy, before you lost your memory, you married some one, what then?'

'Don't talk rubbish, old man, ' was his reply. 

'After all, ' I reflected that night when I went to bed, 'perhaps it isbest that he should speak to her. She will regard his declaration asmadness, and will tell him so. He never saw her until three hours ago, and if, as I suspect, Springfield has fascinated her, she will make himsee what a fool he has been. Then he will give up his madness. '

That was why I left them together the next day. All the same, there wasa curious pain in my heart as I saw them walk away side by side, for Iknew by the light in his eyes that he meant to carry out hisdetermination. 

CHAPTER XXIV

A STRANGE LOVE-MAKING

Few men tell each other about their love-making, especially Englishmen. Mostly we regard such things as too sacred to speak about, even tothose we trust and love the most. Besides, there is something in thecharacter of the normal Englishman which is reserved and secretive, andthe thought of telling about our love-making is utterly repugnant tous. Nevertheless, Edgecumbe told me the story of their conversationthat afternoon almost word for word as it took place. 

He spoke of it quite naturally, too, as though it were the right thingto do. He looked upon me as his one friend, and perhaps the abnormalcondition of his life made him do what under other circumstances hewould never have thought of. Anyhow, he told me, while I listenedincredulous, but almost spellbound. 

They had been but a few minutes together, when he commenced hisconfession. They had left the lane in which they had been walking andwere crossing a field which led to a piece of woodland, now beginningto be tinged by those autumn tints which are so beautiful in ourwestern counties. 

It was one of those autumn days, which are often more glorious thaneven those of midsummer. The sweetness and freshness of summer hadgone, and the browning leaves and shortening days warned us that winterwas coming on apace. But as they walked, the sun shone in a cloudlesssky. The morning had been gloomy and showery, but now, as if by amagician's wand, the clouds had been swept away, and nothing but thegreat dome of blue, illumined by the brightness of the sun, was overthem. The rain, too, had cleared the air, and the raindrops which hereand there still hung on the grass sparkled in the sunlight. 

'It seems, ' said Edgecumbe, 'as though the glory of yonder woods issimply defying the coming of winter. Do you see the colouring, thealmost unearthly beauty, of the leaves? That is because the sun isshining on them. '

'Yes;' replied Lorna, 'but the winter is coming. '

'Only for a little while, and it only means that nature will take arest. It's a glorious thing to live, Miss Bolivick. '

She looked at him earnestly for a few seconds. Perhaps she wasthinking of the illness through which he had passed, and of histhankfulness at his recovery. 

'I am so glad you're better, ' she said. 'We were all heart-broken atyour illness. I hope----'

But she did not finish the sentence. Perhaps she saw that he was notheeding what she said, --saw, too, that his eyes were far away. 

For a few seconds they walked on in silence. Then he turned towardsher suddenly. 

'I have something to tell you, ' he said, --'something very wonderful. '

'You look awfully serious, ' and she gave a nervous laugh as she spoke;'I hope it is nothing to frighten me. '

'Perhaps it is, ' he replied, 'but it must be said, --the words wouldchoke me if I didn't utter them. '

She looked at him like one frightened, but did not speak. 

'It is all summed up in three words, ' he went on: 'I love you. No, don't speak yet; it would not be right. I never saw you until Fridaynight, --that is, I have no ordinary remembrance of seeing you untilthen. My friend had spoken to me about you; he had told me of yourinterest in me. He showed me the letter you wrote him. I did not wantto come here, but something, I don't know what it was, made me. When Isaw you on Friday evening, I knew. You stood at the doorway of yourfather's house, with the light of the setting sun upon your face. Icould not speak at the time, --words wouldn't come. No wonder, for lifebegun for me at that moment, --I mean full life, complete life. When Isaw you, the world became new. You thought I acted strangely, didn'tyou? I told you that I never remembered speaking to a woman untilthen. In a way, of course, it was foolishness, although in another itwas the truth. My past is a blank, --that is, up to the time I awoke toa realization that I lived, away in India; and since then my life hasbeen with men. But that wasn't what I meant. When I saw you, you werethe only woman in the world, --you are now. You are the fulfilment ofmy dreams, longing, hopes, ideals. You are all the world. '

The two walked on side by side, neither speaking for some time afterthis. Perhaps Lorna Bolivick was frightened, --perhaps she waswondering how she could at once be kind, and still make him see thefoolishness of what he had said. 

'I am glad you are silent, ' went on Edgecumbe, 'for your silence helpsme. Do you know, when I came to England, --that is, when I saw Luscombefor the first time, I had no thought of God except in a vague, shadowyway. Something, I don't know what, had obliterated Him from myexistence, --if ever He had an existence to me, and for monthsafterwards I never thought of Him. Then I went into a Y. M. C. A. Hut inFrance, where a man spoke about Him, and I caught the idea. It waswonderful, --wonderful! Presently I found Him, found Him in reality, and He illumined the whole of my life. I read that wonderful story ofhow He sent His Son to reveal Him, --I saw His love in the life anddeath of Jesus Christ, --and life has never been the same to me sincethen. But something was wanting, even then; something human, somethingthat was necessary to complete life. Then I saw you, and you completedit. 

'I don't know whether men call you beautiful, or not, --that doesn'tmatter. You have not come into my life like an angel, but as a woman, a human woman. I know nothing about you, and yet I know everything. You are the one woman God meant for me, you fill my life, --youglorify it. You mustn't think of marrying anybody else, it wouldbe sacrilege if you did. Such a love as mine wasn't intended to bediscarded, --mustn't be, --can't be. '

'Mr. Edgecumbe, ' she said quietly, 'I think we had better return to thehouse. '

'No, don't let us go back yet; there are other things I want to say';and he walked steadily on. She still kept by his side, --perhaps shewas not so much influenced by his words, as the way he said them, for Iknew by the look in his eyes when he told me his story, and by what Ifelt at the recital of it, that there was a strange intensity, awonderful magnetism, in his presence. 

'I am very ignorant, ' he continued presently, 'about the ways of theworld. I suppose I must have known at one time, for Luscombe tells methat I generally do what might be expected of a gentleman, althoughsometimes I make strange mistakes. The loss of one's memory, Isuppose, has a curious effect, and I cannot explain it to you. Thereare certain things which are very real, and very plain, --others areobscure. For example, I speak German perfectly; but until I read it afew months ago, I knew nothing of German history. Forgive me forsaying that, --it has nothing to do with what I want to tell you, andyet perhaps it has. Anyhow, it makes plain certain things I do andsay. You are going to be my wife----'

'Really, Mr. Edgecumbe, --please, --please----'

'You are going to be my wife, ' he went on, as if she had not spoken;'some day, if not now, you are going to wake up to the fact that youlove me, as I love you, --that just as you are the only woman in theworld to me, so I am the only man in the world to you. That is notbecause of my worthiness, because I am not worthy, but because the firewhich burns in my heart will be kindled in yours. This seems likemadness on my part, doesn't it?--but I am not mad. I am only speakingbecause of a great conviction, and because my love envelops me, fillsme, overwhelms me. Don't you see? Then this has come to me: I ampoor, I am nameless, homeless, --but what of that? Love such as minemakes everything possible, and I am going to make a name, make wealth, make riches;--it won't take me long. Why, ' and he laughed as he spoke, 'what is a great love for, but to conquer difficulties, to sweep awayimpossibilities?'

'But this is madness, Mr. Edgecumbe, ' replied the girl, finding hervoice at last. 'I can't allow you to speak in such a way any longer;it would be wrong for me to do so. I do not wish to hurt you, andindeed I am very sorry for you. I never thought that you would thinkof me in this way; if I had, I would never have asked you to come here. But you must see how impossible everything is; our habits of life, ourassociations, everything, make it impossible. Besides, I don't loveyou, --never can love you. '

'Oh, yes, you can, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'and you will. It may be youwill have a great battle to fight, --I think you will; but you will loveme. When I am away from you, --when I am over in France, facing death, you will think of me, think of this hour, and you will remember thatwherever I am, and whatever I am, I am thinking of you, lovingyou, --that my one object in life will be to win a position for you, towin a name for you. No, no, do not fear that I would ask you to marryme until, even in that sense, I am worthy of you. But you are young, and can wait, and, as you remember, perhaps in the silence of thenight, that there is a man whom God made for you, thinking for you, striving for you, --you will learn the great secret. '

I fancy at that time Lorna Bolivick really thought his mind wasunhinged; I imagine, too, that she was afraid, because Edgecumbe toldme that a look amounting almost to terror was in her eyes. But heseems to have taken no notice of this, for he went on. 

'You are thinking of other men who love you; that young fellow Bulleris very fond of you in his own way, and perhaps Springfield has alsomade love to you. Perhaps, too, he has fascinated you. But that willnot stop you from loving me. Even if you have promised him anything, you must give him up. '

'Perhaps you will finish your walk alone, Mr. Edgecumbe, ' she said. 'I--I am going back to the house. '

'Not yet, ' he replied. 'In a few minutes I shall have finished. I didnot expect you to be as patient as you have been, and I thank you. Butif you _have_ any thoughts about Springfield, you will give them up. He is no fit mate for you; he is as far removed from you as heaven isfrom hell. '

At this she spoke passionately. 'You doubtless have forgotten manythings, ' she said, 'and one thing is that one gentleman never speaksevil of another. '

'I say what I have to say, ' he replied, 'because life, and all itmeans, trembles in the balance. I do not pretend to know anythingabout Springfield, although I have a feeling that his life and my lifehave been associated in the past, and will be again in the future. Butlet that pass. You may be fascinated by him, but you can never lovehim, --you simply can't. Your nature is as pure as those raindrops, astransparent as the sky. You love things that are pure andbeautiful, --and that man's nature is dark and sinister, if not evil. There is only one other thing I have to tell you, then we will return. You see, ' he added, 'I am not asking you to promise me anything, or totell me anything, --I only want to tell you. I suppose I am aboutthirty years of age, I don't know; how long ago it was that I lost mymemory I can't tell; but my friend Luscombe tells me that perhaps, whenI was younger than I am now--that is in those days which are all darkto me--I loved some woman and married her. Of course I didn't. Buteven when I have won a position worthy of you, and when my name shallbe equal to yours, I will never think of asking you to wed me untileven all possibility of suspicion of such a thing is swept aside. Ithought it right to tell you this; how could I help it, --when the joythat should fill your life, the light which you should rejoice in, areall the world to me?'

'Mr. Edgecumbe, ' she said, 'you are my father's guest, and--and--I wantto think only kind thoughts of you, --but please drive away thesefoolish fancies. '

He laughed gaily. 'Foolish fancies! Is the sun foolish for shining?Are the flowers foolish for blooming? No, no; I love you, --I love you, and day and night, summer and winter, through shine and through storm, my one thought will be of you, always of you, and then, in God's goodtime, you will come to me, and we shall enter into joy. '

During the greater part of their journey back scarcely a word passedbetween them, and when at length they drew near the house again, hespoke to her of other things, as though his mad confession had neverbeen uttered. He told her of the books he was trying to read, bookswhich were new to him, and yet which he felt he had read before; told, too, of his thought about the war, and what we were fighting for, andwhat the results would be. He spoke of his friendship with me, and ofwhat it meant to him; of his new life in the Artillery, and of hisprogress as a gunner, and when he came up to the door where I waswaiting anxiously for them, he was telling her a humorous story abouttwo soldiers at the front. Indeed, so much had he erased the influenceof what he had at first said to her, that when Lorna Bolivick reachedthe house she was laughing gaily. 

'Had a pleasant walk?' I asked. 

'Wonderful, ' replied Edgecumbe; 'a walk never to be forgotten. '

As for Lorna, she went away to her room, and did not appear again untildinner-time. 

That night Edgecumbe revealed himself in a new light. No othervisitors were there, with the exception of Miss Blackwater. That wasthe reason, perhaps, he was able to speak freely, and act naturally. But, certainly, I never knew him such a pleasant companion as then, andhe revealed phases of character which I had never suspected him of. This man, who was often wistful, and generally strenuous in hisearnestness, became humorous and gay. Sometimes he was almostbrilliant in his repartees, and revealed a fund of humour whichsurprised me. Sometimes he grew quite eloquent in discussing the war, and in telling what he believed the effects would be on the life of menand nations. He showed an insight into the deeper movements of thetimes, which revealed him as a thinker of no mean order, while hisidealism and his patriotism were contagious. 

Whether he had a purpose in all this, I cannot say, but certain it ishe simply captivated the old baronet. 

'Dash it, man!' cried Sir Thomas to me, just before I went to bed, 'thefellow is a genius. I never dreamed of such a thing! With luck, he'llmake his mark. He--he might do anything. Upon my word, I am sorryhe's going to-morrow. I thought on Saturday he was nothing but ateetotal fanatic, but the fellow is wonderful. He has a keen sense ofhumour, too. I wonder who and what he really is. It is the mostremarkable case I ever heard of in my life. '

'For my own part, ' I said, 'I almost dread his memory coming back. '

'Why?'

'There are times when a man's past had better be buried and forgotten. '

'On the other hand, ' broke in Sir Thomas, 'it may be the beginning of anew life to him. Perhaps he has a name, wealth, position. '

Lorna Bolivick, who was standing by, did not speak, but I could seethat her father's words influenced her. Perhaps she was thinking ofthe mad confession which Edgecumbe had made that day. 

The next day we returned to London. 

CHAPTER XXV

'WHY IS VICTORY DELAYED?

'The war still drags on, Luscombe. '

'Yes, it still drags on, ' and I looked up from the copy of _The Times_which I had been reading. 'They seem to have had bad weather at thefront. From what I can judge, the Somme push is practically at an endfor this winter, unless better weather sets in. '

The train by which we travelled had just left Bristol, and would not stopuntil we arrived in London. 

'Of course, ' I went on, 'it will be Haig's policy to keep the Germansbusy all the winter, but I don't imagine that much more advance will bemade before spring comes. '

'That will mean another winter in the trenches, with its ghastly toll ofsuffering and sacrifice of human life. '

'I am afraid so, ' I said, 'but then we are at war. '

'How long is this going to last?' and there was a note of impatience inhis voice. 

'Until the Germans are brought to their knees, ' I replied, 'and that willbe no easy matter. When a nation like Germany has spent forty years inpreparation for war, it isn't easily beaten. You see they were piling upmountains of munitions, while the Krupp's factories were turning outthousands of big guns all the time we were asleep. Now we are paying theprice for it. '

'The same old tale, ' he laughed, 'big guns, explosives, millions of men. '

'It must be the same old tale, ' I replied. 'This is a war of exhaustion, and the nations which can hold out longest will win. '

'Then where does God come in?' he asked. 

I was silent. For one thing, I did not wish to enter into a religiousargument, and for another I scarcely knew what to say. 

'You know those words in the Bible, Luscombe, --"Some trust in horsemen, some in chariots, but we will trust in the strength of the Lord our God. "How much are we trusting in God?'

'It seems to me, ' I replied, 'that God gives the victory to the biggestand best equipped armies. '

'That's blank materialism, blank atheism!' he cried almost passionately. 'We don't give God a chance, that is why we haven't won the war beforenow. '

I laughed good-humouredly, for even yet the mental attitude he had takenup seemed to me almost absurd. 

'I see what you are thinking, but I tell you what, --the materialism ofthe country is adding to this frightful welter of blood, to this ghastlyholocaust. The destinies of men and nations are not decided primarily bybig guns, or mighty armies, and until we, as a nation, get back to arealization of the necessity of God, the war will drag on. As I told youbefore, when I was up at Ypres, I was convinced that if big armies, andbig guns, and poison gas shells, could have won the war, Germany wouldhave won long ago. But she was fighting the devil's battle, she wastrusting in "reeking tube and iron shard, "--as Rudyard Kipling puts it. That is why she failed. With such a cause as ours, and with such heroismas our men have displayed, we should, if we had claimed the help ofAlmighty God, have won long since. '

'Nonsense, my dear chap. '

'Look here, ' he cried, 'on what, in your opinion, do we depend forvictory?'

I was silent for a few seconds before replying. 

'On the mobilization of all our Empire's forces, ' I replied, 'on steady, persevering courage, and on the righteousness of our cause. '

'But supposing our cause hadn't been righteous, what then?'

I saw what was in his mind, but I did not feel like yielding to him. 'It's no use talking this high-falutin stuff, Edgecumbe, ' I said. 'Weare at war, and war means in these days, at all events, big guns. Itmeans the utilization of all the material forces at our command. '

'Then you believe more in a big army, and in what they call ourunconquerable Navy, than in Almighty God? Do you believe in God at all, Luscombe?'

'Of course I do, ' I replied; 'I am no atheist. All the same, it is ourNavy which has saved us. '

'Admiral Beatty doesn't believe that, ' he replied, 'and if any man knowswhat a navy can do, he does. Your position is identical with that of theGermans. Why, man, if God Almighty hadn't been very patient with us, weshould have been beaten long ago. Germany's materialism, Germany'satheism, German devilry has been our salvation as a nation. If the logicof big guns had been conclusive, we should have been annihilated. Thatchap Rudyard Kipling saw a long way into the truth. '

'When? Where?' I asked. 

'When he wrote that _Recessional_:

 Far-famed, our navies melt away, On dune and headland sinks the fire, Lo, all the pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. God of the nations, spare us yet! Lest we forget, lest we forget. 

'And mind you, Kipling is a believer in force, and a believer in theutilization of all the Empire's resources; but he sees that these thingsare not enough. Why, man, humanly speaking, we stand on the brink of avolcano. '

'Nonsense, ' I replied. 

'Is it nonsense? Suppose, for example, that the Germans do what theythreaten, and extend their submarine menace? Suppose they sink allmerchant vessels, and thus destroy our food supplies? Where should we bethen? Or suppose another thing: suppose Russia were to negotiate aseparate peace, and free all the German and Austrian armies in the East, which I think is quite probable--should we be able to hold them up?'

'Do you fear these things?' I asked. 

'I fear sometimes lest, as a nation, because we have forgotten God tosuch an extent, He has an awful lesson to teach us. In spite of morethan two years of carnage and misery, we still put our trust in thethings which are seen. '

'How do you know?' I replied. 'Aren't you judging on insufficientevidence?'

'Perhaps I am, ' he answered. 'As you said some time ago, I know verylittle about England or English life, but I am going to study it. '

'How?' I asked with a laugh. 

'As far as I can see, I shall be some months in England, ' he went on, 'and as it happens, my brigade is situated near London. And London isthe centre of the British Empire; it is at the heart of it, and sends outits life-blood everywhere. I am going to study London; I am going to theHouse of Commons, and understand the feeling of our Government. I amgoing to the places of amusements, the theatres, the music-halls, and seewhat they really mean in the life of the people. I am going to visit thechurches, and try to understand how much hold religion has upon thepeople. I am going to see London life, by night as well as by day. '

'You'll have a big job. '

'That may be, but I want to know, I want to understand. You don't seemto believe me, Luscombe, but I am terribly in earnest. This war isgetting on my nerves, it is haunting me night and day, and I cannotbelieve that it is the will of God it should continue. Mind you, Germanymust be beaten, _will_ be beaten, --of that I am convinced. That verse ofKipling's is prophetic of our future, --it cannot be otherwise. Thenation which has depended upon brute force and lies, must sooner or latercrumble; the country guilty of what she has been guilty of must in someway or another perish, --of that I am sure. Else God is a mockery, andHis eternal law a lie. Some day Germany, who years ago longed for war, brought about war, and gloried in her militarism, will realize themeaning of those words:

 "Lo, all the pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre. "

But we are paying the price of our materialism, too. Do you rememberthose words of our Lord, Who, when speaking to the Jews about theGalileans of olden times, said, "Suppose ye that these Galileans weresinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such things? Itell you, nay, but except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish. " Itis not pleasant to talk about, is it? but Rome and Byzantium fell becauseof their impurities, and they seemed as firmly established as the sevenhills on which Rome stood. Germany will fall, because she has trustedsupremely in the arm of flesh, with all that it means. Primarily it isrighteousness that exalteth a nation, while the nation which forgets Godis doomed to perish. '

'I might be listening to a Revivalist preacher, ' I laughed, 'some Jonahor Jeremiah proclaiming the sins of a nation. But seriously, my dearfellow, do you think that because we do not talk so much about thesethings, that we have of necessity forgotten them? Besides, we have beensickened by the Kaiser's pious platitudes; he has been continually usingthe name of God, and claiming His protection, even when the country herules has been doing the most devilish things ever known in history. Ithink that is why we have been sensitive about using the name of God. Perhaps the nation is more religious than you think. '

'I hope it is, ' he replied, 'for of this I am sure, the secret of aspeedy and triumphant victory lies in the fact of our nation being linkedto God. The question with me is, --Germany is doomed, because it hasdepended, and is depending, on brute force. That poem of Kipling'sdescribes them exactly. He might have had them in his mind when he wrote:

 If drunk with thought of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the law. 

That is their history. The question is, isn't there a danger that it isbecoming our history too?'

'One line describes them very well, ' I laughed; 'certainly they belong tothe "lesser breeds without the law. "'

'I don't know. Just think of it, --Germany's defying the whole world. Speaking from the standpoint of a military power, Germany has reason forher boastfulness. For more than two years she has been holding back andwithstanding the greatest nations of the world. Humanly speaking, theyare a great people, but they are scientific savages. If ever a peoplelived according to the doctrine that might is right, they have, and ifthat doctrine could be proved to be true, they'd have done it. But theircreed is as false as hell, that is why they are doomed. But what ofEngland, man, what of England?'

'You wouldn't have this war conducted in the spirit of a Revival meeting, would you?' I laughed. 

'Why not? If it is God's war, it should be fought in the spirit of God. We are fighting to destroy what is opposed to God's will, therefore weshould fight as He would have us fight. But here comes the question. Isit the supreme conviction of the nation that we are fighting God'sbattles? Is it the uppermost thought in our mind? I hate as much as anyman the hypocrisy of calling upon God, while doing the devil's work; butare we not denuding ourselves of power by fighting God's battles asthough He didn't exist?'

The train presently drew up at Paddington station, where we alighted. 

'Look, Luscombe, ' said Edgecumbe, nodding towards an officer, 'there'sSpringfield. I wonder what he's doing here?'

'Don't let him see us, anyhow, ' I said quickly. 'Come this way. ' And Ihurried to the passage which leads towards the departure platform. 

'Why didn't you want him to see us?' he asked. 

I did not reply till we reached the restaurant, and then I spoke to himgravely. 

'Edgecumbe, ' I said, 'you were telling me just now that you intended tostudy the life of London, and that you meant to go to all sorts ofplaces. '

'Yes, ' he replied, 'what then?'

'Only this: take care of yourself, and don't let any one know what yourplans are. '

'You must have a reason for saying that. '

'I have. You have told me more than once about your feeling that you andSpringfield knew each other before you lost your memory. '

'Yes, ' he replied, 'what then?'

'You say you had the feeling that Springfield was your enemy?'

'Yes, but I have no proof. Sometimes I am ashamed of harbouring suchthoughts. '

'Self-preservation is the first law of life, ' I said sententiously. 'Think, Edgecumbe, --some one shot at you in France, --why? You say youdon't know that you have a single enemy in the world. Then think of yourrecent illness. '

'But--but----' and I saw a look of wonder in his eyes. 

'I only tell you to be careful, ' I interposed. 'Don't let any one knowyour plans, and whatever you do, don't have anything to do withSpringfield. '

The words had scarcely passed my lips, when Springfield entered the room. 

CHAPTER XXVI

'WHERE DOES GOD COME IN?'

Springfield glanced around as if looking for a table, and then seeing us, came up quickly and held out his hand. 

'Awfully glad to see you, ' he said heartily. 'I came to meet Buller, whoI thought might be in your train. But as he wasn't there, and as I sawyou two fellows come across here, I thought I'd follow you. Left themall well down in Devonshire?'

There was no suggestion of restraint or _arrière pensée_ in his tones; hespoke in the most natural way possible, and seemed to regard us asfriends. 

'I will join you, if I may, ' he went on; 'I hate feeding alone. By theway, what are you fellows doing to-day? If you have nothing on hand, youmight come on to my club. '

'I am afraid I can't, ' I replied; 'I am fixed up. As for Edgecumbe, hehas to get back to duty. '

'I am at a loose end, ' he went on. 'Of course there are hosts of men Iknow in London; all the same, it's a bit lonely here. I am staying atthe----' and he mentioned a well-known military club. Then he looked atus, I thought, suspiciously. 

'Was Miss Bolivick well when you left?' he asked. 'I--I am more thanordinarily interested in her'; and he glanced at Edgecumbe as he spoke. But Edgecumbe's face did not move a muscle. Evidently he had taken mywords to heart. 

For a few seconds there was an awkward silence. Then he went on:

'Edgecumbe, I feel I owe you an apology. It was only after I had leftDevonshire that I fully realized what you had done for me. But for you, I should be a dead man, and I want to thank you. I am not much given tosentiment, I am not built that way, but believe me I am not ungrateful. At the risk of your own life you saved mine, and I feel it deeply. '

He spoke so earnestly, and there was such a ring of sincerity in hisvoice, that I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of him suspiciously. Still I could not forget the conversation which took place between himand St. Mabyn months ago, neither could I rid my mind of what had takenplace since. 

'If I can be of any service to you, ' he continued, 'I should like tobe, --I should really. I happen to know your colonel, and I'd like to seemore of you. If you will let me know how you are fixed, I will look youup. You haven't any friends in London, have you?'

'No, ' replied Edgecumbe; 'no one excepting Luscombe. '

'And you don't know London?'

'I am afraid not. I have no memory of it, anyhow. '

'Then let me show you around. I could introduce you to a lot of men, too. You see, as an old Army man, I know the ropes. '

'It's awfully good of you, Springfield, ' I said; 'but really I don'tthink Edgecumbe is your sort, and it would be a shame to bother you. '

I felt awkward in saying this, because I spoke as though I wereEdgecumbe's guardian. To my surprise, however, Edgecumbe eagerlyaccepted Springfield's offer. 

'I'll let you know when I am free, ' he said, 'and then, as you say, youcan introduce me to some of the sights of London. But we must be offnow, Luscombe, I have some things to do. '

'What do you mean by that?' I said, when we were alone. 

He laughed gaily. 'I am not such a simpleton as I look, old man. I amable to take care of myself. '

'But do you really mean to say that you are going to let him show youround London?'

'Why not? He knows London in a way which you and I don't. '

'But don't you feel that he is your enemy, and that he has some ulteriorpurpose in all this?'

'Of course I do, but it would be madness to let him know it. You needn'tfear, my friend; I will be a match for him. As I told you down inDevonshire, there's going to be a battle royal between us. He looks uponme as a kind of fool, who can be easily duped. But I shan't be. '

It was some days after this before I heard anything of Edgecumbe again. As I think I have mentioned, I was on sick leave at the time, and afterleaving him I went to see some friends in Oxford. While there I got aletter from him, saying that he had been taken ill almost immediately onhis return to duty, and that a fortnight's leave had been granted to him. He asked me when I should be returning to London, as he would like me toaccompany him on his peregrinations through the City. I curtailed myvisit to Oxford, so as to fall in with his plans, and found that he hadtaken up his quarters at a Y. M. C. A. Hut, which had been erectedespecially for the use of officers. 

He was looking somewhat pale and hollow-eyed, as I entered a comfortablyfitted-up lounge in the building. 

'What's the matter with you?' I asked. 

'Oh, nothing much. I had a sort of relapse after I got back to work, andthe M. O. Declared me unfit for duty. Evidently Colonel McClure wrote tohim about me. He seems to think I was poisoned. '

'Did your M. O. Tell you that?'

'Yes, and in his opinion the poison was not quite eradicated from mysystem. Funny, isn't it? Anyhow, they wouldn't let me work, and here Iam. What we poor soldiers would do without the Y. M. C. A. , Heaven onlyknows! Anyhow, it shows that Christianity is not quite dead in thecountry, for if ever there was a Christian body, the Y. M. C. A. Is one. '

'You can hardly call it a body, ' I replied; 'it is an organizationrepresenting the Christian spirit of the country. '

'All right, old man; call it what you like. Anyhow, I am jolly thankfulto its promoters. What I should have done but for the Y. M. C. A. , Heavenknows, I don't!'

'I know what you are going to do, ' I replied. 

'What?'

'You are coming with me to my hotel as a guest. '

'You are awfully good, old man, but I am afraid I can't. You see, thisillness of mine has given me my opportunity, and I am going to take it. '

'Opportunity for what?'

'For seeing London, for studying its life. I mean to go everywhere, andI don't want to interfere with your liberty in any way. '

'Good, ' I replied, 'I'll go with you; and as we shall be staying at thesame hotel, it will be more convenient to both of us. '

'Do you really mean that, Luscombe?'

'Of course I do. I, like you, am at a loose end, and I shall be only tooglad to have a pal until I am sent back to the front again. Now notanother word, Edgecumbe. I am not a Rothschild, but I have no onedependent on me, and I have more money than I need to spend. So pack upyour traps, and come with me. 

'Have you seen Springfield since our meeting on Paddington station?' Iasked, when presently we had removed to the hotel. 

'Yes, ' he replied; 'directly I got to the Y. M. C. A. Hostel, I wrote him athis club. '

'Well?' I asked. 

'Oh, he was jolly friendly, and seemed anxious to take me around. '

'And have you been with him?'

'Yes, ' he replied. 

'With what results?'

He hesitated a few seconds before answering me, and then he said quietly, 'Oh, nothing much out of the ordinary. It--it was rather funny. '

'What was rather funny?'

'Our conversation. He hates me, Luscombe; he positively loathes me; andhe fears me, too. '

'You have discovered that, have you?'

'Yes, there is no doubt about it. '

'Did you go anywhere with him?'

'Yes, a good many places. '

'You ought not to have gone with him, ' I said doubtfully. 

'Perhaps not. But I was anxious to see the phases of life with which heis familiar; I wanted to know the class of men he meets with, --tounderstand their point of view. '

'And what was your impression?'

'I am not going to tell you yet. During the four days I have been inLondon I have been looking around, trying to understand the workingmotives, the guiding principles, of this, the capital of the Empire. Iseem like a man in a strange country, and I am learning my way round. Oh, I do hope I am wrong!'

'Wrong, --how? What do you mean?'

'This war is maddening. Last night I couldn't sleep for thinking ofit, --all the horror of it got hold of me. I fancied myself out at thefront again, --I heard the awful howls and shrieks of the shells, heardthe booming of the big guns, smelt the acids of the explosives, heard thegroans of the men, saw them lying in the trenches and on the No Man'sLand, torn, mutilated, mangled. It is positively ghastly, --war is hell, man, hell!'

'Yes, ' I said, 'but we must see it through. '

'I know, I know. But how far away is the end? How long is this carnageand welter of blood to continue?'

'Let's change the subject, ' I said. 'We'll get a bit of dinner, and thengo to a place of amusement. '

'I don't feel like it to-night. Do you know any members of Parliament, any Cabinet Ministers?'

'Yes, a few. Why?'

'I want to go to the House of Commons. I want to know what those men whoare guiding our affairs are thinking. '

'Oh, all right, ' I laughed. 'I can easily get a permit to the House ofCommons. I'll take you. As it happens, too, I can get you anintroduction to one or two members of the Government. '

Two hours later, we were sitting in the Strangers' Gallery of the Houseof Commons. I could see that Edgecumbe was impressed, not by themagnificence of the surroundings, for, as all the world knows, theinterior of the British House of Commons, --that is the great LegislativeChamber itself, --is not very imposing, but he was excited by the factthat he was there in the Mother of Parliaments, listening to a debate onthe Great War. 

'It's wonderful, isn't it?' he said to me. 'Here we are in the very hubof the British Empire, --here decisions are come to which affect thedestiny of hundreds of millions of people. Here, as far as theGovernment is concerned, we can look into the very inwardness of theBritish mind, its hopes, its ideals. If this Assembly were so to decide, the war could stop to-morrow, and every soldier be brought home. '

'I don't know, ' I laughed. 'Behind this Assembly is the voice of thecountry. If these men did not represent the thoughts and feelings of thenation, they'd be sent about their business, --there'd be a revolution. '

'Yes, yes, I realize that. And the fact that there is no revolutionshows that they are doing, on the whole, what the country wishes them. '

'I suppose so, ' I replied. 

After that, he listened two hours without speaking. I never saw a man sointent upon what was being said. Speaker after speaker expressed hisviews, and argued the points nearest his heart. 

At the end of two hours, there was a large exodus of members, and thenEdgecumbe rose like a man waking out of a trance. 

'Have you been interested?' I asked. 

'Never so interested in my life, --it was wonderful! But look here, myfriend, do these men believe in Almighty God? Have they been asking forguidance on their deliberations?'

'I don't know. We English are not people who talk about that kind ofthing lightly. '

'No, and I am glad of it, ' he replied earnestly, 'but I must come again. In a sense, this should be the Power-House of the nation. '

'It is, ' I replied; 'at this place supplies are voted. '

'Supplies, ' he repeated thoughtfully. 

'Come, ' I said, 'I have arranged to meet Mr. ----; he is an importantmember of the Government, and he said he would be good for half an hour'schat after this Debate was over. '

A few seconds later, the member who introduced us took us into the lobby, where I met the Minister to whom I had referred, and who led the way tohis own room. As it happened, I had known this Minister for severalyears. We had spent a holiday together before the war, and had oftenplayed golf together. I had more than once seen him after he had becomea member of the Government, and he appeared very glad of a littlerelaxation after the stress of his work. 

'What did you think of the Debate?' he asked. 'Of course things aredifferent now from what they used to be. The time for making animpression by big speeches is over. I dare say, when the war comes to anend, we shall have the old party fights again, although the country willnever be the same again, even in that way. Still, I thought it wasinteresting. '

'How do you think we are doing?' I asked presently. 

'What, at the front? Oh, fairly well. We have to keep hammering away, you know, but the Germans are by no means done for yet. It is evidentlygoing to be a war of exhaustion, and we have only just come to ourstrength. Of course the Germans have given up all hope of winning. Oneof our weaknesses, if I may so say, lies in Russia. It is months nowsince they did anything. '

'Do you think there is any danger of their making a separate peace?' Iasked. 

'No, I don't think so; but there are some very uncertain elements tocontend with, and the corruption there has been frightful. I should notbe surprised at a big movement there in time. Still, we are doing verywell; our forces are becoming well organized, and in another year or so Ithink the Boches'll begin to crumple up. '

Knowing what was in Edgecumbe's mind, I asked him several questions, which he, without betraying any Cabinet secrets, answered freely. Hediscussed the question in all its bearings, and revealed remarkableacumen and judgment. All the time Edgecumbe sat listening eagerly, without speaking a word. Then, suddenly, he burst out with a question. 

'What do you think we must do to win this war?' he asked, and there was astrange intensity in his voice. 

'I am afraid I don't quite understand. '

'What do you think we must do to win this war?' Edgecumbe repeated. 'Have we left anything undone that we could have done? Are there anyforces to be brought into play which have not yet been used? Do you seeany great dangers ahead? What must we do more? You see, I have been along time at the front, and I know what fighting is; but naturally, as asoldier, my standpoint of vision is small and circumscribed. How does itappeal to you, who, as a statesman, must necessarily take a larger view?'

The Cabinet Minister seemed to be collecting his thoughts for a fewseconds, then he said, 'Of course the question is a very big one. Firstof all, take the East. If Russia is freed from traitors, and if sheholds together, --and if, with the help that we can give her, she can haveenough munitions, I don't think we need fear anything there. Then, whileour Salonica effort doesn't seem to amount to much, we are holding up avast number of men, and doing good work. But I do not expect anythingdecisive from there. Then, in a way, we are doing valuable work inMesopotamia and Palestine; by that means we are gradually wearing downthe Turks. When we come nearer home, --Italy is doing very well. She'llmake a big push in a few months, and we shall be able to help her. France is, of course, becoming a bit exhausted, but France is good for along while yet. It is we who have to play the decisive game, and if wehold together, as I believe we shall if we have no Labour troubles, sothat munitions and supplies may be plentiful, we shall be stronger in thefield than the Germans are. We have beaten them in big guns, inexplosives, and in men. Of course it'll be a long, tough fight, for theGermans realize that it is neck or nothing with them, and they'll holdout to the last. But we are the strongest side, and in the end they'llcrumple up. '

'Then you think, ' asked Edgecumbe, 'that our victory will depend on thesethings?--on stronger armies, and a bigger supply of munitions?'

'That, and the ability of our generals. The German generals are veryable men, but I think we beat them even there. '

'Then that is how you roughly outline our forces, and our hopes ofvictory?'

'Yes, that is it, roughly, ' replied the Minister. 

'May I ask whether that is the view of the Government as a whole?'

'What other view is there?'

'Then where does God come in?'

He asked the question simply, but evidently he was deeply in earnest. Irecognized the intensity of his voice, saw the flash of his eyes. 

The Minister looked towards me in a bewildered kind of way. I have anidea that he thought Edgecumbe was mad. 

'I don't quite understand you, ' he said. 'Will you tell me exactly whatyou mean?'

'I asked you, ' said Edgecumbe, 'what you thought were the forces to beused in order to win this war, and you told me; whereupon I asked youwhere God came in. '

'God!' repeated the Minister; 'why, we are at war!'

'Exactly, that is why I ask. When the war commenced, the people of thenation were informed that we were going to fight a holy war, that we weregoing to crush militarism, do justice to small states, bring about anabiding peace in the world. We were told that it was God's war. May Iask where God comes in in your scheme of carrying it on?'

The Minister smiled. Evidently he had come to the conclusion thatEdgecumbe was a harmless lunatic, and should not be taken seriously. 

'The fact that we are fighting for a just cause, ' he said, 'is sufficientto prove that it is God's war. '

'But is that all?'

The Minister looked at him helplessly. Evidently he did not think itworth while to carry the conversation further. 

'Because, ' went on Edgecumbe quietly, 'as far as I have watched thecourse of events, we have been fighting, as far as the Government isconcerned, as though God did not exist. A great many appeals have beenmade to the nation, yet think what they amount to! First of all thecountry was appealed to for men, and the men volunteered. But that wasnot enough. A certain section of the press cried out for conscription, and demanded that Parliament should pass a Bill giving power to theauthorities to compel every man of military age to join the Forces. Thatwas done. Then there was the trouble about munitions, and power wasgiven whereby many works were controlled, and huge factories were builtall over the country for the production of big guns and explosives. Inaddition to that, there was appeal after appeal for money, and still moremoney. Then we were told that the whole nation should serve, and therewas a further appeal for a National Service. We were told that if thesethings were done victory was certain. '

'But surely you do not object to this?' said the Cabinet Minister inastonishment. 

'Certainly not, ' replied Edgecumbe. 'I agree with every one of them; butI asked where God came in. We pretend to believe in God, don't we?'

'Well, what then?'

'Has there been any appeal to the nation to repent of its sins? Therehave been Proclamations from the throne: has there ever been one callingupon the people of the British Empire to pray? Have we, as a nation, been asked to link ourselves to the power of Almighty God? Has theGovernment ever endeavoured to make the people feel that our victory isin God's hands, and that we must look to Him for help? Have we not, Iask, as far as the Government is concerned, been fighting this war asthough God didn't exist?'

'But, my dear man, ' said the Cabinet Minister, 'you as a soldier mustknow that chaplains are sent out with the Forces, that the soldiers haveto attend Church Parade, and that prayer is offered by the chaplains forour victory? How can you say then that the war has been conducted asthough God didn't exist?'

'I know what all that means, ' replied Edgecumbe. 'I have been at thefront for a good many months, and I know what it means. I recognize, too, all the splendid work that has been done by the chaplains; many ofthem are fine fellows. But I want to get a bit deeper. I want to knowwhat steps have been taken to make the nation realize that primarilyvictory is in the hands of Almighty God. I want to know, too, what stepshave been taken to make the soldiers know what they are fighting for. Wehave in the Army now several millions, and they are all being instructedin the use of rifle shooting, machine-guns, bayonet work, and so on. Have any steps been taken to instruct them as to the nature of the causewe are fighting for, and of our ultimate aims and purposes? Have theyever been imbued with the idea of what Germanism means, and of ourultimate aims and ideals? In a word, have the soldiers been instructedthat this is God's war, and that they are fighting for a holy cause?'

The Cabinet Minister laughed. Edgecumbe's question seemed too absurd toanswer. Then he said somewhat uneasily, 'Prayers are said in thechurches every Sunday. '

'And from what I hear, only about one person in ten goes to Church. '

'What are you driving at?' and there was a touch of impatience in theMinister's voice. 

'Only this, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'if this is simply a war of brute forceagainst brute force, then doubtless the Government is going on the righttack. But if it is more, --if it is a war of God against the devil, ofright against wrong, of the forces of heaven against the forces of hell, then we are forgetting our chief Power, we are failing as a nation toutilize the mightiest forces at our command. There might be no God, ifone were to judge from the way we are conducting this struggle. '

'Nonsense!'

'That is scarcely an answer. Mark you, I am looking at it from thestandpoint of the Government as expressing the thought and will of thenation. The Government is supposed to be the mouthpiece of the nation, and judging from the appeals of the men holding important offices underthe Government, and the general trend of the daily press, while appealsare being made for all the material resources of the Empire, there hasnever been one appeal to the nation to pray, and to lay hold of the powerwhich God is waiting to give. '

'You do not seem to realize, my friend, ' said the Cabinet Minister, 'thatwar is primarily a contest between material forces. '

'No, ' said Edgecumbe, 'I don't, neither do I believe it. '

'Our generals are not sentimentalists, ' said the statesman; 'war is astern business, and they see that it is a matter of big guns. '

'Not all, ' replied Edgecumbe. 'If ever a man knew the meaning of bigguns, and what big guns can do, it is Admiral Beatty. Perhaps youremember what he said: "England still remains to be taken out of thestupor of self-satisfaction and complacency into which her great andflourishing condition has steeped her, and until she can be stirred outof this condition, and until a religious revival takes place at home, just so long will the war continue. "'

For a moment the statesman seemed nonplussed, and I could see thatEdgecumbe was impressing him in spite of himself. He spoke quietly, butwith evident intense conviction, and there was something in hispersonality that commanded respect. On his tunic, too, he wore hisdecorations, the decorations which proved him to be a man of courage andresource. There was no suggestion of weakness or of fanaticism in hismanner. Every word, every movement, spoke of a strong, brave, determinedman. 

'Then what would you do?' he asked almost helplessly. 

'It is scarcely a matter of what I would do, ' replied Edgecumbe. 'I amhere as an inquirer, and I came to the House of Commons to-night in orderto understand the standpoint from which the Government looks at thistremendous question. '

'And your conclusion is----?'

'That God's forgotten. It is not looked upon as a religious war atall, --everything is reduced to the level of brute force. As far as I canread the newspapers, never, since the first few months of the war, or atleast very rarely, has there been any endeavour to make the peoplerealize this ghastly business from a religious standpoint, while thesoldiers never hear a word from week end to week end of the purposes forwhich they are fighting. '

'You can't make soldiers religious if they don't want to be, ' said theMinister, weakly I thought. 

'I don't say you can, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'but you can do something tolift the whole thing above its present sordid level, and give them a highand holy courage. '

'They _have_ courage, ' replied the Minister. 'As you have been at thefront, you know what a splendid lot of men they are. '

'No man knows better, --a finer lot of fellows never breathed. But lookat facts, think of the forces which have opposed them, and remember howthey have been handicapped? Drink has been one of our great curses inthis country; it has been one of our greatest hindrances. Even the PrimeMinister insisted upon it almost pathetically. When we lacked munitions, and our men were being killed for want of them, drink was the principalinterest to their manufacture. You of course know what Mr. Lloyd Georgesaid in 1915: "Without spending one penny on additional structures, without putting down a single additional machine, without adding to thesupervision of the men, but on the contrary lessening the supervision, wecould, by putting down the drink, by one act of sacrifice on the part ofthe nation, win through to victory for our country. " Yet the Governmenthas only played with the drink question, as far as the country isconcerned, and it has kept on supplying it to the boys abroad. Everyoneknows it has lowered the standard of our national life, intellectually, morally, and spiritually. And yet the thing continues. Is that the wayto fight God's battles? Vested interests seem of more importance thanpurity and righteousness, while the men who make huge fortunes out ofthis traffic are coroneted. '

'Good night, Luscombe, ' said the Cabinet Minister rising. 'I must begoing now. This conversation has been very interesting, but I am afraidI cannot see as your friend sees. '

A few minutes later, we stood outside the great Government building. Wewere in the heart of London, the great city which so largely focuses thelife of our world-wide Empire. Close to us, the towers of the Abbeylifted their pinnacles into the grey sky, while St. Margaret's Churchlooked almost small and diminutive by its side. Up Whitehall we couldsee the dim outlines of the great Government buildings, while the broadthoroughfare pulsated with the roaring traffic. 

For some seconds Edgecumbe did not speak, then he burst out excitedly. 'It's a wonderful old city, isn't it? The finest, grandest city in theworld! Do you know, it casts a kind of spell upon me. I sometimes thinkthere is more good in London than in any other place. '

'Any one would not think so, judging by your conversation just now, ' Ilaughed. 

'But there is, ' he said. 'Why, think of the kindness and loving serviceshown to the returning soldiers! Think of the thousands of women who aregiving their lives to nursing them and caring for them! Come on, ' and hemoved towards Westminster Bridge. 

'That's not the way back to the hotel. '

'I am not going back to the hotel yet, ' he said. 

'Where are you going, then?'

'To Waterloo station. There will be trains coming in from the coast. Iwant to see what happens to the soldiers who are coming back from thefront. '

CHAPTER XXVII

SEEING LONDON

I am not going to write at length on what we saw at Waterloo station, andin its vicinity. In a way, our experiences were interesting beyondwords, and while there was much which made one rejoice, there was alsomuch to sadden. While we were there, a train came in laden with troops. Hundreds of men had come home on leave, and they had now arrived at thisgreat terminus. What rejoiced me was to see the number of Y. M. C. A. Workers, as well as others from various Christian bodies, who met the menand welcomed them. Of course there were numbers who were eagerlywelcomed by their friends; others had evidently made their plans to getback to their homes quickly, while many more seemed bewildered andlonely. Lads who had originally hailed from Canada and Australia, andwho knew nothing of London, looked around the huge station as though notknowing what to do, and if ever I felt glad because of the work of theY. M. C. A. , I felt it then. They seemed to have a kind of genius forknowing the men who were without friends, and for giving them a heartywelcome back. 

I knew that, scattered all over London, were Huts and Hostels which theyhave provided for these lads who were strangers in a strange city, andthat many of them would be taken to these places, given a hot supper, andprovided with a comfortable bed. I know, too, while the lads were underthe influence of the Y. M. C. A. , no harm would happen to them, that theywould be surrounded by good and healthy influences, and that as many ofthem who had no homes in England could stay at the Hostels during theirleave. 

But there were other influences at work. Not only were there these noblebands of workers, who existed for our soldiers' comfort andsalvation, --there were scores of evil women who hovered around waitinglike vultures to swoop upon their prey. 

It is difficult to write about, difficult to contemplate. Scores ofthese boys, who for months had been away at the front, living withoutmany refining influences, living, too, under strict discipline amidst allthe stress and horror of war, were suddenly given their liberty, and letloose in our great City. Most of them would have plenty of money, forthere are few opportunities of spending at the front, and they would befreed from all restrictions. Then their danger began. Lads, many ofthem inspired by no religious ideals, excited by their liberty, with norestraint of any sort placed upon them, became an easy prey to those wholooked upon them as victims. The angels of light were there to helpthem, but there were also many creatures of darkness who lured them todestruction, and these creatures of darkness were allowed to ply theirghastly trade often without let or hindrance. 

I could not help feeling the tragedy of it. These lads who had beenliving from hour to hour, and from minute to minute, amidst the roar ofgreat guns, the shriek of shells, the pep-pep-pep of machine-guns, neverknowing when death would come, were suddenly and without preparationthrown upon the bosom of our great modern Babylon; and on their returnthey were met by these creatures. 

'It is ghastly, it is hellish!' said Edgecumbe, as we returned acrossWaterloo Bridge. 

'What can be done?' I asked helplessly. 

'These fellows should be safeguarded, ' he replied. 'Oh, I know thedifficulties, but those creatures should be dealt with with a stronghand; they should not be allowed in such places. The boys coming homefrom danger and death should be protected from such temptations. It isnot a thing to talk about, not a thing to discuss in public; but think ofthe inwardness of it, think of the ghastly diseases, the loss of manhood, the corruption of soul, that follows in the train of what we haveseen, --and it is going on all over London. '

'You can't put down vice by Act of Parliament, ' I replied. 

'No, but a great deal more can be done than is done, ' was his answer. 'People don't talk about these things in their drawing-rooms, or in theirsocial circles, but they exist, --my God, they exist! And this issupposed to be a holy war! Still, thank God for the good that is beingdone, for the organizations which exist for men's comfort and salvation. '

And then he did not speak another word until we reached the hotel. 

The next day was Saturday, and directly after lunch we started to gotogether to a matinee, for Edgecumbe had stated his determination tovisit the places of amusement and see how London enjoyed itself. 

We begun by going to one of the largest and most popular music-halls inthe City, where a revue which was much commented on was produced for thedelectation of all who cared to see it. 

I was informed that this particular place was much patronized bysoldiers, and that the entertainment was one of the most popular inLondon. The prices of the seats varied from half a guinea, plus the Wartax, to a shilling, and as we entered we found a vast concourse ofpeople, among whom were many men in khaki. I discovered too that themanagement had been generous, for there were numbers of wounded soldiers, many of them in the stalls, and who had been given free admission. 

'After all, it is fine, ' I said, as we waited for the curtain to rise, 'that these lads should have a place of brightness and amusement to goto. '

'Yes, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'in a way it is splendid. '

'The people of the country are wonderfully good, ' I went on; 'soldiers inthe hospitals, as well as others home on leave, are constantly beinggiven hospitality by the best and kindest people in England. I hopethese chaps'll have a good laugh this afternoon, and be able to forgetthe horrors through which they have passed. They have had enough of thetragedy of life, poor chaps. I hope they'll get some comedy thisafternoon. '

'I hope they will, ' he replied. 

I will not attempt to give a description of the revue they witnessed thatafternoon. I suppose it was similar to a score of others that might beseen in various parts of the metropolis. There was an excellentorchestra, the music was light and pleasing, the whole atmosphere of theplace was merry. The lights were dazzling, the dresses were gay, thescenery almost magnificent. As a spectacle it would, I suppose, beregarded as gorgeous. Apparently, too, most of the auditors enjoyed it, although a look of boredom was on some faces. As to the revue itself, while one could not help admitting that some of the songs were humorous, and some of the repartee clever, the thing as a whole was cheap and sillyand vulgar. 

I do not say there was anything positively wrong in it, but there were agreat many vulgar suggestions and unpleasant innuendoes. As a dramaticcritic said in my hearing a day or two later, when discussing the popularentertainments of London, 'Most of these shows consist of vulgar, brainless twaddle. ' Still, the audience laughed and cheered, and whenthe curtain finally fell, there was a good deal of applause. Certainlythe entertainment would be a great contrast to the experiences which thelads who were home on leave had been going through. But as I reflect onit now, and think of the great struggle through which the nation wasgoing, and the ideals for which it was fighting, I cannot remember onesingle word that would help or inspire. Of course places of amusementare not intended to instruct or to fill one with lofty emotions. All thesame, I could not help feeling that laughter and enjoyment were in no wayincompatible with the higher aims of the drama. In fact, what we saw wasnot drama at all; it was a caricature of life, and a vulgar one at that. Indeed, the author's purpose seemed to be--that is, assuming he had apurpose--to teach that virtue was something to be laughed at, that vicewas pleasant, and that sin had no evil consequences. 

Indeed, while I am anything but a puritan, I felt sorry that the hundredsof lads home from the front, many of whom were wounded, had no betterfare offered to them. God knows I would be the last to detract fromtheir honest enjoyment, and I would make their leave bright and happy;but after all, the nation was at war, life was a struggle, and deathstalked triumphant, and this was but a poor mental and moral food for menwho, for months, had been passing through an inferno, and many of whomwould, in a few weeks or days, go back again to see 'hell let loose. ' Ifthose men had been merely fighting animals, if they were mere creaturesof a day, who went out of existence when the sun went down, then onecould understand; but they were men with hopes, and fears, and longings;men into whose nostrils God had breathed the breath of His own life, mendestined for immortality. And this show was pagan from end to end. 

When the entertainment was over, I led the way to a fashionable hotel fortea, where a large and handsomely decorated room was set apart for thatpurpose. A gay crowd of some hundreds had already gathered when wearrived, so that there was a difficulty in obtaining a table. This crowdhad evidently, like ours, come from the various places of amusement inthe immediate vicinity, and had managed to get there earlier than we. 

The men folk were mostly officers, while the women were, I imagine, inthe main their relatives and friends. The latter were very gaily andexpensively dressed. As far as I can remember, the cost of a very poortea was half a crown for each person. Every one appeared in great goodhumour, and laughter was the order of the day. 

'Not much suggestion here that the country's at war, eh?' I said, lookinground the room, 'and but few evidences that the appeals to the public toeconomize have been taken very deeply to heart. '

'No, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'except for the khaki, it would be difficult tobelieve that the country is at war. Still, I suppose it is natural. Most of these lads are home on leave, and their women folk want them toenjoy themselves. This is their way of doing it. '

'It shows that money is plentiful, ' I said; 'we are a long way frombankruptcy yet. '

'But the big bill will have to be paid, my friend. There are no signs ofit now, but the country can't spend all these millions every day withoutsuffering for it later on, ' and I saw a thoughtful look come into hiseyes as they wandered round the room. 

After tea we went for a walk along the streets, and then, at half-pastseven, I took him to another fashionable hotel, where I had ordereddinner. Again we saw a similar crowd, met with similar scenes. WhateverLondon might be feeling, the fashionable part of it had determined toenjoy itself. At night we went to another theatre, which was also packedto the ceiling with a gay throng. Here also were crowds of soldiers, many of whom were, I judged, like ourselves, home from the front. 

Edgecumbe passed no opinion on the play, or on the spectators. That hewas deeply interested, was evident, although I think his interest wasmore in the audience than the performers. 

'I am tired, ' I said, when the entertainment was over; 'let's get to bed. '

'No, not yet, I want to see London by night. All this, to you, Luscombe, is commonplace. I dare say it would be to me if my memory came back. Asit is, it is all new and strange to me. It is exciting me tremendously. I am like one seeing the show for the first time. '

By this time London was at its busiest, crowds surged everywhere. 'Buses, taxi-cabs, and motors threaded their way through the streets, while the foot pavements were crowded. Places of amusement were emptyingthemselves on every hand, and although the streets were darkened, itseemed to have no effect upon the spirits of the people. The night wasfairly clear, and a pale moon showed itself between the clouds. 

'What a city it is!' said Edgecumbe, after we had been walking some time. 'Think of it, the centre of the British Empire, the great heart whichsends its life-blood through the veins of a mighty people! But is thelife-blood pure, my friend?'

We passed up Charing Cross to Leicester Square, and then on throughPiccadilly Circus up Regent Street, then we came down again, through theHaymarket, into Pall Mall. I am not going to describe what we saw, nortell in detail the experiences through which we passed. That ghastlystory of gilded vice, and of corruption which is not ashamed, was toosad, too pathetic. The Empire might be in danger, even then there mightbe Zeppelins hovering in the near distance, waiting to drop missiles ofdestruction and death. Less than two hundred miles away our armies werefighting, guns were booming, shells were shrieking, men were dying. Buthere in London, on the eve of the Day of Rest, the tide of iniquityrolled. Young men were tempted, and falling; many of the very lads whohad done heroic deeds were selling their souls for half an hour'spleasure. 

In spite of the drink regulations, too, it was easy to see that numbers, both men and women, had been able to obtain it, often to their owndegradation. 

'Come on, ' said Edgecumbe presently, 'let's get back to the hotel. I'vehad enough. '

CHAPTER XXVIII

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

During the remainder of Edgecumbe's leave we spent our time in seeing andtrying to understand London. As he had insisted, London was the centreof the British Empire; the great heart which sent its life-bloodthroughout the veins of four hundred millions of people. To understandLondon, therefore, was to understand the aims, hopes and ideals of theBritish race. Of course I urged that London was not England, much lessthe Empire; but I could not help admitting that there was much truth inhis contention. 

Naturally we did not see our metropolis in its entirety. To know Londonmeans a lifetime's study; but we did get a superficial glimpse of itslife, and we tried to understand the inwardness of that life. 

On the day after the incidents described in the last chapter we visitedseveral churches; we also made our way into Hyde Park, and heard theorators. We interviewed several ecclesiastics both of the Establishedand Nonconformist order, and if ever a man was depressed it was Edgecumbe. 

'These religious organizations do not touch a tithe of the people, ' hesaid to me. 'London is called a Christian City, but it is far more paganthan Christian. The people are not interested in religious things, andeven among churchgoers everything seems unreal. '

He was led to modify this opinion later. He saw that while the City wasin one sense largely godless, it was in another deeply religious. Herealized that, in spite of apparent religious indifference, the teachingsof the Founder of Christianity, and the truths for which He lived anddied, had, through the centuries, created an atmosphere which influencedevery phase of thought and life. 

But he did not feel this during the two Sundays we spent together. Asfar as we could see, only a small fragment of the people entered thedoors of the churches, and that even this fragment was filled with nomighty religious hope or enthusiasm. 

One sermon, however, struck him forcibly. It was preached by a young manwho took for his text, 'And they that were ready went into the marriagefeast. ' The argument of the sermon was that God gave neither individualsnor nations the highest of blessings until they were ready, and he urgedthat until England was ready for peace God would not give it her. Thatuntil we became less materialistic, less selfish, until we ceased toexploit the war as a means for advancing our own interest, and until weturned to God and kept His commandments, real peace would be a far-offdream. 

But I must not stay to describe this at length; indeed, a volume would benecessary to give any true idea of our experiences. We saw London bynight as well as by day. We went to munition factories and to nightclubs, to hospitals and to music-halls, to seats of Government and tohaunts of vice. We talked with hundreds of people of all kinds, and fromthe drift of their conversation tried to understand the spirit of theCity. 

I shall never forget the look on Edgecumbe's face after our visit to ahospital for soldiers who suffered from a disease which shall benameless. The horror in his eyes and the absolute nausea and loathingwhich possessed him has haunted me ever since. 

But there were sights which rejoiced him also. The splendid sacrificeswhich unnumbered people, both men and women, were making, and the greatbroad-hearted charity which abounded on every hand, made him realize notonly the bad but the good, and led him to realize that beneath the madwhirl of evil passions which was too evident, was a life sacred andsublime. 

Presently, however, our peregrinations came to an end. Edgecumbe hadappeared before a medical officer, and was declared fit for duty again. He had also received orders to return to his battery, while I dailywaited instructions as to my future course of action. 

'We have had a wonderful time, Luscombe, ' he said. 'I little dreamt, when we started out to see London, what it would be like. '

'Well, what do you think of it all?'

'I am bewildered, ' he replied; 'it is all too big to co-ordinate. I wantto get a grasp of everything. I want to see things in their trueproportion. I want to understand. '

We had just come from the Crystal Palace, where so many thousands of oursailors are quartered, and had been talking with the workers of theY. M. C. A. Concerning their activities there. 

'You will never be able to co-ordinate it, Edgecumbe, ' I said. 'No mancan understand fully the life of a great city like this. '

'No, I suppose not. Still, I am trying to think my way through it. '

'Anyhow, ' I said, 'you have to return to duty tomorrow. Let us forgetthe serious things of life for once. By the way, ' I added, 'have youheard from Miss Lorna Bolivick?'

For some seconds he did not reply, and I thought he did not hear what Isaid. His face was a curious study at the time, and I wondered what hewas thinking about. 

'No, ' he replied presently, 'I have not heard from her. Naturally I didnot expect to. '

During the whole time we had spent in London together, he had never oncereferred to her, and I imagined, and almost hoped, that he had seen themadness of the determination he had expressed when we were down inDevonshire. 

'You have given up all thought of her, then?'

'Given up all thought of her? Certainly not. You know what I told you?'

'Yes, but I thought you might have seen how foolish you were. '

'I shall never give up hope, ' he replied; 'that is, until hope isimpossible. Whatever made you think of such a thing?'

'But do you not see the madness of your plan?'

'No, there is nothing mad in it. By the way, Luscombe, I am awfullyhungry. Let us go in here and get some dinner. Don't think, old man, that I can't see your point of view, ' he said when we had taken our seatsin the dining-room of the restaurant, 'I can. From your standpoint, fora man in my position, without name, without home, without friends, without money, to aspire to the hand of Lorna Bolivick, is to say that heis fit for a lunatic asylum. But I can't see things as you do. GodAlmighty didn't put this love in my heart for nothing, a love which hasbeen growing every day since I saw her. Why, man, although I have saidnothing to you, she is everything to me, everything! That is, from thepersonal standpoint. If I did not believe in God, I should despair, but, believing in Him, despair is impossible. '

'God does not give us everything we want, ' I replied; 'it would not begood for us if He did. Possibly He has other plans for her. '

'That may be so, ' he replied calmly, 'but I am going to act as though Hemeant her for me. '

I looked across the dining-hall as he spoke, and saw, sitting not faraway from us, a party which instantly attracted my attention. 

'I should not, if I were you, ' I said. 

'Why?'

'Look!' I replied, nodding towards the table I had noticed. 

He gave a start, for sitting at the table were Sir Thomas and LadyBolivick and their daughter Lorna. Sitting beside the latter wasSpringfield. 

'Does not that suggest the answer?'

His face never moved a muscle, and he looked at them as though he werebut little interested. 

'If ever a man had the appearance of a successful lover, ' I went on, 'Springfield has. There, do you see how he is looking at her? Do yousee how his every action suggests proprietorship? Then watch her face, see how she smiles at him. It would seem, too, as though her father andmother are very pleased. '

He continued to look at them for several seconds, then he said quitecasually, 'They have no idea we are here. '

'No, evidently not. But I think I will go and speak to them. '

'Don't, Luscombe, ' and he spoke quickly; 'it will be better not. I don'twant that man to know where I am. '

'You are convinced that I was right about him, then?'

'I am convinced there will be a battle royal between me and that man, ' hesaid, and there was a far-away look in his eyes. 'Perhaps--perhaps--Idon't know, --the ways of Providence are strange. There is going to be aterrible fight; I can see it coming. '

'What, between you and Springfield?'

'Yes; but there is something more than that, something greater. But Imust fight, --I must fight. '

I did not understand the look in his eyes, or the tone of his voice. 

'What, to protect yourself against Springfield?' I said. 

'To save a woman's soul, ' was his reply. 'Would you mind if we didn'ttalk about it any more just now?' He went on with his dinner as thoughnothing had happened, and if a stranger had been sitting by, he wouldhave said that Edgecumbe had no interest in the party close by. 

'I think I must go and speak to them, ' I said; 'it would seemdiscourteous to be so near, and not speak to people who have shown me somuch kindness. '

'Go if you like, ' was his answer, 'but don't let them see me. I am goingback to the hotel. '

I waited until he had left the room, and then turned towards Sir ThomasBolivick's table. 

CHAPTER XXIX

CROSS CURRENTS

I received a hearty welcome as I came up, and Sir Thomas tried topersuade me to spend the evening with them, and to accompany them to thetheatre. As far as I could judge, however, neither Springfield nor Lornaseconded his proposal. I thought she preferred Springfield's company tomy own. They were now sitting over their coffee. Sir Thomas was smokinga huge cigar, while Springfield lit cigarette after cigarette and threwthem away before they were half consumed. 

'When did you come up?' I asked. 

'Oh, we have been here four days. Captain Springfield--oh, I beg hispardon, --Colonel Springfield, has to go to the front the day afterto-morrow, and I was anxious to see him before he went. '

'"Colonel"?' I said. 'Have you been gazetted?' and I turned toSpringfield as I spoke. 

'Sir Thomas is a little premature, ' he replied with a smile. 'My namewas down for my majority before I returned home wounded, and I wasgazetted two months ago. As to my being colonel, --but there, it is nouse making a secret of it, I suppose I am to have my battalionimmediately on my return. '

'Yes, I saw General ---- at the War Office yesterday, ' and Sir Thomassmiled benignantly. 'Such services as Springfield has rendered can't golong unrewarded, and in these days seniority does not count so much. Bythe way, what has become of our eccentric friend Edgecumbe?'

'Don't you know. Have you heard nothing about him?' and I turned quicklyto Springfield as I spoke. 

'I saw him nearly three weeks ago, ' he replied; 'it seems he was not fitfor work, and came to London on leave. I saw him twice, I think, andtook him to one or two clubs. Since then I have lost sight of him. '

'And heard nothing about him?' I asked, looking at him steadily. 

'Nothing at all. Sir Thomas, it is nearly time for us to go, but thereis time for another liqueur. We can meet the ladies in the vestibule. '

I accompanied Lorna Bolivick a few steps down the room, while LadyBolivick went a little ahead. 

'Am I to congratulate you, Lorna?' I said. 'Forgive me, I am taking youat your word. '

She gave me a quick look, which I could not understand, and then replied, 'I start nursing again next week. '

'You know what I mean, ' I persisted, and I laughed as I spoke. 'Springfield looks a very happy man. '

'Don't speak that way. ' she replied; 'at least not yet. '

'Why?' I asked; and then, overstepping the bounds of good taste, I wenton, 'Edgecumbe told me all about it. '

'Did he? I am so sorry. But--but--come and see us, won't you? We arestaying at the Carlton. We shall be there three days more. I want totalk to you. Good night, ' and she rushed away. 

When I returned to the table, I found that the waiter had replenished theliqueur glasses, and I saw, not only by the empty champagne bottle, butby Springfield's eyes, that his libations had been liberal. 

'By the way, Luscombe, ' he said, 'do _you_ know where Edgecumbe is? Hashe returned to duty?'

Before I could reply, Sir Thomas, fortunately I thought, burst in withanother question, 'What do you really make of that fellow Edgecumbe?'

'One of the bravest, finest, and most conscientious men I ever met, ' Ireplied. 

Springfield laughed mockingly. 

'Why, is not that your opinion?' and I looked at him steadily. 

'A man is bound to think kindly of a man who has saved his life. Becauseof that I tried to be friendly to him. He was staying at that Y. M. C. A. Show for penniless officers, and I thought I'd do him a good turn, but--but----' he hesitated. 

'But what?' I asked. 

'Of course I know little of him. I never saw him until I met him down atSir Thomas's place. But if you weren't so certain about his sanctity, Luscombe, I should be inclined to look upon him as a criminal madman';and there was a snarl in his voice. 

'Surely you must have reasons for that, ' I said. 

'Yes, I have. '

'What are they?'

'I don't think I am obliged to tell, ' he replied truculently. 

'I think you are, ' I said. 'To say the least of it, you owe him yourlife, --I can testify to that, for he exposed himself to almost certaindeath while digging you out from under a big heap of _débris_; none ofthe others who were there would have done it. And it is hardly decent tocall one who has done such a thing a criminal madman, without having thestrongest reasons. '

'I _have_ the strongest reasons, ' he replied, and I saw that hislibations had made him less cautious than usual. 'I do not think any onecan doubt his madness, whilst as for the criminality, ' and he laughedagain, 'evidently he does the pious when he is with _you_; but when hegets among men of his own ilk, his piety is an unknown quantity. But theladies are waiting, Sir Thomas; we must be off. '

I did not seek to pursue the conversation further. I did not think itwise. And certainly the dining-room of a popular restaurant was not theplace for a scene. 

I went back to the hotel very slowly, and having taken a somewhatroundabout course it was not until an hour after I had left therestaurant that I arrived there. I went into all the public rooms, andlooked for my friend. But he was nowhere visible. Then, feelingsomewhat uneasy, I went to his bedroom door, and was much relieved athearing him bid me enter. I found him sitting in an easy chair with ahandful of notes, which he had evidently been reading. 

'What have you got there?' I asked. 

'Oh, each night after we came back I wrote down my impressions, ' hereplied, 'and I have been looking at them. '

'Well, you are a cool customer!' I laughed. 

'Thank you. But what has led you to that tremendous conclusion?'

'Why, you see the woman with whom you pretend to be in love taken away byanother man, and never show the least desire to play your game! If itwere any one else but Springfield, I should not wonder so much, butknowing your opinion of him, I can hardly understand it. '

'Yes, I hardly understand myself, ' he replied; 'in fact, I am rather amystery to myself. '

'Do you really love Lorna Bolivick?' I asked. 

'Excuse me, old man, but I don't quite understand you. '

He looked at me steadily for a few seconds, and then went on quietly, 'Ifancy there is no need to tell you about that. '

'And yet you stand by and see Springfield carry her off before your eyes, and Springfield is a rotter. '

'Yes, that's just what he is. But he can't harm her yet. '

'What do you mean by "_yet_"?'

'I can't put it into words, Luscombe. My first impulse when I saw themtogether just now was to go to the table and denounce him, --to warn heragainst him. But it would have been madness. The time is not yet come. '

'Meanwhile, he will marry her, ' I said. 

'No, he won't. I am afraid he has fascinated her, and I am sure he meansto marry her, --I saw it down in Devonshire. But there is no danger yet;the danger will come by and by, --when or how I don't know. It will come, and I must be ready for it. I will be ready, too. Meantime, I haveother things to think about. I am worried, my friend, worried. '

'What is worrying you?'

'I am going back to duty to-morrow, but from what I can hear I am to betreated as a special case. My colonel has said all sorts of kind thingsabout me, I find. But that's not what I am thinking about now. This waris maddening me, --this constant carnage, with all the misery it entails. You asked me some time ago what I thought about the things we hadseen, --what my impressions were, and I told you that I could notco-ordinate my ideas, could not look at things in their true perspective. I say, Luscombe, Admiral Beatty was right. '

'What do you mean?'

'Do you remember what he said?--"Just so long as England remains in astate of religious indifference, just so long as the present conditionsobtain, will the war continue. "'

'Don't let us talk about that now. '

'But I must, my dear chap. I am going back to duty to-morrow, and I wantto realize the inwardness of all we have seen. One thing I am determinedon. '

'What is that?'

'To fight this drink business as long as I have breath. It is doing usmore harm than Germany. I am told there is danger of a food famine. Itis said that bread is going to be scarce, --that people may be put onshort rations. Of course we only hear hints now, but there aresuggestions that Germany is going to pursue her submarine policy withmore vigour, so as to starve us. A man I met in the hotel a little whileago told me that they were going to sink all merchant ships at sight, regardless of nationality. Of course you know what that means. '

'There are always rumours afloat, ' I said. 

'They _might_ do it. Germany is capable of anything. But we could laughat that, but for this drink business. Think of it! Four million tons ofgrain wasted in making drink since the beginning of the war, and there isa talk about a shortage of bread. Three hundred thousand tons of sugarhave been used in making drink since the beginning of the war, and it isdifficult for people to buy sugar for the common necessities of life!And that is not the worst of it. Why, man, you know what we have seenduring these last weeks, --all the horror, all the misery, all thedevilry! What has been at the bottom of nine-tenths of it? Night afternight, when we have come back from seeing what we _have_ seen, I havebeen studying these questions, I have been reading hours while youthought I was asleep. And I tell you, it would not be good for us tohave victory, until this thing is destroyed. And I doubt whether GodAlmighty ever _will_ give us victory, until we have first of allstrangled once and for ever this drink fiend. '

'Don't talk nonsense! You are becoming a teetotal fanatic. '

'Think, Luscombe, ' and he rose from his chair as he spoke, 'suppose Godwere to give us victory to-night? Suppose the Germans were to cave in, and tell us that we could dictate the terms of peace? Suppose our armieswere to come back while things are as they are, and while the thought andfeeling of the nation is as it is? Don't you see what would follow?When trouble was first in the air, Asquith said that "war was hell letloose. " Would not hell be let loose if victory were to be declared?Think of the drunkenness, the devilry, the bestiality that you and I saw!Think what those streets round Waterloo station are like! Think of theplaces we went to, and remember what took place! And these are gravetimes, --times of struggle and doubt, and there are only a few oddthousands home on leave. But what would happen, with all thesepublic-houses standing open, if hundreds of thousands, intoxicated withthe thought of victory, came back? You have told me what took placeduring the Boer War; that would be nothing to the Bacchanalian orgies weshould see if victory were to come now. '

'Then you don't want victory?'

'Don't want victory! I long for it! Why--why I get almost mad as Ithink of what is daily taking place. Here in England people don't reallyknow what is happening. No hell ever invented is as bad as war. It isthe maddest and ghastliest crime ever known, the greatest anachronismever conceived. It mocks everything high and holy; it is the devilincarnate! But one can't close one's eyes to facts. You remember whatthat preacher man said in his sermon. He told us that Almighty God oftenkept things from men and nations until they were ready, and that if, assometimes happened, things came before a people were ready, they provedcurses and not blessings. For my own part I believe we shall havevictory as soon as we are ready for it; but are we ready?'

'Then what do you believe will happen?'

'I am afraid we have dark days before us. As a nation we are puttingmaterial gain before moral fitness. The people who are making fortunesout of our national curses are fighting like death for their hand, andthe nation seems to believe in a policy of _laissez faire_. If a man isin earnest about these things, he is called a fanatic. Purge England ofher sins, my friend, and God will give us the victory. '

'That's as shadowy as a cloud, and has about as much foundation as acloud, ' I retorted. 

'Perhaps events will prove that I am right. Don't let us imagine thatGod has no other means of working except through big guns. I have read agood deal of history lately, and I have seen that, more than once, whenmen and nations have been sure that certain things would happen, AlmightyGod has laughed at them. God answered Job out of the whirlwind; that'swhat He'll do to England. '

I laughed incredulously. 

'All right, ' he went on. 'It is very easy to laugh, but I should not beat all surprised if Russia were to make a separate peace with Germany, orif something were to happen to disorganize her forces. Would not thatmake a tremendous difference to the war?'

'Of course it would, but Russia will make no separate peace, and nothingwill happen. Russia's as safe as houses, and as steady as a rock. Don'ttalk nonsense, old man, and don't conjure up impossible contingencies tobolster up your arguments. '

He was silent a few seconds, then he turned to me and said quietly, 'Youknow the country pretty well, don't you?'

'Pretty well, I think. '

'Do you think the condition of London represents the nation as a whole?'

'Yes, I think so. I don't say that such things as we witnessed down byWaterloo or in those so-called studios around Chelsea can be seenanywhere except in the big towns and cities, but otherwise I should saythat London gives a fair idea of the condition of the country. '

'Let me ask you this, then. Bearing what we have seen in mind, the goodas well as the bad, do you think we are ready for victory?'

I was silent for some seconds, then I said somewhat weakly I am afraid, 'You cannot expect us all to be saints, Edgecumbe. Human nature is humannature, and--and--but there is a great deal of good in the country. '

'Doubtless there is. When I think of the quiet determination, thesplendid sacrifices, the magnificent confidence of our people, added tothe unwearying kindness to the wounded and the needy, I feel like sayingwe are ready for victory. But could not all that be matched in Germany?With the world against them they have gone straight on. Have we beendetermined? So have they. Have we made sacrifices? So have they. Havewe been confident? They have been more so. I dare say too that withregard to kindness and care for their wounded and dying they could matchus. But Germany can't win; if they did, it would be victory for thedevil. It would mean a triumph for all that was worst in human life. God Almighty is in His Heaven, therefore whatever else happens Germanmilitarism will be crushed, and the world rid of an awful menace. Butthis is what has impressed me. We as a nation have a unique position inthe world, and if history ever meant anything at all, we are called tolead the world to higher things. Our opportunity is tremendous; are weready for it? I do not close my eyes to all the good there is in thecountry, and I am sure there are millions who are leading godly, soberlives. But as far as the Government and the great bulk of the countryare concerned, we are spiritually dead. I have been studying theutterances of our statesmen, and I have looked too often in vain foranything like idealism and for a vision. You know what the old proverbsays, "Where there is no vision, the people perish, " and that is what welack. '

'You are very hopeless, ' I laughed. 

'No, I am not. I can see that out of this upheaval will come a newEngland, a new world. But not yet. We are not ready for the PromisedLand, not ready for the higher responsibilities to which God is callingus. That is why the victory is delayed. Great God! I wish we had a fewmen like Admiral Beatty in the Government. We want to be roused out ofour sleep, our indifference, our lethargy. When the nation gives itselfto God, victory will come. '

I did not pursue the conversation any further. I could see what was inhis mind, and I did not think that he looked at facts in their rightperspective, although I could not help feeling the tremendous amount oftruth in what he said. 

The next day he went back to duty, while I was informed that for sometime my work would lie at home. A fortnight later Edgecumbe wrote me aletter, telling me that he was ordered to the front. It seems that hiscolonel was more than ever impressed by his evident knowledge ofartillery work, and he was made a special case. 

A week later he had left England, while I, little dreaming of what thefuture would bring forth, remained at home. 

CHAPTER XXX

THE MARCH OF EVENTS

The events which I have now to record bring this narrative into thispresent year of grace 1917. When I started writing, I had but littleidea of the things I should have to narrate. The drama was then onlypartially acted, the story was not complete. As the reader may remember, when I was in Exeter, shortly after I had first met Edgecumbe, and hadbeen telling Sir Roger Granville what little I knew of his history. SirRoger was much interested. He said that the whole case promised greatthings, and that anything might happen to him, that he might have a wifeliving, and that he might be heir to big possessions, and that when someday his memory was restored to him many romantic things might come topass. 

Although I did not say so at the time, his words aroused my imagination, and when, months later, I fell in with Edgecumbe again, having somelittle time at my disposal, I set down as well as my memory would servethe story of our meeting, and what had happened subsequently. 

The remainder of this narrative will, to an extent, be in the nature of adiary, for so close are some of the events at the time of which I amwriting, that their recital becomes a record of what took place only afew weeks ago. It is many months ago since first I took pen in hand toset forth Edgecumbe's story, and now, as I draw near to what, as far asthis history is concerned, is its ending, I am almost afraid to write ofcertain things in detail, for fear of wounding some of the people who areyet alive, and who may feel sensitive that I am making their doingspublic. 

The year 1916 was drawing to an end when I received Edgecumbe's firstletter after he had returned to the front. 

'It's miserably cold, miserably wet, and frightfully unpleasant outhere, ' he wrote; 'still, it is better for me than it is for many others. Would you believe it, Luscombe, but Colonel ---- has said so many kindthings about me that I find myself a marked man. I have already got myfull lieutenancy, and am down for my captaincy. Not long after I camehere, I was brought before a very "big pot, " whose name I dare notmention, but who is supposed to be the greatest artillery officer in theBritish Army. He put me through the severest examination I have everhad, and I scarcely knew whether I was standing on my head or my heels. He was very kind, however, and by and by we got talking freely, and Isuppose I must have interested him in certain theories I had formed aboutartillery work. Anyhow, I am to be given my captaincy, and all sorts ofimportant work is being put in my hands. There are big movements onfoot, my friend, --what they are, I dare not tell you, but if they aresuccessful they will, from a military standpoint, form an epoch in thehistory of this war. 

'With regard to our prospects out here, I am exceedingly optimistic. Themen are splendid, and although the conditions are hard, our health sheetis exceedingly good. From the standpoint of military preparedness, things look very rosy; but concerning the other things about which youand I did not agree I am not at all happy. I am a soldier, and I aminclined to think that as a boy I was trained for a soldier. I judge, too, that I have some aptitude in that direction. I believe, too, thatthe Almighty is using our military powers for a purpose, but I am surethat if England believes that this tremendous upheaval is going to besettled by big guns, --much as I realize the power of big guns, Englandwill be mistaken. Unless we recognize the moral forces which are alwaysat work, we shall not be ready in the hour of crisis. '

When I replied to this letter, I took no notice whatever of thesereflections; indeed, I scarcely saw what he meant. I congratulated himmost heartily on his phenomenally rapid promotion, and told him that hewould soon be colonel, and that this was only a step to higher things. 

As all the world knows, the events of the 1917 have followed each otherwith startling and almost bewildering rapidity. Indeed, from the timewhen Edgecumbe returned to the front, it is almost impossible to estimatethe far-reaching results of what was taking place. The evacuation oflarge tracts of land by the Germans, the giving up of their Somme front, was more significant than we at the time realized. Then came thefulfilment of the German threat that on February 1 there would beunrestricted murder at sea, when vessels of all nationality, whetherneutral or otherwise, would be attacked. At first we could scarcelybelieve it, it seemed too horrible to contemplate. War had ceased to bewar; 'rules of the game' were no longer known as far as the Germans wereconcerned. Then came the Prime Minister's statement that the foodsupplies of the country had become very low, and that the strictesteconomy would have to be used. Appeals were made to the nation toconserve all our food resources, while the Germans jubilantly proclaimedthat in three months we should be starved into submission. 

'I suppose, ' Edgecumbe wrote, 'that it is bad form on my part to say "Itold you so"; but I saw this coming months ago. Indeed, no one couldhave an intelligent appreciation of German psychology without knowingthat it must come. I am told that food is now only obtainable at famineprices at home, and that there is a cry on every hand, --"Eat less bread. "But think of the mockery of it, my friend! While there is a threatenedbread famine, beer is still manufactured. And that which was intended toprovide food for the people is being used to make beer. If the Germansbring us to our knees, it will be our own fault. If the resources of thenation had not been squandered in this way, we could laugh at all theGermans say they are going to do. '

Then news came which staggered Europe and set the world wondering. TheRevolution had broken out in Russia, --the Czar and Czarina becamepractically prisoners, the Russian bureaucracy fell, and although theRevolution was practically bloodless, that great Empire was reduced to astate of chaos. Of course our newspapers made it appear as thougheverything were in our favour; that the old days of corruption andCzardom were over, and that the people, freed from the tyranny and theghastly incubus of autocracy, would now rise in their might and theirmillions, and would retrieve what they had lost in the Eastern lines. Some prophesied that the Revolution in Russia was but the beginning of amovement which should destroy all autocratic Governments and, with theestablishment of that movement, the end of war would come. Then littleby little it leaked out that liberty had become a licence, --that theRussian Army had become disorganized, --that the Socialistic element amongthe Russians had demanded peace at any price. Soldiers refused to fight, men deserted by the thousand, while Russian soldiers fraternized with theGermans. 

'Aren't we living in great times, ' Edgecumbe wrote to me, --'surely thegreatest times ever known! They stagger the imagination, --they leave ourminds bewildered, --they shatter our little plans like a strong winddestroys castles of cards made by children. God is speaking, my friend. Will England be wise, and hear His voice? Will we learn that, althoughthe voice of great guns is loud, and the power of explosives mighty, yetthey are not final in the affairs of men and nations? Why, our plans outhere have been blown to smithereens by what has taken place many hundredsof miles away! We had everything in readiness, and, humanly speaking, itseemed as though nothing could have stopped our advance. We had theGermans on toast, --we took Vimy Ridge, and Lens was in our grasp, --we hadadvanced miles along the Douay road, and Lille seemed but the matter of afew days. Then God spoke, and Ecco! what were the plans of men? TheHuns, of course, took advantage of the new situation, and removed vasthordes of men and guns from the East to the West, and now we are held up. Of course I am disappointed;--looking at the matter from the standpointof a soldier, it seemed as though nothing could withstand us. But whatare the plans of men when God speaks?

'Of course you will say that I am seeming to prove that God is on theside of the Germans and, seeing this Russian Revolution has meant ourbeing held up here, that God Almighty meant that we should not advance. No, my friend, I am not such a fool as to pretend to understand the waysof the Omnipotent, but I have no doubt that this wide and far-reachingmovement in Russia will eventually be on our side. It must be. But whywill not England learn the lesson which is so plainly written from sky tosky? Why do not the people turn to God, --look to Him for wisdom, andfight in His strength? Then victory would come soon, and gloriously. 

'As I said, I am disappointed at our temporary check, but I am convincedit is only temporary. God does things in a big way. He staggers ourpoor little puny minds by His acts. The world is being re-made; oldsystems, hoary with age, are being destroyed. The birth of new movementsis on foot, new thoughts are in the air, new dreams are being dreamed, and the new age is surely coming. But sometimes it seems as though wehave ears, and hear not, --eyes, and see not. God is speaking to usaloud, calling us to repentance, and yet we do not hear His voice, orseek His guidance. Still, we are on the eve of new movements, and out ofall the confusion will come a great order, and men will yet see the handof the Lord. '

His letter had scarcely reached me, when the news came that America haddeclared war on Germany, and was to act on the side of the Allies. Thisgreat free people, numbering a hundred million souls, made up of allnationalities, yet welded into one great nation, had spoken, and hadspoken on the side of freedom and righteousness. Even the few who hadbeen downhearted took fresh courage at America's action. The thoughtthat the United States, with its almost illimitable resources of men, ofmoney, and of potentialities, was joining hands with us, made everythingpossible. I was not surprised at receiving another letter from Edgecumbe. 

'At last we have had a prophetic utterance, ' he wrote. 'Wilson hasspoken, not merely as a politician, or as the head of the Americannation, but as a prophet of God. His every word made my nerves tingle, my heart warm. As an Englishman, I felt jealous, and I asked why, duringthese last months, there had been no voice heard in England, proclaimingthe idealism, the inwardness of this gigantic struggle? But as a citizenof the world, I rejoiced with a great joy. I am inclined to think thatWilson's speech will form a new era in the history of men. That forwhich he contends will slowly percolate through the nations, and peoplesof every clime will know and understand that nothing can resist the willof Almighty God. 

'What pigmies we are, and for how little do the plans of individualscount! God speaks, and lo the pomp of the Czar becomes but as chaffwhich the wind drives away! Who would have believed a few months agothat all the so-called glory of the Imperial House of the Romanoffs wouldbecome the dream of yesterday? All the long line of Royal sons no longercounts. Czardom with all it meant has gone for ever. The man, whoseword a few weeks ago meant glory or shame, life or death, is to-day anexile, a prisoner. His word no more than the cry of a puling child! Andto-morrow? God may speak again, and then Kaiserism will fall with allits pomp and vanity. 

'Of course I am but a poor ignorant soldier, and my word cannot count formuch; but I have a feeling that before many years are over, --perhaps itmay be only a matter of months--the Kaiser will either die by his ownhand, or else God, through the millions of bereaved and heart-brokenpeople, will hurl him from his throne. 

'What is the power of autocratic kings? Only the moaning of night winds. Yesterday it was not, and tomorrow it will not be. But God lives throughHis people, and that people is slowly moving on to liberty and power. That is why I believe the end of war is drawing near. It is never the_people_ who long for war; it is the kings, the potentates who are everguilty of making it. Thus when they cease to rule, war will cease, andthere will be peace and brotherhood. 

'Anyhow, President Wilson has spoken, and he has expressed the highestfeelings of the American nation, and although the end of this war may notcome as we expect, it will come in the overthrow of Junkerdom andmilitary supremacy. '

After this I did not hear from Edgecumbe for some time, and I began togrow anxious at his long continued silence, then when June of this yeararrived, an event took place which overcame me with astonishment. 

I had had a hard day at the training camp, and was sitting outside themess tent, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and heard a cheery voiceclose by me. 

'Hulloa, Luscombe, why that pensive brow?'

I looked up and saw my friend standing by me, with his left arm in asling, looking pale and somewhat haggard, but with a bright light in hiseyes. 

'Edgecumbe!' I cried. 'Ay, but I am glad to see you! Where did youspring from, and what have you been doing?'

'That's what I've come to tell you, ' he said quietly. 

CHAPTER XXXI

EDGECUMBE'S RETURN

'You are wounded, ' I stammered, scarcely knowing what I was saying. His appearance was so sudden, and unexpected, that I could scarcelybelieve that it was really he who stood there before me. 'It's not badI hope?'

'No, not bad. Not enough to make a fuss about;--it might have been, though'; and I noticed that his voice became grave. 

'How? What do you mean?'

'I'll tell you some day--soon perhaps. Are you busy?'

'No, my work is over for the day. I _am_ glad to see you, old man. Are you home for long?'

'Yes, a few weeks I expect. You see--I've had a rough time rather--andam a bit knocked about. But I shall pull through. '

His manner was strange; and while he spoke quietly, I felt rather thanthought that something out of the ordinary had happened. 

He dragged a rough seat up to the side of the tent, and looked acrossthe field where a number of men were encamped. 

'Have you heard from _her_?' he asked suddenly. 'Do you know how sheis?'

'No. Directly after we saw her last she returned to her hospital work. I wrote to her once; but she has not replied. '

'Have you heard anything?'

'I know Springfield has been home, and that he's been to see her. Iheard from Buller that they were engaged. '

'You mean that it's settled? Has it been publicly announced?' Hisvoice was tense. 

'I don't think so. At any rate, I've not seen it in the papers. '

Again he was silent for a few seconds, and noting the far-away look inhis eyes, I waited in silence. 

'Springfield is still afraid of me, ' he said presently. 

'Why? Have you seen him?'

'Yes. He and St. Mabyn are still as thick as peas in a pod. They wereboth at Vimy Ridge, and afterwards at Ypres and Messines. 

'Did you speak to them?'

'Rather, ' and he laughed curiously. 'I had to. '

'How? What do you mean?'

'You asked me just now why I had not written you for some time. I hadmy reasons for silence. I was under a cloud for a time, and I wantedthings cleared up before telling you anything. '

'Don't speak in riddles, Edgecumbe. What has been the trouble? Tellme quickly. '

'Oh, it's all over now, so I can speak fairly plainly, but for somedays it was touch and go with me. Of course they kept in thebackground, but I was able to trace their handiwork. '

'What handiwork? Come, old man, don't keep me in suspense. '

'Oh, it was the old game. You remember how it was when you were inFrance, and some fellows shot at me. You remember, too, how I nearlydied of poisoning at Bolivick, and that but for you I should have beendone for. You said you traced Springfield's hands in everything. He'sbeen trying on the same thing again, --only in another way. '

'What other way?'

He laughed quietly. 'I fancy he thought that when you weren't by Ishould be easy game, that I should be too simple to see through hisplans. But I happened to keep my eyes skinned, as the Americans say. It was this way: by some means or another, some important informationwent astray, and got into the German lines. Of course the Huns madethe most of it, and we suffered pretty heavily. As it happened I wasat that time in the confidence of the General in command of the D. H. Q. , and there seemed no one else on whom suspicion could fall. But I waswarned in time. I had been told that both Springfield and St. Mabynhad been in close confab with the General, and I knew that if theycould do me a nasty turn, they would. So I checkmated them. '

'How? Tell me the details. '

'I'm afraid I mustn't do that. You know how military secrets areregarded, and as even yet the scheme I discussed with the General isnot completed, my lips are sealed. But I found that Springfield hadsuggested to the General that my loss of memory was very fishy--a mereblind in fact to cover up a very suspicious past. He also told him hewas sure he had seen me, in pre-war days, in Berlin, wearing theuniform of a German officer. Had I not been able to show an absolutelyclean sheet I should have been done for. As it was, there was a timewhen I wouldn't have given a sou for my life. I was, of course, shutoff from the General's confidence, and pending the results of theinquiry was practically a prisoner. '

'I say, old man, you can't mean that?'

'Fact, I assure you. Still as nothing, absolutely _nothing_ wrongcould be traced to me, and as----'

'Yes, what, ' I said as he hesitated. 

'Oh, a little thing I was mixed up in came off rather well--very wellin fact. '

'What? Don't keep me in suspense, old man. '

'Oh, nothing much; nothing worth talking about. Still I may as welltell you as it's bound to come out. It seems I am to get the D. S. O. '

'The D. S. O. ! Great, old man! I congratulate you with all my heart. Tell me about it, ' I cried. 

'It was really nothing. Still I had concocted a scheme which gave us abig advantage. It was rather risky, but it came off so wellthat--that--it got to the notice of the G. H. Q. And--and--there you are. When the details of my little stunt became known to the Chief he--hesaid it was impossible for its author to be anything but a loyalEnglishman, that I was a valuable man, and all that sort of rot. '

Of course I read between the lines. I knew Edgecumbe's reticence aboutanything he had done, and I was sure he had accomplished a big thing. 

'It came in jolly handy to me, ' he went on, 'for it spikedSpringfield's guns right away, and I was regarded as sort of tin god. Congratulations poured in on every hand and--and, but there's no needto say any more about it. '

'And what did Springfield say then?'

'Oh, he was louder in his congratulations than any one. It makes mesick to think of it!'

'But didn't you expose him?'

'I couldn't. You see, I only learnt in a roundabout way that he hadtried to poison the General's mind against me, and he very nearlycovered his traces everywhere. Oh, he's a clever beggar. Still, yousee the situation. It was jolly sultry for a time. '

'I see you have had another move, ' I said looking at his uniform. 

'Yes, I've had great luck; but don't let's talk any more about me. Howare _you_ getting on? And can't you get some leave?'

'I have some due, ' I replied, noting the far-away look in his eyes, andwondering what was in his mind. 'Why do you ask?'

'Big things are going to happen, ' he said after a long silence. 

'What do you mean? Tell me, Edgecumbe, has your memory come back?Have you learnt anything--in--in that direction?'

He shook his head sadly. 'No, nothing. The past is blank, blank. Andyet I think sometimes----I say, Luscombe, I wonder who I am? Iwonder----'

'And do you still persist in your mad fancies?' I blurted out after along silence. 

'Persist! Mad fancies!' he cried passionately. 'As long as my heartbeats, as long as I have consciousness, I shall never cease to--to----Isay, old man, get some leave and go with me. '

'Why?' I asked. 'If your mind is made up, seek her out wherever sheis. I know she is at a V. A. D. Hospital not far from her home; so yourway is plain. You can go to her on more equal terms now. You are adistinguished man now. In a few months you have risen from obscurityto eminence. '

'Don't talk rot. I can never meet her on equal terms. '

'Then why bother about her?'

'Because God has decreed that I shall. But you must go with me, mydear fellow. In ways I can't understand, your life is linked to mine. It was not for nothing that we met down at Plymouth Harbour; it was notwithout purpose that I was led to love you like a brother. '

'Well, what then?'

'You must go with me. In some way or another, your life is linked tomine, and you must go with me. '

Of course I applied for leave right away, and as I had been workinghard all the while Edgecumbe had been in France I was able to get itwithout difficulty. 

'My word, have you seen this, Edgecumbe?' I cried the next afternoon, immediately we had left Salisbury Plain, where I had been stationed. 

'What?' he asked. 

'This in _The Times_. They've been cracking you up to the skies. '

'Oh, that, ' he replied. 'Yes, I saw it this morning. I see they'vemade quite a sensational paragraph. I hardly recognize myself. '

As I read the article a second time, I wondered at his indifference. Seldom had such a eulogy appeared in that great newspaper. Evidentlythe writer had taken considerable pains to get at the facts, and hadpresented them in glowing colours. There could be no doubt about itthat from the standpoint of the Army, his future, if his life wasspared, was assured. Not only was he spoken of as a man whose couragewas almost unparalleled, but his abilities as a strategist, and hisgrasp of the broad issues of military affairs were discussed, andrecognized in no sparing terms. It seemed impossible that a man who afew months before was a simple private, should now be discussed in suchglowing panegyrics. 

Greatly elated as I was at the praise bestowed upon my friend, I littlerealized what it would mean to him during the next few hours. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE GREAT MEETING

'Can't we go down to Devonshire to-night?' cried Edgecumbe, as ourtrain reached London. 

'Impossible, my dear fellow, ' I replied. 

'But why not?' and I could see by the wild longing look in his eyeswhat he was thinking of. 

'Oh, there are a dozen reasons. For one thing, she may not be able toget away from the hospital; for another--I don't think it would bewise. '

'I simply must go, Luscombe! I tell you something's going to happen, something great. I feel it in every breath I draw. We must go--go atonce. '

'No, ' I replied. 'I wrote her last night, and told her that we shouldstep in London at the National Hotel till we heard from her. If shewants us to come we shan't be long in getting her reply. '

He gave a long quivering sigh, and I could see how disappointed he was, but he said no more about the matter, and when we arrived at the hotelhe had seemed to have forgotten all about it. 

'Look here, ' he cried, pointing to a paragraph in an evening newspaper, 'that's on the right lines. I'm going. '

The paragraph which interested him was a notice of a big meeting thatwas to be held that night for the purpose of discussing certain phasesof the Army, and consequently of the war, about which newspapers wereusually silent. The fact that a Cabinet Minister of high rank, as wellas a renowned general, were announced to speak, however, caused thenews editor to give it prominence. 

'It's on the right lines, ' he repeated. 'Yes, I'm going. '

'Better go to some place of amusement, ' I suggested. 

'Nero fiddled while Rome was burning, ' was his reply. 

A little later we found our way to a huge hall where some thousands ofpeople had gathered. It was evident that the subject to be discussedappealed strongly to a large portion of the population, and that theaudience was much interested in the proceedings. 

I could see, however, that Edgecumbe was disappointed in the meeting. None of the speakers spoke strongly and definitely. Each enlarged onthe difficulties of the situation, and spoke of the impossibility ofmaking men pure by Act of Parliament, but no suggestion was madewhereby the evils mentioned might be grappled with and strangled. While all admitted that a frightful state of things existed, anddeclared that something ought to be done, no one had the courage todemand drastic reforms, or strike a prophetic note. The CabinetMinister enlarged in a somewhat stilted fashion upon what theGovernment had done to check drunkenness, while another speaker told ofthe magnificent work of the Y. M. C. A. , and of the hostels and huts whichhad been provided, both in England and on the Continent; but all feltthat the heart of the matter had not been touched. It was not untilthe General spoke that the audience was anything like aroused, and evenhe failed to get at close quarters with the evils which all admitted. 

Indeed I, who could not see how more could be done than had been done, felt that the meeting was a failure, and as, when the General sat down, the reporters were preparing to leave, and the audience grew restless, I felt that the whole thing was in the nature of a fiasco. 

'Let's go, Edgecumbe, ' I said. 

'No, not yet, ' and I saw that he was much excited. 

'But the meeting is practically over. There, the chairman is going tocall on somebody to propose the usual vote of thanks. '

But he took no notice of me. Instead he rose to his feet, and hisvoice rang clearly throughout the hall. 

'My lord, ' he said addressing the chairman, 'I am a soldier just homefrom the front. May I say a few words?'

It was only then that I realized what a striking figure Edgecumbe was, and although I was almost stunned by his sudden action, I could nothelp comparing him, as he was now, with the first occasion on which Ihad seen him. Then, with his nondescript garments, his parchment-likeskin, and the look of wistful indecision in his eyes, he was a creatureto be pitied. Now, in the uniform of a major, he stood stalwart anderect. In spite of the fact that his left arm was in a sling, therewas something commanding in his attitude. His eyes no longer suggestedindecision, and his bronzed skin was no longer wrinkled and parchmentlike. He looked what he was--a tall, strong, capable man, instinctwith life and energy. 

There was something, too, in the tones of his voice that aroused theinterest of the audience, and thousands of eyes were turned towards him. 

The chairman adjusted his eye-glasses, and looked at Edgecumbe, whostill stood erect, the cynosure of all eyes. 

'I am sure, ' said the chairman, 'that in spite of the fact that it isgrowing late, we shall be glad to hear a few words from a soldier justback from the front. Will he kindly come to the platform. '

The audience, doubtless noting Edgecumbe's wounded arm, gave him acheer as he left his seat, while the reporters, probably hoping forsomething good in the way of copy, again opened their note-books. 

'I asked permission to say a few words, my lord, ' he said, 'because Ihave been deeply disappointed in this meeting. This is a greataudience, and it is a great occasion; that is why the lack of anoverwhelming conviction, the lack too of anything like vision of theinwardness of the problem under discussion is so saddening. I hadhoped for a message to the heart of the nation; I had waited to hearthe Voice of God, without which all such gatherings as this must be invain. '

He hesitated a second, and I feared lest he had lost thread of histhought, feared too lest after his somewhat flamboyant commencement hisappearance would be only a fiasco. I saw, too, that the chairmanlooked at him doubtfully, and I had a suspicion that he was on thepoint of asking him to sit down. 

But his hesitation was only for a moment. He threw back his shouldersas though he were on the battlefield and was about to give an importantcommand. 

'I speak as one who has been a soldier in the ranks, and who knows thesoldier's hardships, his temptations, his sufferings. I also speak asone who knows what a fine fellow the British soldier is, for believe methere are no braver men beneath God's all-beholding sun than our ladshave proved themselves to be. '

He had struck the right note now, and the audience responded warmly. There was something magnetic in Edgecumbe's presence, too, something inhis voice which made the people listen. 

'I want to say something else, before getting to that which is in myheart to say, ' he went on. 'We are fighting for something great, andhigh and holy. We are contending against tyranny, lies, savagery. Never did a nation have a greater, grander cause than we, and ifGermany were to win----'

In a few sentences he outlined the great issues at stake and made theaudience see as he saw. It was evident, too, that the occupants of theplatform became aware that a new force was at work. 

Then followed the greatest scene I have ever seen at any publicgathering. For some time Edgecumbe seemed to forget who he was, or towhom he spoke; he was simply carried away by what seemed to him theburning needs of the times. He spoke of the way thousands of youngfellows were ruined, and of the facilities which existed for theirruin. He told of scenes he had seen in France, scenes which took placewhen the men were 'back for rest, ' and were 'out for a good time. ' Hedescribed what we had witnessed together in London. He showed, too, inburning words that the two outstanding evils, 'Drink and Impurity, 'were indissolubly associated, and that practically nothing was done tostem the tide of impurity and devilry which flowed like a mighty flood. 

'I say this deliberately, ' he said, 'it is nothing short of a blood-redcrime, it is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit of God, to call men fromthe four corners of the earth to fight for a great cause like ours, andthen to allow temptations to stand at every corner to lure them todestruction. Some one has described in glowing terms the work of theY. M. C. A. , and I can testify the truth of those terms, but ask Y. M. C. A. Workers what is the greatest hindrance to their work, and they willtell you it is the facilities for drink, drink which so often leads toimpurity, and all the ghastly diseases that follows in its train. 

'How can you expect God's blessing to rest upon us, while the souls ofmen are being damned in such a way?'

'What would you do?' cried some one, when the wild burst of cheeringwhich greeted his words ceased. 

'Do?' he cried. 'At least every man here can determine, God helpinghim, to fight against the greatest foe of our national life. You candetermine that you will leave nothing undone to strangle this deadlyenemy. Personally, after seeing what I have seen, and knowing what Iknow, I will make no terms with it. Even now, if a fortune wereoffered me, made by drink, I would not benefit by it. But more, youcan besiege the Government, you can give it no rest until it hasremoved one of the greatest hindrances to victory. 

'What England needs is to realize that God lives, and to turn to Him infaith and humility. Just so long as we remain in a state of religiousindifference, just so long will the war continue; and just so soon aswe give our lives to Him, and put our trust in Him, just so soon willvictory be seen. God has other ways of speaking than by big guns. Godspoke, and lo, all the pomp of the Czars became the byword of children!God will speak again, and all the vain glory of the Kaiser will becomeas the fairy stories of the past!'

I know that what I have written gives no true idea of Edgecumbe'smessage. The words I have set down give but faint suggestions of theoutpourings of a heart charged with a mighty purpose. For he spokelike a man inspired, and he lifted the whole audience to a higher levelof thought, and life, and purpose. People who had listened with abored expression on their faces during the other speeches, were movedby his burning words. Club loungers who had been cynical andunbelieving half an hour before, now felt the reality of an unseenPower. 

Then came the climax to all that had gone before. No sooner hadEdgecumbe sat down than the chairman rose again. 

'You wonder perhaps, ' he said, 'who it is that has been speaking to us. You know by his uniform that he is a soldier, and you know he is abrave man by the decoration on his tunic, but few I expect know, as Ihave just learnt, that this is Major Edgecumbe, the story of whoseglorious career is given in to-day's newspapers. '

If the meeting was greatly moved before, it now became frenzied in itsenthusiasm. Cheer after cheer rose, while the great audience rose toits feet. All realized that he spoke not as a theorist and a dreamer, but as a man who had again and again offered his life for the countryhe loved, and the cause in which he believed--a man, not only great incourage, but skilful in war, and wise in counsel. 

When the excitement had somewhat ceased, an old clergyman, who had beensitting at the back of the platform, came to the front. 

'Let us pray, ' he said, and a great hush rested on every one, while heled the multitude in prayer. 

When the meeting finally broke up, the General who had spoken earlierin the evening came and shook Edgecumbe by the hand. 

'This meeting is worth more to win the war than an army corps, ' he said. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LIFTED CURTAIN

The following morning the papers contained lengthy reports of themeeting, and spoke in no sparing terms of the influence of Edgecumbe'swords on the great crowd. He appeared to be depressed, however. 

'It may be only a passing sensation, ' he said. 'Still, I couldn't helpdoing what I did. '

We had barely finished breakfast when a telegram was brought to me, 'Come at once and bring your friend. Wire time I may expectyou. --BOLIVICK. '

'There, ' I said, passing it to Edgecumbe, 'there's dispatch for you. '

A few minutes later we were in a taxi, on our way to Paddington, and afew hours later we arrived at Bolivick. 

We had barely alighted from the conveyance when Edgecumbe gave a start. 

'Look, ' he said, 'both Springfield and St. Mabyn are there. '

'Yes, ' I replied lightly, 'and Lorna too. Don't you see her in hernurse's uniform?'

His face was set and rigid as the greetings took place; but he hadevidently put a strong check upon himself, and spoke naturally. 

'Glad to see you, Luscombe, ' cried Sir Thomas, 'and you too, MajorEdgecumbe. Let me congratulate you on your wonderful career. It'salmost like a fairy story!'

'Let me add my congratulations, ' cried Springfield. 'I pay my tribute, not only to the soldier, but to the orator. '

I could not fail to detect the sneer in his voice, even although heseemed to speak heartily. A copy of _The Times_ was lying on the lawn, and I imagined that Edgecumbe's speech had been read and discussed. 

'We shall be quite a party to dinner to-night, ' said Sir Thomas to mepresently. 'Of course you must expect scanty fare, as we are carryingout the rationing order to the very letter. But it's an importantoccasion all the same. Lord Carbis is coming by the next train. Please don't say anything about it. No one knows but my wife andmyself. I want to give a surprise to both Lorna and Springfield. '

My heart became as heavy as lead, for I knew what he had in his mind, and I looked towards Edgecumbe, wondering if he had heard anything. Itwas evident he had heard nothing, however; he was talking to NorahBlackwater, who was again a visitor to Bolivick. 

'By the way, ' went on Sir Thomas, 'that fellow Edgecumbe has developedwonderfully, hasn't he? Of course what he said last night was so muchnonsense. I quite agree that it's very sad about--that--is--some ofthe things he talked about, but as to the rest, --it was moonshine. '

'You wouldn't have said so if you'd been there, Sir Thomas, ' I ventured. 

'Something's going to happen, Luscombe, ' Edgecumbe said to me aspresently we found our way to our rooms. 

'Why do you say so?'

'I don't know. But there is. It's in the air we breathe. I know I'mright. '

'What's the matter with you?' I asked, looking at him intently. 

'Nothing. Yes there is though. I'm feeling mighty queer. '

'Are you ill?'

'No, nothing of the sort. But I'm nervous. I feel as though greatthings were on foot. The air is charged with great things. Somethingbig is going to take place. '

He was silent a few seconds, and then went on, 'I had a long talk witha doctor in France a few days ago. '

'What doctor? What did he tell you?' I asked eagerly. 

'One of our men out there. He had a big practice as a consultingphysician in Harley Street until a few months ago, when he offeredhimself to the Army. He is a nerve specialist, and years ago paidgreat attention to brain troubles. He was so kind to me, and was suchan understanding fellow that I told him my story. He was awfullyinterested, and said that he never knew but one case where loss ofmemory had continued so long as it had with me. '

'Did he give you any hope?' I asked. 

He shook his head doubtfully. 'He would not say anything definite. Heseemed to think that as my general health had been good for so long, and as my memory had not come back, it might be a very long time beforethere was any change. All the same, he felt sure that it was only amatter of time. He seemed to regard my trouble as a kind of artificialbarrier which divided the past from the present, but that time wouldconstantly wear away the barrier. He also said that if some very vividand striking happening were to take place, something that was vitallyconnected with my past, it might suddenly pierce it--tear it aside, andlet in the light. '

'And--and----?'

'No, Luscombe, ' he interrupted, as if divining my thoughts, 'I know ofnothing, I remember nothing. But there was something else he told mewhich makes me have faith in him. It was so true. '

'What was that?'

'That loss of memory often gave a kind of sixth sense. He said heshould not be surprised if I had very vivid premonitions of the future. That I had a kind of knowledge when something out of the common weregoing to happen. That's what makes me afraid. '

'Afraid?'

'Yes, afraid. I seem to be on the brink of a great black chasm. Ifeel that I am able to save myself from falling, only I won't. I say, what's that?'

'It's a motor-car, ' I replied. 'Sir Thomas told me he had other guestscoming. '

'What guests? Who are they?'

'How can I know?' I replied, for I feared to tell him what our host hadtold me about Lord Carbis's relations to Springfield, and that probablyLorna's engagement might be announced in a few hours. 

We were both dressed ready for dinner a quarter of an hour before thetime announced, and together we found our way downstairs into thereception hall. Early as we were, we found that not only was LornaBolivick there, but George St. Mabyn was also present and was talkingeagerly to Norah Blackwater. Springfield also came a few secondslater, and went straight to Lorna's side and spoke to her with an airof proprietorship. 

I felt that Edgecumbe and I were _de trop_, and I moved away from them, but Edgecumbe went to St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater, as if with thepurpose of speaking to them. I thought, too, that there was a strangelook in his eyes. 

'You are not much like your brother Maurice, ' he said suddenly. 

'My brother Maurice!' said St. Mabyn, and I thought his voice washoarse. 'What do you know of him?'

'What do I know of him?' repeated Edgecumbe, and he spoke as though hismind were far away. 

'Yes. You can know nothing of him. He's dead. '

'No, ' replied Edgecumbe, 'he's not dead. '

'Not dead!' and St. Mabyn almost gasped the words, while his facebecame as pale as ashes. 'Not dead! You must be mad!' Then helaughed uneasily. 

'Oh, no, ' and Edgecumbe still spoke in the same toneless voice. 'Iknew him well. He was--where did I see him last?'

Before we could recover from the effect of what he said, I knew thatwe were joined by others. In a bewildered kind of way I noticedthat Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick were accompanied by a tall, distinguished-looking man about fifty-five years of age, by whose sidestood a sweet-faced, motherly-looking woman. 

'Lorna, my dear, ' said Sir Thomas, 'I want you to know Lord and LadyCarbis. '

Lorna moved forward to speak to her visitors, but they did not noticeher. Both of them had fixed their gaze on Edgecumbe, who stood lookingat them with a light in his eyes which made me afraid. 

'John!' cried Lady Carbis, her voice almost rising to a scream. 'Why, it's Jack! our Jack!'

Never shall I forget the look on my friend's face. He seemed to be inagony. It might be that he was striving to keep himself from goingmad. His eyes burnt with a red light, his features were drawn andcontorted. Then suddenly he heaved a deep sigh, and lifted hisshoulders, as though he were throwing a heavy weight from him. 

'Mother!' he said hoarsely. 'Mother! When----? that is---- Why, I'mhome again!--and the little mater----'

Unheeding the fact of his damaged arm, he held out both his hands andstaggered towards her. 

A second later, unconscious of watching eyes, they were in each other'sarms, while Lady Carbis murmured all sorts of fond endearments. 

'My dead boy come back to life!' she cried. 'My little Jackwho--who--oh, thank God, thank God! Speak to me, Jack, my darling, speak to your mother! Oh, help! What's the matter? Can't you seethat----'

I was only just in time to keep my friend from falling heavily on thefloor, and when a few seconds later I succeeded in lifting him to asofa, he lay like a dead man. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

MEMORY

For some minutes wild confusion prevailed. Lady Carbis knelt by thesofa, and called wildly on my friend to speak to her. Lord Carbistalked incoherently, and made all sorts of impossible suggestions. Evidently he was beside himself with joy and fear. Sir Thomas Bolivicklooked from one to another as if asking for explanations, while LornaBolivick, with pale, eager face and wild eyes, stood like onetransfixed. 

But she was the first to recover herself. Swiftly she went to thesofa, and caught Edgecumbe's hand. Then she knelt down and placed herear to his heart. 

'He is alive, ' she said; 'his heart beats. I think he will soon bebetter. '

'Yes, yes, ' stammered Lord Carbis. 'He was always a strong boy--hardas nails, hard as nails. Oh, it's wonderful, wonderful! It's my son, my only son, Sir Thomas. I'd given him up for dead. It's years nowsince--since he was last seen. Ah, look, his eyelids are quivering!Stand back and give him air. But I can't understand. Where's he beenall this time? Why hasn't he let us know where he was? It's not likehim. He was always such a good boy, and so fond of his mother. I gota paper from India, too; announcing his death. I can't understand itall. Perhaps you can explain, Sir Thomas----'

Thus he went on talking, scarcely conscious of what he was saying. Evidently the shock had almost unhinged his mind, and he was merelygiving expression to the fugitive thoughts that came to him. 

As Edgecumbe's eyes opened, I felt a strange quiver of joy in my heart. What I saw was no madman's stare, rather it suggested placidcontentment. For a few seconds he glanced from one to another, as iftrying to comprehend, and co-ordinate what had taken place; then heheaved a deep sigh, half of satisfaction, half of weariness. 

'It's all gone, ' he murmured like one speaking to himself. 

'What is gone, my darling?' asked Lady Carbis. 

'The mists, the cobwebs, the black curtain, ' he replied. 

I heard her gasp as if in fear. I knew of what she was thinking; butshe spoke no word. Instead she continued looking at him with love-liteyes. 

For a few seconds he lay like one thinking, then he rubbed the back ofhis right-hand across his eyes, and laughed like one amused. 

'Oh, little mother, ' he said, 'it is good to see you again! Good toknow--there kiss me. That's right; it makes me feel as though I were akid again, and you were putting me to bed like you did in the old days. '

Lady Carbis kissed him eagerly, calling him all sorts of endearingnames. 

'It's your old mother!' she murmured. 'Are you better, Jack, mydarling?'

'Yes, heaps better. Why, there you are, dad! You see I've turned upagain. Oh, I _am_ glad to see you!' and he held out his hand. 

'Jack, Jack, ' sobbed his father, 'tell me you are all right. '

On considering it all, afterwards, it seemed to me that it was not abit what I should have expected him to say, but facts have a wonderfulway of laughing at fancies. 

'I feel better every second, ' he said. 'Everything came back sosuddenly that I felt like a man bowled over. You see, I couldn't graspit all. But--but I'm settling down now. I--I--oh, I'm afraid I'm anawful nuisance. Forgive me. Thank you all for being so good. '

I saw his eyes rest on Lorna, and his lips twitched as if in pain, butonly for a moment. 

'Where's Luscombe?' he asked. 'Ah, there you are, old man. You mustknow Luscombe, little mother. He's the truest pal a chap ever had. But for him--but there we'll talk about that later. '

A minute later Edgecumbe was led by his mother into the library, whileLord Carbis walked on the other side of his newly-found son. 

Never in all my experience have I sat down to such a strange dinnerparty as on that night. We were all wild with excitement, and yet weappeared to talk calmly about things that didn't matter a bit. What weate, or whether we ate, I have not the slightest remembrance. Personally I felt as though I were dreaming, and that I shouldpresently wake up and find things in their normal condition again. Butit was easy to see that each was thinking deeply. Especially did SirThomas and Springfield show that they were considering what theevening's happenings might mean. 

Strange as it may seem, little was said about the happening which hadcreated such a consternation. Of course it was in all our minds, butto speak about it seemed for some time like trespassing on forbiddenground. 

'Anyhow, ' said Lady Bolivick presently, 'the dear things will want somedinner, James, ' and she turned to the butler, 'see that something fitto eat is kept for Lord and Lady Carbis, and Major----that is theirson. '

'Yes, my lady. '

'It's all very wonderful, I'm sure, ' went on Lady Bolivick. 'Ihope--that is--they won't be disappointed in him. Of, course he's hada wonderful career, and done unheard-of things, but if he sticks towhat he said about never taking a penny of money made bydrink--there--there'll be all sorts of difficulties. '

'Yes, but I imagine he'll chuck all that, ' and Springfield seemed likea man speaking to himself. 

'Oh, I hope not, ' said Lorna. 

'You hope not!' and her father spoke as if in astonishment. 

'Yes, ' cried the girl. 'It was so fine--and so true. When I read hisspeech in _The Times_, I felt just as he did. '

'Nonsense, Lorna! Why, if he stands by his crazy words, he'll still bea poor man with nothing but his pay to live on. He'll sacrifice one ofthe finest fortunes in England. '

Almost unconsciously I looked towards George St. Mabyn, whom I hadalmost forgotten in my excitement, and I saw that he looked like ahaunted man. His face was drawn and haggard, although I judged he hadbeen drinking freely through dinner. I called to mind the wordsEdgecumbe had uttered just before Lord and Lady Carbis came into theroom, and I wondered what they meant. 

'No, ' said Sir Thomas, who was evidently thinking of his daughter'swords, 'he'll not be fool enough for that. What do you think, Luscombe?'

I was silent, for in truth I did not know what to say. In one senseSir Thomas had reason on his side, for such an act would seem likemadness. But I was by no means sure. I had known Edgecumbe for morethan two years, and I did not believe that even the shock which led himto recover his memory, could change his strong determined nature. 

The ladies left the room just then, but a few seconds later LornaBolivick returned and came straight towards me. 

'He wants you, ' she said, and I saw that her eyes burnt with excitement. 

I made my way to the library, where my friend met me with a laugh. 'You mustn't keep away from me, old man, ' he said, 'I want you--wantyou badly. '

CHAPTER XXXV

AFTERWARDS

We were alone in the library, Lord Carbis, Lady Carbis, Edgecumbe andmyself, and certainly it was one of the strangest gatherings ever Iexperienced. 

The excitement was intense, and yet we spoke together quietly, asthough we lived in a world of commonplaces. But nothing wascommonplace. Never in my life did I realize the effect which joy canhave, as I realized it then. Years before, Lord and Lady Carbis hadreceived news that their son had died in India. What that news hadmeant to them at the time I had no idea. He was their only son, and onhim all their hopes had centred. They had mourned for him as dead, andhis loss had meant a blank in their lives which no words can describe. 

Then, suddenly and without warning, they had come into a strange house, and found their son standing before them. As I think of it now, Iwonder that the shock did not do them serious harm, and I can quiteunderstand the incoherent, almost meaningless words they uttered. 

To Edgecumbe the shock must have been still greater. For years thegreatest part of his life had been a blank to him. As I have set forthin these pages, all his life before the time when he awoke toconsciousness in India had practically no meaning to him. And then, suddenly, the thick, dark curtain was torn aside, and he woke to thefact that his memory was restored, that he was not homeless ornameless, but that his father and mother stood before him. '

'Jack has told me all about you, ' Lord Carbis said, as I entered theroom; 'told me what you did for him, what a friend you have been tohim! God bless you, sir! I don't know how to express my feelings, I--I hardly know what I am saying, but you understand, --I am sure youunderstand. '

'Isn't it a lark, old man, ' Edgecumbe said with a laugh, 'isn'tit, --isn't it?--but there--I can't put it into words. Half the time Iseem to be dreaming. Things which happened years ago are coming incrowds back to me, until half the time I am wondering whether after allI am not somebody else. And yet I know I am not somebody else. Why, here's dad, and here's the little mater'; and he looked at themjoyfully. 

I could not help watching him anxiously, for after all he had just gonethrough an experience which happens to but one man in a million. Itseemed to me as though I dimly understood the strange processes throughwhich his brain must have gone in order to bring about the presentstate of things. During the earlier part of the day, all his past hadbeen a blank, now much of it was real to him. He had been like a manwith his life cut in two, one half being unknown to him; and now, as ifby a miracle, that half was restored. I wondered how he felt. Ifeared he would not be able to stand the shock, and that he wouldsuffer a terrible reaction afterwards. 

'You are all right, aren't you, old man?' I said. 'You--you don't feelill or anything of that sort?'

'Right as a skylark, ' he said gaily, 'except that I am a bit tired. '

'You are sure, Jack, my darling?' said his mother, looking at himanxiously. 'Sure there is nothing we can do for you? Oh, I wish wewere home!'

'Do you?' he said. 'I am not sure I agree with you. '

'Oh, but I do. You see, we don't know the Bolivicks very well, and--and--we didn't come expecting anything like this, did we, John?'

'Anything like this!' ejaculated Lord Carbis, 'anything like this!Why--why, --Jack, my boy!'--and he rubbed his eyes vigorously. 

'I am sure Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick are only too glad to have youhere, ' I said, 'and nothing will be regarded as a trouble. Besides, Iam not sure that your son does not want to be here. But tell me, oldfellow, don't you think you ought to get to bed?'

A look of fear came into his eyes. 'No, not yet, not yet, ' he said. 'I think I am afraid to go to sleep; afraid lest when I wake up I shallfind that great black cloud lying at the back of my mind again. '

'Then wouldn't it be wise to send for a doctor? The man who lives hereis not at all a bad chap;--you know that. '

Again he laughed gaily. 'I want no doctor. The little mother is allthe doctor I want. '

Lady Carbis leant over him and kissed him, just as I have seen youngmothers kiss their firstborn babies. 

'I will sit by your bed all the night, my darling, ' she said, 'and noharm shall come to you while you are asleep. '

'But I don't want to sleep just yet, ' went on Edgecumbe. 'I feel asthough I must tell you all I can tell you, for fear, --that is, supposewhen I wake the old black cloud is there? I--I want you to knowthings'; and there was a look in his eyes which suggested that wistfulexpression I had noticed at Plymouth Harbour when we first met. 

'You felt something was going to happen, you know, ' I said. 

'Yes, I did. All through the day it felt to me as though some greatchange were coming. I did not know what it was, and the curtain whichhid the past was as black as ever, but I had a kind of feeling thateverything was hanging as in a balance, that--that--eh, mother, it isgood to see you! to know you, to--to--have a past! It was just likethis, ' he went on: 'when I came downstairs, and saw George St. Mabyn, Ifelt that the curtain was getting thinner. I remembered Maurice St. Mabyn, --it was only dimly, and I could not call to mind what happenedto him; but something impelled me to speak to him. '

'Don't talk about it any more, old fellow, ' I said; 'you are not wellenough yet. To-morrow, after you have had a good night's rest, everything will seem normal and natural. '

'It is normal and natural now, ' he laughed; 'besides, it does me goodto talk about it to you. It is not as though you were a stranger. '

'No, ' cried his mother, 'he has told us all about you, sir, and whatyou did for him. '

'Perhaps, after all, ' went on Edgecumbe, 'I had better not talk anymore to-night. You--you think I'll be all right in the morning, don'tyou? And I am feeling tired and sleepy. Besides, I feel like a kidagain;--the idea of going to bed with the little mother holding my handmakes me think of----'

'There now, old man, ' I interrupted, 'let me go with you to your room. You are a bit shaky, you know, and you must look upon me as a sternmale nurse. '

Half an hour later, when I left him, he was lying in bed, and as he hadsaid, his mother sat by his side, holding his hand, while Lord Carbiswas in a chair close by, watching his son with eager, anxious eyes. 

After a few words with Sir Thomas, I made my way to the village ofSouth Petherwin to find the doctor. Truth to tell, I felt more than alittle anxious, and although I had persuaded Edgecumbe that whenmorning came everything would be well, I dreaded his awakening. 

As good fortune would have it, I found the doctor at home, who listenedwith great eagerness and attention to my story. 

'It is the strangest thing I have ever heard of, ' he said, when I hadfinished. 

'Do you fear any grave results?' I asked. 

'Luscombe, ' he replied, 'I can speak to you freely. I will go with youto see him, but the whole business is out of my depth. For the matterof that, I doubt if any doctor in England could prophesy what willhappen to him. All the same, I see no reason why everything should notbe right. '

Without waking him, Dr. Merril took his temperature, felt his pulse, listened to the beating of his heart. 

'Everything is right, isn't it?' asked Lord Carbis anxiously. 

'As far as I can tell, yes. '

'And there is nothing you can do more than has been done?'

'Nothing, ' replied the doctor; 'one of the great lessons which myprofession has taught me is, as far as possible, to leave Nature to doher own work. '

'And you think he will awake natural and normal to-morrow morning?'whispered the older man. 

'I see no reason why he should not, ' he said. All the same, there wasan anxious look in his eyes as he went away. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

EDGECUMBE'S RESOLUTION

In spite of my excitement, I slept heavily and late, and when I awoke Ifound that it was past ten o'clock. Dressing hurriedly, I rushed toEdgecumbe's bedroom and found him not only awake, but jubilant. 

'It's all right, old man, ' he said. 'I am a new man. Merril hasalready been here. He advises me to be quiet for a day or two, but Iam going to get up. '

'And there are no ill effects? Your mind is quite clear?'

'Clear as a bell. There is just one black ugly spot; but it doesn'taffect things. '

'Black ugly spot?' I asked anxiously. 

'Yes, I'll tell you about it presently. Not that it matters. '

Throughout the day I saw very little of him, as neither his father normother would allow him out of their sight. It was pathetic the waythey followed him wherever he went. I saw, too, that they wereconstantly watching him, as if looking for some sign of illness ortrouble. I imagine that their joy was so sudden, so wonderful, thatthey could scarcely believe their own senses. It was evident, too, that they gloried in his career since I had met him more than two yearsago. The thought that he should have, without influence or position, surmounted so many difficulties, and become the hero of the hour, waswonderful beyond words. More than once I caught Lord Carbis scanningthe newspapers which contained references to him, his eyes lit up withpride. 

In spite of all this, however, I foresaw difficulties, saw, too, thatif Edgecumbe had not become radically changed, he would be a greatdisappointment to his father. Would he, I wondered, stand by the wordshe had uttered at the great public meeting? Would he refuse toparticipate in the wealth which his father had amassed through hisconnection with the trade which he believed was one of the great cursesof humanity? For it was evident that Lord Carbis was a man of strongopinions. He had built up a great and prosperous business byenterprise, foresight and determination. To him that business wasdoubtless honourable. Through the wealth he had amassed by it, he hadbecome a peer of the realm. What would he say and do if his son tookthe stand which, in spite of everything, I imagined he would?

Other things troubled me, too. Springfield, who was staying with St. Mabyn, motored over early, and immediately sought Lorna Bolivick'ssociety. Of course Edgecumbe saw this, and I wondered how it wouldaffect him. I wondered, too, how Sir Thomas would regard Springfield'ssuit, now that the future of his life was so materially altered. Itried, by a study of Lorna Bolivick's face, to understand the conditionof her heart. I wondered whether she really cared for the tall, sinister-looking man who, I judged, had evidently fascinated her. 

It was not until after tea that I was able to get a few minutes' chatwith her alone. Indeed, I had a suspicion that she rather avoided me. But seeing Springfield and St. Mabyn evidently in earnest conversationtogether, I made my way to her, and asked her to come with me for astroll through the woods. 

'Real life makes fiction tame and commonplace, ' I said, as I noddedtoward Lady Carbis and Edgecumbe, who were walking arm in arm on thelawn. 

'Real life always does that, ' was her reply; 'the so-calledimpossibilities of melodrama are in reality the prosiest of realism. '

'I can't quite settle down to it yet, ' I said. 'I can't think ofEdgecumbe as Lord Carbis's son, in spite of all we have seen. To beginwith, his name isn't Edgecumbe at all. '

'No, ' she replied; 'don't you know what it is? You know who LordCarbis was, I suppose?'

'I know he was a brewer; but really I have not taken the trouble tostudy his antecedents. '

'He was called Carbis before he was made a peer, ' she replied. 'Isuppose he was largely influenced to buy the Carbis estates by the factthat they bore his own name. '

'So that my friend is called Jack Carbis. There is so muchtopsy-turvyism in it that I can hardly realize it. '

'I think Paul Edgecumbe is a much nicer name, ' she said suddenly. 'Ihope--I hope----; but if--if----'

'Do you realize, ' I said, 'what it will mean to him if he stands bywhat he said at that meeting the other night?'

'Yes, he will still be a poor man, I suppose. But what then? Isn't hea thousand times bigger man now than he was as the fashionable CaptainJack Carbis?'

'Perhaps you don't realize how he would wound his father, ---destroy allhis hopes and ambitions. '

'Yes, that would be rather sad; but doesn't it depend what his father'shopes and ambitions are?'

'Lorna, ' I said, 'are you and Springfield engaged?'

She did not answer me for a few seconds; then, looking at me steadily, she said, 'Why do you ask that?'

For the moment I almost determined to tell her what I believed I knewabout Springfield, and about the things of which I had accused him. But I felt it would not be fair. If that time ever came, he must bethere to answer my accusations. 

'I think you know why, ' I replied. 'The change in my friend'scircumstances has not changed my love for him. Do you know, Lorna, that he loves you like his own life?'

She was silent at this, and I went on, 'He spoke to you about it monthsago; there in yonder footpath, not half a mile away, --he told you hehad given his heart to you. It was madness then, madness, --because hehad no name, no career, no position to offer you. His past lay in amist, --indeed his past might have made it impossible for him to marryyou, even if you had loved him. You refused him, told him that what heasked was impossible; but things have changed since then, --now he is arich man's son, --he can come to you as an equal. '

'But--but----' and then noticing the curious look on her face, Iblurted out:

'You're not going to marry Springfield, are you?'

'Yes, ' she replied, 'I shall marry Colonel Springfield, if--if----butthere, '--and she stopped suddenly, --'I think it is scarcely fair todiscuss such things. '

After that she refused to talk about Springfield at all, --indeed Icould not understand her. She seemed as though she had a great problemto solve, and was unable to see her way through it. 

I had no opportunity of talking with my friend till the next day. Hisfather and mother monopolized him so completely that there was nochance of getting a word alone with him. But when Lord Carbis informedme that he had made arrangements for Lady Carbis and his son to returnhome, I made my way to him. 

'Do you feel well enough for a chat?' I asked. 

'Oh, quite, ' he replied. 'I was waiting all yesterday for anopportunity, but none came. '

'Edgecumbe, ' I said, --'you will forgive me for still calling you that, won't you?--but for the life of me I can't fasten on that new name ofyours. '

'Can't you? It's as natural as anything to me now. But call me Jack, will you? I wish you would. Do you know, when I heard the old namethe night before last, I--I--but there, I can't tell you. It seemed toopen a new world to me, --all my boyhood came back, all those thingswhich made life wonderful. Yes, that's it, call me Jack. '

'Well, then, Jack, ' I said, 'I have been wondering. Are yourexperiences at that Y. M. C. A. Hut real to you now?'

'Of course, ' he replied quietly; 'why, they are not a matter of memory, you know; they went down to the very depths of life. '

'And the convictions which were the result of those experiences? Doyou feel as you did about drink and that sort of thing?'

'Exactly. '

'And you will stand by what you said in London the other night?'

'Of course, --why shouldn't I?'

'I was only wondering. Do you know, Jack, --you will forgive me forsaying so, I am sure, but you present a kind of problem to me. '

'Do I?' and he laughed merrily as he spoke. 'You are wondering whethermy early associations, now that they have come back to me, are strongerthan what I have experienced since? Not a bit of it. I did a gooddeal of thinking last night, after I had got to bed. You see, I triedto work things out, and--and--it is all very wonderful, you know. Iwasn't a bad chap in the old days, by no means a pattern young man, buton the whole I went straight, --I wasn't immoral, but I had noreligion, --I never thought about it. I had a good house-master when Iwent to school, and under him I imbibed a sort of code of honour. Itdidn't amount to very much, and yet it did, for he taught me to be anEnglish gentleman. I was always truthful, and tried to do the straightthing. You know the kind of thing a chap picks up at a big publicschool. But that night, at the Y. M. C. A. Hut, I got down deep. No, no, --early associations can't destroy that. '

'And you still hold to what you said at the meeting?'

'Absolutely. Why?'

'I was wondering how it would appeal to your father. You remember yousaid that you would never benefit by, or participate in, any gain madeby drink, and your father has made most of his money as a brewer anddistiller. I wondered how you regarded it now?'

'That is quickly settled, ' he replied; 'I shall not benefit by it, ofcourse. '

'Do you mean that?'

'Of course I mean it. Mind, I don't want it talked about, --that is amatter between my father and my own conscience, and one can't talkabout such things freely. '

'Surely you are very foolish, ' I said. 'Why should you not use themoney which will naturally come to you?'

'I don't say I won't _use_ it, ' he replied, 'but I will not benefit byit. '

'You mean, then----?'

'I mean that I was a poor man, with nothing but my pay, and that I _am_a poor man, with nothing but my pay. Thinking as I think, and feelingas I feel, I could not become a rich man by money got in--that is, bysuch means. '

He spoke quietly and naturally, although he seemed a little surprisedby my question. 

'What will your father say when he knows?'

'I think he _does_ know. He asked me whether I stood by what I said inLondon. '

'And you told him?'

'Of course I told him. '

'And he, --what did he say?'

'He didn't say anything. '

'Jack, ' I went on, 'you must forgive me talking about this, but I onlydo it, because--you see, we are pals. '

'Of course we are pals. Say what you like. '

'It is all summed up in one name--Lorna. '

A new light came into his eyes immediately, and I saw that his lipsbecame tremulous. 

'Yes, what of her?'

'Springfield still means to have her, ' I blurted out. 

A curious look passed over his face, a look which I could notunderstand. 'Do you know, ' he asked eagerly, 'if she is engaged tohim?'

'I gather, that so far, there is no engagement, but I believe there isan understanding. He had obtained Sir Thomas's consent, but they wereboth under the impression at the time that Springfield was yourfather's heir. Of course, your turning up in such a way makes it a bitrough on Springfield. '

'I shall have a good deal to tell you about Springfield presently, ' hesaid, 'but you have something in your mind. What is it?'

'It is very simple, ' I replied. 'If there is no engagement betweenLorna and Springfield, and if you come to her as your father's heir, you will of course be an eligible suitor. If you hold by yourdetermination, you are just where you were. How could you ask her tomarry you on the pay of a major in the Army? It would not be fair; itwould not be honourable. '

'If she loves me, it would be honourable, ' he said. 

'How could it be honourable for you, with just a major's pay, to go toa girl reared as she has been, --a girl as attractive as she is, and whohas only to hold up her finger to a man like Buller, who will own oneof the finest estates in Devonshire? You have no right to drag herinto poverty, even if she cared for you. '

He rose to his feet, and took a turn across the lawn. 'I see what isin your mind, but my dear Luscombe, '--and then he burst out into alaugh, a laugh that was sad, because it had a touch of hopelessness init, --'I am afraid we are talking in the clouds, --I am afraid Lornadoesn't love me. If she does, she has shown no sign of it. '

'But are you going to let her go without a struggle?'

He looked at me with flashing eyes. 'I thought you knew me better thanthat, ' he said. 'No, I am going to fight for her, fight to the verylast. But if she will not have me as I am, --if she will not have mewithout my father's money, which I will not take, then--then----'

'You'll see her marry Springfield? I say, Jack, you know all we havethought and said about Springfield?'

'I have something to tell you about Springfield, ' he said quietly. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

MAURICE ST. MABYN

'You don't know Maurice St. Mabyn, do you?'

I shook my head. 

'Spent all his life soldiering in the East, and knows more aboutEastern affairs than any living man. Yes, I mean it. He knows anyamount of Eastern dialects; speaks Arabic and Turkish like a native, and has a regular passion for mixing himself up in Eastern matters. Hecan pass himself off as a Fakir, a Dervish--anything you like. Heknows the byways of Eastern cities and Eastern life better than any manI know of, and obtained a great reputation in certain official quartersfor discovering plots inimical to British interests. That's MauriceSt. Mabyn. A jolly chap, you understand, as straight as a die, and asfearless as a lion. A diplomatist too. He can be as secret as anoyster, and as stealthy as a sleuth-hound. He has been used more thanonce on delicate jobs. '

'But--but----' I interjected. 

'In the July of 1914, ' he went on without noticing my interruption, 'Iwas sitting alone in my show in Bizna where I was then stationed, whenwho should come in but Maurice. He looked as I thought a bit anxiousand out of sorts. I hadn't seen him for more than a year, and hestartled me. 

'I asked him what he was doing in India, and he told me a curious yarn. He said that he'd been mixed up in a skirmish in Egypt, and thatSpringfield had tried to murder him. '

'You are sure of this?' I gasped. 

'Sure! Of course I'm sure. He said that Springfield, who was also inthe show, had for some time acted in a very suspicious way, and thatduring the row with the natives, the greater part of which had takenplace during the night, Springfield had pounced upon him, stabbedhim--and--and left him for dead. By one of those flukes whichsometimes takes place, St. Mabyn didn't die. He turned up, weeksafterwards, and saw General Gregory. 

'Now follow me closely here. It so happened that only that day Gregoryhad received a message telling him that German trouble was probable, and that reports were wanted from certain quarters where it was fearedthe Huns were trying to stir up trouble. '

'In India?' I asked. 

'In the East; it was not for me to know where; and Gregory wanted a manwho knew the East, in whom he could trust lock, stock and barrel. Directly he saw St. Mabyn, he fastened on him as his man, and he clungto him all the more tightly when St. Mabyn told him his story. 

'"I'll keep Springfield, and his little game in mind, St. Mabyn, " hesaid; "but for the time you must remain dead. This is an importantjob, and it must be done quietly. "

'That was why he came to India, and why the story which I imagineSpringfield got into the papers was never contradicted. On his way tohis job, however, he got thinking things over. Naturally he wanted notonly his brother to know, but his fiancée, Miss Blackwater. So knowingwhere I was, he looked me up and told me what I have told you. Itseems he had heard I was due to return home, and he asked me to look uphis brother and Miss Blackwater, and to tell them that his death was byno means certain, and that he might turn up all right. 

'Not long after, fresh drafts of men came to Bizna, and on the day theyarrived I asked a young chap called Dawkins who they were. Hementioned several names, and among them was Springfield's. 

'"What Springfield?" I asked, for I remembered I had a distant relativeof that name. 

'"Oh, he was in Upper Egypt. His family came from Devonshire, and hewas a great friend of Maurice St. Mabyn who was killed. Poor chap, when he told us the story he nearly broke down. I never knew he had somuch feeling in him. "

'I don't know why it was, but I lost my head. I suppose the fellow'shypocrisy disgusted me so that I blurted out what St. Mabyn told me tokeep quiet. 

'"The blackguard, " I said "he deserves to be shot, and will be shot, orhanged!"

'"Who's a blackguard?" asked Dawkins. 

'"Springfield, " I replied. "Grieving about the death of Maurice St. Mabyn! Why, the coward, he--he--; but Maurice St. Mabyn will turn upagain, and--and----"

'"But St. Mabyn's dead!" cried Dawkins. "I saw it reported myself. "

'"He isn't dead?" I blurted out. 

'"But how can that be?" asked Dawkins. 

'"Because I believe in my own eyes and ears, " I replied. 

'After that, I was under the impression that I was watched andfollowed. More than once when I thought I was alone I heard stealthyfootsteps behind me, but although I tried to verify my suspicions Icould not. However, I did not trouble, for in due time I started forhome. I arranged to break my journey to Bombay at a place where I hadbeen stationed for six months. It was only a one horse sort of a show, but I had some pals there, and they had insisted on my spending a dayor two with them. It took me three days to get there, and on myarrival I found a long telegram purporting to be from my colonel, requesting me to go to an outpost station where important informationwould be given me. It also urged me to be silent about it. 

'Of course, although I was on leave, I was anxious to fall in with mycolonel's wishes, and so, instead of going straight on to Bombay, whenI left my pals, I went towards this outpost station. '

'Were you alone?' I asked. 

'Except for my native servant whom I had arranged to take back toEngland with me. We had not gone far when my servant stopped. "Thereis something wrong, master, " he said. "Let us go back. "

'He had scarcely spoken, when there was the crack of a pistol, andseveral men pounced upon me. I was thrown from my horse, and veryroughly handled. '

'Did you see the men?' I asked. 

My friend was silent for a few seconds, then he replied, 'I can swearthat one of them was Springfield. Some one had given me a blow on thehead, and I was a bit dizzy and bewildered; but I am certain thatSpringfield was there. '

'Then you believe----'

'The thing's pretty evident, isn't it?' he said. 'He had a doublepurpose to accomplish. If I were dead I could no longer be a danger tohim as far as St. Mabyn was concerned, and----'

'He was the next in succession to your father's title, and wouldnaturally be his heir, ' I interrupted. 'But what happened to you afterthat?'

He shuddered like a man afraid. 'I don't like to think of it, ' hesaid. 'As I told you there was one black spot in my past which Icouldn't remember clearly. That's it. But I have dim memories oftorture and imprisonment. I know I suffered untold agonies. I haveonly fitful glimpses of that time, but in those glimpses I see myselffighting, struggling, suffering until a great blackness fell upon me. Then I remember nothing till I came to myself on the road to Bombay, with my memory gone. The rest you know. '

CHAPTER XXXVIII

A BOMBSHELL

After this followed a series of events, startling, almost unbelievableand utterly unexpected, such as only take place in real life. Had thisstory been the outcome of my own imagination, I should never dare torelate them; but because I have undertaken the task of writing whatactually took place I can do no other. 

This was how they happened:

We were sitting together after dinner that night in the mostcommonplace fashion imaginable. Lord and Lady Carbis had announcedtheir intention to leave early on the following morning, and their sonhad promised to go with them. George St. Mabyn and Springfield werethere, having accepted Lady Bolivick's invitation to spend the eveningwith them. Norah Blackwater, who had been a guest at the house forsome days, was also there. 

'I think as I am leaving to-morrow, ' and Jack only slightly raised hisvoice, 'that I ought to tell you all something, something--important. '

Instantly there was a deathly silence, and with a quick movement everyone turned to the speaker. 

'I imagine my motives may be questioned, ' he went on. 'I am sure, too, that what I say will be denied; but that doesn't matter. '

He hesitated a second as if doubtful how he had best continue, but thetone of his voice and the purport of his words had done their work. Even Lady Bolivick dropped her knitting, and looked quite disturbed. 

'This is what I have to tell you, ' he said. 'Maurice St. Mabyn isalive; at least he was in July, 1914, months after he was announced tobe dead. '

I saw George St. Mabyn start to his feet, his lips livid, while NorahBlackwater gave a cry which was not far removed from a scream. 

'Perhaps I ought to have told this in a different way, ' went on myfriend. 'Perhaps, directly my memory came back to me, and the eventsof the past became clear again, I ought to have sought out George St. Mabyn, and especially Colonel Springfield, and told them privately whatI know. However, I have thought a good deal before speaking, and--andas this is a family party, I have adopted this method. '

'Why should you tell Colonel Springfield?' and George St. Mabyn seemedto be speaking against his will. 

'Because he is most deeply implicated, and because he will have most toexplain. '

I heard Springfield laugh at this, a laugh half of derision, half ofanger. 

'I am afraid, ' he said quietly, 'that although we have allcongratulated Lord and Lady Carbis on the return of their son, that hisloss of memory has disturbed his mental equilibrium in other ways. '

'Oh, no, ' said Jack quietly, 'I am quite sane. No doubt it wouldsimplify your course of action very much if I were not, but as a matterof fact my mind was never clearer. My father and mother will tell youthat I was never given to hysterics, and I am no great hand atimagination. '

'But--but if you have--have proof of this, '--it was George St. Mabynwho spoke, and his voice was hoarse and unnatural, --'why--why'----? byheaven, it's monstrous!'

Springfield laughed like one amused. 

'I do not wish to wound any one's feelings, ' he said, 'but I supposemany madmen think they are sane. Of course we sympathize with Lord andLady Carbis, but I am afraid there is only one conclusion that we cancome to. Only on the night when his father and mother came here, before this marvellous change in his memory took place, he saidsomething similar to this, and--and of course we can only regard it asthe hallucination of an unbalanced mind. Let us hope after a fewmonths' quiet, things will be normal again. '

'Of course I knew you would take this attitude, Colonel Springfield, 'replied Jack quietly. 'You have reason to. '

'What reason?' he snarled. 

'Are you sure you wish me to tell?'

'Yes, tell anything, everything you can! Only be sure it's the truth. Else by----!' he remembered himself suddenly and then went on: 'Butthis is madness, pure madness!'

'I'll not deal with motives, ' went on my friend, still speakingquietly; 'they will doubtless come out in good time. For that matter Iwould rather say no more at present. I have only said what I have togive you a chance--of--of clearing out. '

Springfield gave me a quick glance, and then for a moment lost controlof himself. 

'Oh, I see, ' he said. 'This is a plot. Luscombe is in it. He hasbeen discussing things with this--this lunatic, and this hatched-upabsurdity is the result. '

I think Springfield felt he had made a false move the moment he hadspoken. Directly my name was mentioned, it became evident that theplea of my friend's madness broke down. 

'At any rate, ' he went on, 'I am not to be intimidated, and I will notlisten to any hysterical slanderings. '

'Pardon me, ' said Jack quietly, 'but Luscombe knew nothing whatever ofmy intentions. You are sure you want me to go on?' he added quietly. 

'Go on by all means. Doubtless you will be amusing. But mind, ' andSpringfield's voice became threatening, 'I am a dangerous man to triflewith. '

'I have grave reasons for knowing that, ' was Jack's reply; 'but letthat pass. About three years ago news arrived in England that MauriceSt. Mabyn was dead--killed in a skirmish in Egypt. Some timeafterwards Colonel or Captain Springfield as he was then, came toDevonshire, and gave a detailed account of his death. He said he waswith him during his last moments, together with--other interestingthings. From the account given Maurice St. Mabyn died in April, 1914, and Colonel Springfield came, I think, in September, or October. Bythis time George St. Mabyn had not only taken possession of hisbrother's estates, but had also become the suitor for the hand of hisbrother's fiancée. '

'Surely, ' cried Springfield, as if in protest, 'there is no need todistress us all by probing the wounds made three years ago. PersonallyI think it is cruel. '

'It would be cruel but for what I am going to say, ' replied JackCarbis. 'As it happens, Maurice St. Mabyn was not dead at the time. Isaw him, --spoke with him in Bizna in the July of that year. '

'You saw Maurice in July, although he was reported dead in April!'cried Sir Thomas. 'Why--why----; but it can't be true! That is--areyou sure? I say, George, wasn't the news definite--concise? Yes, Iremember it was. I saw the Egyptian newspaper account. '

'I suppose you don't expect any one here to believe in thiscock-and-bull story, ' and Springfield laughed uneasily. 'But may oneask, ' he continued, 'why we are regaled with this--this romance?'

'Yes, ' replied Jack, 'you may ask; but if I were you I wouldn't. I'dmake myself scarce. '

I saw Springfield's eyes contract, and his whole attitude reminded meof an angry dog. 

'You must tell us all what you mean by that, ' he snarled. 'I'm sorry, Lady Bolivick, that such a scene as this should take place in yourhouse, but I must defend myself. '

'Against whom? Against what? What charges have been made?' and JackCarbis still spoke quietly and naturally. 

Again Springfield lost control of himself. 'Oh, I know, ' he cried, 'that you and Luscombe have been plotting against me for years. I knowthat you would poison the mind of----; that is--why should I deny it?I love Miss Bolivick. I have loved her from the first hour I saw her. I have sought her honourably. I would give my immortal soul to winher, such is my love for her. I know, too, that you, Edgecumbe, orCarbis, or whatever you may call yourself, are jealous of me, becauseyou are madly in love with her yourself. By unproved, unprovablebecause they are lying, statements, you are trying to poison the mindof the women I love against me. You are suggesting that I sent homeand brought home false accounts of Maurice St. Mabyn's death for somesinister purpose. You are hinting at all sorts of horrible things. Great God, haven't you done enough to thwart me? Oh, yes--I'll admitit, I expected to be Lord Carbis's heir. I had reason. But for youI--I----but there, seeing you have robbed me of what I thought was mylegitimate fortune, don't try to rob me of my good name. It's--it'sall I have!'

At that moment I looked at Lorna Bolivick, and I thought I sawadmiration in her eyes; I felt that never was Springfield's hold uponher stronger than now. 

'Tell us plainly what you want to say, ' continued Springfield;'formulate your charges. Tell me of what I am guilty. But by the Godwho made us, you shall prove your words. I will not be thrust into ahopeless hell by lying innuendos and unproved charges. '

For the first time I thought my friend looked confused and frightened. It might be that the personality of the other had mastered him, andthat although he had gone several steps forward in his attack, he nowdesired to turn back. He seemed about to speak, then hesitated and wassilent. 

'Why force me to tell the truth?' he said lamely. 'I do not wish tosay more. Take my advice, and leave while you may. '

'I am a soldier, ' cried Springfield, 'and I am not one to runaway--especially from vague threats. Nay, more, ' and he turned toLorna Bolivick, 'Miss Bolivick--Lorna, to prove how I scorn these vaguethreats, I ask you here and now, although I am only a poor man, andhave nothing to offer you but the love of a poor soldier, to give methe happiness I have so longed and prayed for. '

CHAPTER XXXIX

SPRINGFIELD AT BAY

But Lorna did not speak. That she realized the situation no one coulddoubt. The sea in which the bark of her life was sailing was full ofcross currents, and in her excitement she did not know the course sheought to steer. 

It was here that Sir Thomas Bolivick thought it right to speak. Igathered that he was not pleased at Springfield's avowal, for while hedoubtless favoured his suit while he was to all appearances the heir toLord Carbis, events had changed everything. 

'Why have you told us this now, and--and in such a way?' he asked, turning to my friend. 

Jack hesitated a second before replying. He realized that nothingcould prejudice his cause in Lorna's eyes more than by attacking hisrival. 

'Because I want to save Miss Bolivick, ' he said. 

'From what? Tell us plainly what you mean!'

'From promising to marry a man who is unworthy of her, and who wouldblacken her life. '

'Prove it. You have said too much or too little. Either prove whatyou have said, or withdraw it. '

Springfield laughed aloud. 'Surely, ' he said, 'we have had enough ofthis! You see, after all his bluster, what it really amounts to. '

'Just a minute, please, ' and Jack's voice became almost menacing. 'Iam not in the habit of blustering. I have warned you to go away fromhere, and as you have forced me to go into details I will do so. Youinsist, then, that I lie when I say that I saw Maurice St. Mabyn alivein the July of 1914?'

'I do not say that, but I do say that you are suffering from anhallucination, ' replied Springfield. 'You may have recovered yourmemory, but in doing so you suffer from remembering more than ever tookplace. '

'You insist on that?'

'Certainly I do. I can do no other. If you are not mentally deranged, you are a---- I would rather not use the word, ' he added with a laugh. 

'You see, ' went on Jack, 'that he is very anxious to prove Maurice St. Mabyn to have been killed in a native uprising. I'll tell you why. Hetried to murder him, and it was only by the mercy of God that he failedto do so. '

'Murder him! How dare you say such a thing?' gasped Sir Thomas. 

'Maurice told me so himself--told me in India in 1914. '

'Great God, you shall prove this!' and now Springfield was reallyaroused. 'If he was not dead in July, 1914, where has he been thesethree years? Why has he sent no word? What has become of him? Whohas seen him since April of that year when he was killed?--I meanbesides this madman?'

'General Gregory, to whom he reported himself. '

'Do you mean to say that he reported himself to General Gregory?' Hisvoice was hoarse, and I saw him reel as though some one had struck him. 

'I do mean to say so. He told me so himself. If I have told a lie, you can easily prove it by communicating with him. '

Springfield laughed again, and in his laugh was a ring of triumph. 

'It is easy to say that, because Gregory is dead. He died two yearsago. A dead man is a poor witness. '

'I don't ask any one to accept my words without proof, ' said JackCarbis. 'Proof will not be wanting. You say that Maurice St. Mabynwas killed in a skirmish, that you saw his dead body, and that you hadno hand whatever in it?'

'I _do_ say it, ' cried Springfield hoarsely. 'I swear by Almighty Godthat your charges are venomous lies, and----'

But he did not finish the sentence. At that moment I heard the murmurof voices outside the room, the door opened, and a tall, bronzed butsomewhat haggard-looking man entered the room. 

'Maurice!'

It was George St. Mabyn who uttered the word, but it was not like hisvoice at all. 

The new-comer gave a quick glance around the room, as though he wantedto take in the situation, then he took a quick step towards LadyBolivick. 

'Will you forgive me for coming in this way, Lady Bolivick?' he saidquietly. 'But I could not help myself. I only got back an hour or twoago, and the servants were so upset that they lost their headsentirely. But they did manage to tell me that George was here, so Itook the liberty of an old friend and----; but what's this? Isanything the matter? George, old man, why--why----' and he looked atGeorge St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater inquiringly. 

But George St. Mabyn did not speak; instead, he stood staring at hisbrother with terror-stricken eyes. 

'You thought I was dead, eh?' and there was a laugh in Maurice St. Mabyn's voice. 'I'm worth a good many dead men yet. '

Again he looked around the room until his eyes rested upon Springfield, who had been watching his face from the moment of his entrance. 

'By Jove, St. Mabyn, ' he cried, and I could see he was fighting forself-mastery; 'but you have played us a trick. Here have we all beenwasting good honest grief on you. But--but--I am glad, old man. I--I----'

His speech ended in a gasp. His words seemed to be frozen by the coldglitter of Maurice St. Mabyn's eyes. Never in my whole life have Iseen so much contempt, so much loathing in a man's face as I saw in theface of the new-comer at that moment. But he did not speak. He simplyturned on his heel, and addressed Sir Thomas Bolivick. 

'You seem surprised, and something more than surprised at seeing me, Sir Thomas, ' he said; 'but you are glad to see me, aren't you?'

'Glad!' cried the old man. 'Glad! Why, God bless my soul, Maurice!I--I--but--but glad?'--and he began to mop his eyes vigorously. 

'I think there'll be a lot of explanations by and by, ' went onMaurice, ' especially after I've had a chat with my old friend, JackCarbis, over there. Jack, you rascal, you've a lot to tell me, haven'tyou? By the way, George, '--and he gave Springfield a glance, --'Iunderstand that this fellow is a guest at St. Mabyn. Will you tellhim, as you seem friendly with him, that my house is not good for hishealth. '

Springfield looked from one to another like a man in despair. Thecoming of Maurice St. Mabyn had been such a confirmation of all thatJack Carbis had said, that he saw no loophole of escape anywhere. Butthis was only for a moment. Even in his defeat the man's character asa fighter was evident. 

'St. Mabyn, ' he said hoarsely, 'I swear by Heaven that you aremistaken! Of course I was mistaken--and--and no one is gladder thanI--that you have turned up. Give me fair play, --give me a chance--giveme time, and I'll clear up everything!'

'Will you tell the fellow, ' and Maurice St. Mabyn still spoke to hisbrother, 'that a motor-car will be placed at his disposal to take himto any place he chooses to go. Tell him, too, that I do not proposeto--to have anything to do with him in any way unless he persists inhanging on to you; but that if he does, the War Office and the worldshall know what he is, and what he has done. '

Still Springfield did not give in. He turned again to Lorna Bolivick, and as he did so I realized, as I never realized before, that the manreally loved her. I believed then, as I believe now, that all hishopes, all his plottings, were centred in one desire, and that was towin the love of this girl. 

'Miss Bolivick, Lorna, ' he said hoarsely, 'you do not tell me to go, doyou? You believe in me? I will admit that things look against me; butI swear to you that I am as innocent of their charges as you are;that--that----' He ceased speaking suddenly, as though his words werefrozen on his lips, then he burst out like a man in agony, 'Why do youlook at me like that?' he gasped. 

But she did not speak. Instead, she stood still, and looked at himsteadily. There was an unearthly expression in her eyes; she seemed tobe trying to look into his soul, to read his innermost thoughts. For afew seconds there was a deathly silence, then with a quick movement sheturned and left the room. 

Again Springfield looked from face to face as if he were hoping forsupport; then I saw pride flash into his eyes. 

'Lady Bolivick, Sir Thomas, ' he said quietly, 'I am deeply sorry thatthis--this scene should have taken place. As you know I am notresponsible. Thank you for your kind hospitality. ' Then he turned andleft the room, and a few seconds later we heard his footsteps on thegravel outside. 

CHAPTER XL

MAURICE ST. MABYN'S GENEROSITY

Of what happened afterwards, and of the explanations which were given, it is not for me to write. They do not come within the scope of thishistory, and would be scarcely of interest to the reader. One thing, however; specially interested me, and that was the large-heartedness ofMaurice St. Mabyn. He refused to allow his brother to attempt anyexplanation, although I felt sure he understood what his brother haddone. 

'Of course you could not help believing me dead, George, ' he said witha laugh. 'That fellow Springfield sent home and brought home all sortsof circumstantial evidence, and you naturally took things over. No, not another word. The fellow has gone, and I'll see that he staysaway. '

'But--but why didn't you write, Maurice?' stammered the other. 

'Couldn't, my dear chap. For more than two years I was away fromcivilization; for six months I was a prisoner among the Turks; and whenat length, after the taking of Baghdad I was released, I was too ill todo anything, Besides, I thought Jack Carbis would have set your mindsat rest. But there, I shall have a great yarn to tell you later. '

To Norah Blackwater he was coldly polite. That she had become hisbrother's fiancée within a few months of his reported death evidentlywounded him deeply, although he made not the slightest reference to it. For my own part I was almost sorry for the girl. I do not believe shehad ever cared for George St. Mabyn, although there could be no doubtof his fondness for her. Even when she had accepted him, her heartbelonged to Maurice, but being desperately poor, and believing Georgeto be the true heir to the St. Mabyn estates, she had given herpromise. But this is only conjecture on my part. Nevertheless, it wasimpossible not to pity her. Her eyes, as she looked at Maurice, toldtheir own story; she knew that she loved him; knew, too, that she hadlost him for ever. 

I was not present during the long conversation Maurice St. Mabyn andJack Carbis had together that night, but before I went to sleep thelatter came into my room. 

'This has been a great night, Luscombe, ' he said. 

'Great night!' I repeated. 'I can hardly believe that I have not beendreaming all the time. '

'But you haven't, ' he replied with a laugh. 'All the same, I almostbelieved I was losing my head when Maurice St. Mabyn came into theroom. Isn't he a splendid chap though? No noise, no bluster, noaccusations. But he understood. '

'Understood what?'

'Everything. '

'And you believe that Maurice knows of George's complicity inSpringfield's plans?'

'Of course he knows. But he'll not let on to George. He realizes thatSpringfield played on his brother's weakness and made his life one longhaunting fear. '

'But what about Norah Blackwater?'

'Ah, there we have the tragedy!'

'Why, do you think Maurice cares for her still?'

'I'm sure she cares for him. But he's adamant. He'll never forgiveher, never. I wonder--I wonder----'

'What?'

He started to his feet and left the room. 

I hadn't a chance of speaking with him the next day, for he left by anearly train with his father and mother. They had naturally insisted onhis returning to his home with them, and although they asked me toaccompany them, I was unable to do so, as I had to report myself to myC. O. On the following day. I had arranged to catch the afternoon trainto London, and then motor to the camp in time for duty. 

About eleven o'clock I saw Lorna Bolivick leave the house and make herway towards a rosery which had been made some little distance away. 

'Lorna, ' I said, 'I have to leave directly after lunch; you don't mindmy inflicting myself on you, do you?'

She looked at me with a wan smile. 

'It's splendid about Maurice St. Mabyn, isn't it?'

'It's wonderful, ' she replied, but there was no enthusiasm in her tones. 

There was a silence between us for some seconds, then I said awkwardly, 'His--his--coming was a wonderful vindication of my friend, wasn't it?'

'Did he need any vindication?' she asked. 

'I imagined you thought so last night--forgive me, ' I replied, angrywith myself for having blurted out the words. 

I saw the colour mount to her cheeks, and I thought her eyes flashedanger. 

'It might seem as though everything had been pre-arranged, ' I went on, 'but I'm sure he could not help himself. Never did a man love a womanmore than Edgecumbe--that is Jack Carbis, loves you. He felt it to behis duty to you to expose Springfield. He knew all along that he wasan evil fellow. '

She did not speak, and again I went on almost in spite of myself. 

'I have thought a good deal about what you said. Surely you neverthought of marrying him?'

'Yes, I did. '

'Because you loved him?'

She shook her head. 'No, I never loved him, ' she replied quickly, angrily. 'The very thought of----' she stopped suddenly, and wassilent for a few seconds; and then went on, 'I cannot tell you. Itwould----; no, I cannot tell you. '

'I know it's no business of mine, ' I continued, ' and yet it is. No manhad a better friend than Jack, and--and--owing to the peculiar way wewere brought together perhaps, no man ever felt a deeper interest inanother man than I feel in him. That is why----; I say, Lorna, I'mafraid he'd be mad with me for telling you, but--but--he'd give theworld to marry you. '

'I shall never marry him, ' and her words were like a cry of despair. 

'But--but----'

'I shall never marry him, ' she repeated, still in the same tones. 

At that moment we heard Sir Thomas Bolivick's voice, and turning, sawhim coming towards us with a look of horror on his face. 

'I say, this is ghastly, ' he said. 

'What is it, dad?' asked Lorna anxiously. 

'It's terrible, simply terrible, --and yet--you see--Maurice St. Mabynhas just telegraphed me. He says he has just received a message fromPlymouth. That man Springfield was found dead an hour or so ago. '

'Found dead!' I gasped. 

'Yes, in his room in the ---- Hotel. Committed suicide. '

I looked at Lorna's face almost instinctively. It was very pale, andthere could be no doubt but that she was terribly shocked by the news. And yet I felt sure I saw a look on her face which suggested relief. But beyond her quick breathing she uttered no sound. 

'It's terrible, ' went on Sir Thomas, 'but after--after last night I'mnot sure--it's--it's not a relief to us all. Evidently the fellow----;but--but it's terrible, isn't it? Of course the hotel people wired St. Mabyn, as he told them at the bureau that he had just come from hishouse. '

'How did he die?' I asked. 

'Poison, ' replied Sir Thomas. 'He seems to have injected some sort ofIndian poison into his veins. Evidently he had it with him, as thedoctor says it is unobtainable anywhere in England. He left a letter, too. '

'A letter? To whom?'

'I don't quite know. To George St. Mabyn I expect. Awful, isn't it?'

I saw him look at Lorna; but her face told him nothing. She appearedperfectly calm, although I felt sure she was suffering. 

'I am awfully sorry your visit should have ended like this, Luscombe, 'said Sir Thomas three hours later; 'but you must come down again whenyou can get a day or two off. Don't wait for a formal invitation; weshall always be glad to see you. '

'Thank you, I'll take you at your word, Sir Thomas; meanwhile you'llkeep me posted up with the news, won't you?'

'You mean about---- Yes, I'll let you know what happens. Where areyou going, Lorna?'

'I'm going with Major Luscombe to the station, if he'll let me, ' washer reply. 

'You've something to tell me, Lorna, ' I said when we had started. 

She shook her head. 

'You are sure? Has Springfield's death made no difference?'

'No, ' she replied, then she hesitated, and repeated the word. 

'Jack'll ask you again, Lorna. Of course he's not told me; but hewill. He is one who never gives up. Never. '

'It's no use, ' she said wearily. 'It's impossible, everything'simpossible. '

'Nothing's impossible to a chap like Jack. You don't mean to say thatSpringfield----'

'Don't, ' she pleaded. 'You don't know; he--he doesn't know; if hedid----, ' and then she lapsed into silence. 

'I'm coming down again soon, ' I said as I entered the train. 'Ipromised your father I would. '

'Do, do, ' and she held my hand almost feverishly. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE NEW HOPE

Nothing more than was absolutely necessary appeared in the newspapersabout Springfield's death. In a letter which he wrote before takinghis life he explained his action in a few characteristic words. 

'Life's not worth living, that's why I'm going to die. I do not wishany question asked of any one why I intend to solve the "great secret, "very suddenly. I'm tired of the whole show. That's enough explanationfor any one. I am quite sane, and I hope no fool set of jurymen willbring in a verdict about my taking my life while in an unsound mind. Iam reaping as I've sown, and I dare say if I had been a pattern youngman things might have ended differently. But there it is. The game, as far as I am concerned, is not worth the candle. Besides, the game'splayed out. I am grateful to those of my friends who have been kind tome. The personal letters I am writing must be regarded as private andconfidential. By that I mean they must not be read to satisfy thevulgar curiosity of the gaping crowd, and no questions must be asked oftheir recipients. Their contents are meant only for those to whom theyare addressed. '

According to the newspaper reports, no awkward questions were asked ofSir Thomas Bolivick, or any members of the party with whom he had dinedthe night before he died, and the twelve jurymen who brought in averdict of suicide said nothing about an 'unsound mind. '

Mention was made, however, of a sealed letter, placed by the side ofthe one I have copied. This letter bore no address, and nothing waswritten on the envelope but the words: 'This package must _not_ beopened within a week of my burial. '

Comparing this instruction with the 'open letter, ' I judged that thepackage contained more than one letter, but no further information wasgiven. 

At the beginning of August two letters arrived by the same post. Onewas from Lorna Bolivick, and the other was from my friend. The latterwas simply a command to get a few days off, and to come and see him. He wanted a chat badly, he said, and if I could not get away, he wouldcome to me, but surely I was not so important that I couldn't be sparedfor a week-end, if not more. He also insisted that I must send him awire at once. 

On opening Lorna's letter, I found practically the same request. Thedoctor had forbidden her resuming her nursing work for some months, shesaid, and had suggested that she should go to the seaside. But thisshe had refused to do, as she hated leaving her home. Besides, herbrother Tom might come home on leave almost any day, and she wanted tobe there to meet him. 

'But you said you promised dad to pay us another visit as soon as youcould, ' her letter concluded, 'and I am writing to remind you of yourpromise. You told me you had some leave still due to you after yourlast visit, so why not come at once? The sooner the better. '

She gave no special reason for asking me to come, but I read into herappeal a desire to tell me something, and perhaps to ask my advice. Itherefore had a chat with my C. O. , with the result that I started tosee my friend the same day. 

On arriving at the station I found him on the platform awaiting me. 

'Now this is sensible, ' he cried with a laugh. 'This is something likedispatch. Come on, I have a motor outside. I suppose you will trustme to drive you. '

'You look fit, anyhow, ' I said. 

'Fit as a fiddle, ' he replied. 'I go back to the front in four days. '

He looked years younger than when I had first seen him. The oldwistful look in his eyes had almost entirely gone, while theparchment-like skin had become almost as smooth and ruddy as that of aboy. 

'Oh, it has been glorious, ' he said. 'I've taken the little mother toall sorts of places, and dad declares she looks twenty years younger. More than once we've been taken for lovers. '

'And your memory, Jack?'

'Sound as a bell. Wonderful, isn't it? Sometimes I'm almost glad Iwent through it all. After--after--years of darkness and loneliness, to emerge suddenly into the light! To have a mother, and a father, and--a home!'

'And you and your father get on well together?'

'Yes, in a way. But I have a lot to tell you about that. Here we are!'

I shall not attempt to describe Jack Carbis's home, nor the welcome Ireceived. Had I been their son, Lord and Lady Carbis could not havereceived me with greater joy. 

It was not until late that Jack and I were able to be alone, but atlength when the others had gone to bed we found ourselves in a kind ofsnuggery which had been especially set apart for his own personal use. 

'It's great, having you here, ' he cried, as he threw himself into anarm-chair; 'great to feel alive, and to remember things. Have youheard from Bolivick?'

'Yes, Sir Thomas sent me a line, also a newspaper containing a reportof the inquest. Have you?'

He shook his head. 'We wrote immediately after we left, and LadyBolivick has written to mother, but--nothing more. '

'Of course you got particulars about Springfield. It seems he left asealed packet. Did it contain a letter for you?'

'No, nothing. I often wonder who he wrote to. Do you know anything?'

'Nothing. But I propose going to Bolivick to-morrow; perhaps they'lltell me. '

'To-morrow! I say, old man, have you heard from her?'

I nodded. 'No, her letter contained nothing that would interest you, 'I continued as I noted the look of inquiry in his eyes. 'Why don't yougo with me? It would seem quite natural, seeing you are off to thefront so soon. '

He hesitated a second, and then shook his head. 'No, Luscombe, ' hesaid, 'she'll send for me if she wants me. '

'That's not the way to win a girl. How can she send for you?'

'I seem to have lost confidence since my memory came back, ' he replied. 'When I told her I loved her, although I didn't seem to have the ghostof a chance, I felt confident, serene. Now I'm sure of nothing. '

'Nothing?' I queried. 'Do you mean to say that--that your faith in Godand that kind of thing is gone?'

'No, no, ' he replied quickly. 'That remains. It's the foundation ofeverything, everything. But God doesn't do things in the way weexpect, and when we expect. After all, our life here is only afragment, and God has plenty of time. He's never in a hurry. It's allright, old man. She'll be mine some time. If not in this world, inanother. '

'If I loved a girl, I'd move heaven and earth to get her in this life. '

'Yes, don't fear that I'm not going to do my bit; but I've had a littletime for thinking, and I've had to adjust myself to--to my newconditions. '

'With what results? How do things strike you now?'

'What things? The war?'

'Yes, that among others. Have you the same views you had? After ourperegrinations through London, you were not optimistic, I remember. You seemed to regard England as in a bad way. You said we were not fitfor victory. What are your views now?'

He was silent a few seconds before replying. 

'I expect I was a bit of a fool, ' he said presently. 'I'm afraid myoutlook was narrow and silly. You see, I had no experience to go on. I had no standards. '

'No standards?' I repeated. 'You mean, then, that you've given allyour fine sentiments the go-by?'

'And if I had?' he said with a smile. 'Should you be sorry or glad?'

I was silent. As I have stated I had not agreed with him, and yet Ishould have been sorry had he become like many another of his class. 

'I see, ' and he laughed gaily. 'No, old man, I've given nothing thego-by. No doubt, I overstated things a bit. No wonder. I saw thingsonly in the light of the present. But in the main I was right. '

'Then what do you mean by saying that your outlook was narrow andsilly?'

'I mean this. I looked on life without being able to compare it withwhat it was before the war. When I went with you through London, andsaw the things I saw, when I saw the basest passions pandered to, whenI saw vice walking openly, and not ashamed, I said, "God is keepingvictory from us because we are not fit for it. " In a sense I believeit still. Admiral Beatty was right. "Just so long as England remainsin a state of religious indifference, just so long will the warcontinue. When the nation, the Empire comes to God with humility andwith prayer on her lips, then we can begin to count the days towardsthe end. " And that's right. The nation itself, by its lack of faithin God, by its materialism, by its want of prayer, by its greed, andits sin, has kept victory from coming. I tell you the great need ofthe age is prophets, men of God, calling us to God. '

'And do you stand by what you said about drink?'

'To every word. That phase of our national life has been and ishorrible. While vested interests in this devilish thing remainparamount, we are partly paralysed. You see, it is the parent of agreat part of the crime of the country. Oh, yes, I stand by that. Allthe same I was wrong. '

'Why wrong?'

'Because I did not look deep enough. Because I was not able to see thetremendous change that has been wrought. '

'I don't understand, ' I said. 

'It's this way. You, because the change which has come over the landhas come slowly and subtly, have hardly been able to see it. But when, a few weeks ago, my memory came back to me, I realized a sort of shock. I saw how tremendous the change was, and is. A few years ago I washome for a long leave, and I went a good deal into society. What did Isee? I saw that the women of England were in the main a mass ofuseless, purposeless butterflies. I saw that the great mass of theyoung men of our class were mere empty-headed, worthless parasites. The whole country was given over to money getting and pleasure seeking. I didn't realize it then; but I do now. On every hand they werecraving for unnatural excitement, and doubtless there was a greatdanger of our race becoming decadent. But these last few weeks I'verealized the difference. Why, our people have been glorious, simplyglorious! See what an earnest tone pervades all life. Think of whatthe women of all classes have done, and are doing! Think of theirchange of outlook! Instead of being mere bridge-playing, gambling, purposeless things, finding their pleasures in all sorts of silly fadsand foolishness, they've given themselves to service--loyal, nobleservice. The young fellows who filled up their time by being mereclub-loungers, empty-headed society dudes, whose chief talk was women, the latest thing in neckties, or their handicap at golf, are now doinguseful work, or fighting for the best in life. As for the rank andfile, life has a new meaning to them, and they've become heroes. 

'Mind you, we've still a long way to go; but we are on the right road. God is speaking out of the whirlwind and the fire. Religion may not beexpressing itself in Church-going, but it is expressing itself indeeper, grander ways. I failed to see it; but I see it now. Oh, man, if England will only be true to the call of God, we can become thewonder and glory of the world!'

'Then you believe we are ready for victory?'

'I do not say that; but we are getting ready. God has been putting usthrough the refining fires, and I can see such a democracy emerging outof this world upheaval as was never known before. '

'And yet the war does not appear to be coming to an raid, ' I urged. 'Think of Russia. Russia is a wild chaos, the victim of every passingfancy. Anarchy is triumphant, and the great army which should be atower of strength is a rope of sand. If Russia had been true, weshould have been----'

'Don't be in a hurry, my friend. God never is. Things will brightenin that direction. I don't say the war will be ended on thebattlefield. Sometimes I think it won't. God does things in big ways. Surely the history of the last few months has taught us that. With Himnothing is impossible. People say that Kaiserdom stands more firmlythan ever. What of that? The Kaiser may become more autocratic thanever, but his doom is written for all that. What is happening to hisinvincible legions? They will never save him. We are going to have anew world, my friend, and the pomp of the Kaiser will become a thing ofyesterday. '

He was silent a few seconds, and then went on. 

'There is something else, too. Russia has failed us, failed us becauseof corruption, and injustice. But God does not fail. No sooner didRussia yield, than America spoke. Her voice was the voice of the newDemocracy. America's action is one of the greatest things in theworld. Without thought of gain and realizing her sacrifice she hasanswered the call of God, and thrown herself into this struggle for theliberty and justice of the world. Had our cause not been righteousAmerica would not have done this, but because it is God's Cause shecould not resist the call to give her all. Yes, my friend, 'The mills of God grind slowly, But they grind exceeding small. '

CHAPTER XLII

AN UNFINISHED STORY

I left Jack Carbis the following day, and made my way to Bolivick. Idid my best to persuade him to come with me; but he would not. 

'No, not yet, ' he said in answer to my entreaties, and yet I knew thathe longed to come. 

We had talked far into the night, and he had opened his heart to me asnever before; but it is not for me to tell all he said. 

When I reached Bolivick I found Lorna looking pale and ill, and I feltsure something was preying on her mind. The house was nearly empty, too. Her brother had not yet arrived from the front, and there were novisitors. I was glad of this, however, as it gave me a chance oftalking with her alone. 

'I have just come from Jack, ' I said, as we left the house for a walkafter dinner. 

She did not speak, but I knew by the quick catch in her breath whatinterest my words had to her. 

'He's going to France in three days, ' I went on. 'He is reported fitfor general service. I tried to persuade him to come with me. '

'I dare say he has much to occupy him, ' she said coldly. 

'It's not that, ' I replied. 'He wanted to come; but he thinks you donot want him. He said he would not come till you sent for him. '

'And does he think I'll do that?' she asked, a little angrily I thought. 

'No, I don't think he does. But he's sensitive, and--and of course heheard what Springfield said. He remembers, too, what you toldhim--that is, just before Maurice St. Mabyn came. '

'Does he think I--I cared for--for that man?'

'I don't know. It would be no wonder if he did. I say, Lorna, I don'tunderstand your relations to Springfield. Was there anything betweenyou?'

'Yes, ' she replied. 

'He asked you to marry him; of course that's no secret. You'll forgivemy speaking plainly, won't you?'

'What do you want to say?'

'What was his power over you? I am taking advantage of our friendship, even at the risk of being rude and impertinent. '

'He had no power over me, --in the way you think. '

'That sounds like an admission. Is it?'

'Yes, if you like. '

'Then what was his power?'

She looked at me for a few seconds without speaking. 

'I can't tell you, ' she replied presently. 

For some time we walked on in silence; I thinking what her words mightmean, she apparently deep in thought. 

'According to the newspaper, ' I said after we had gone some distance, 'Springfield left a sealed packet containing letters. Was one of themfor you?'

'Yes. '

'You do not feel disposed to tell me what it contained?'

'I would if I could, but I--can't. '

'Then I'm going to see George St. Mabyn, and get it out of him. '

'George does not know. '

Again there was a painful silence between us, and again I tried tounderstand what was in her mind. 

'Lorna, ' I said, 'I want to tell you something. It has been in my minda long time, but if there's one thing you and I both despise it'sspeaking ill of another. But I can't help myself. You must know thetruth. '

Thereupon I told her the whole of Springfield's story as I knew it. Irelated to her the conversation I had heard between Springfield andGeorge St. Mabyn. I described the attempts made to kill Jack Carbis. I told her what Colonel McClure had said, both in our conversations andin the letter he wrote me after Springfield's death. 

'Why have you told me all this?' she asked, and her voice was hard, almost bitter. 

'Because I do not think you understand the kind of man Springfield was. '

'Excuse me, I understand perfectly. '

'You knew all the time! Knew what I have just told you?'

'No, I knew nothing of that; but I knew he was a bad man, knew itinstinctively from the first. That's what makes everything impossiblenow. '

'I don't understand. '

'No, of course you don't. Oh, I wish I could tell you. '

'Then do. I wouldn't ask you, only my friend's happiness means a lotto me. '

She caught my arm convulsively. 'Do you think he cares for me still?'she asked. 'Do you really?'

'I'm sure he does, ' I replied. 

'And you do not believe that the change in his life has made anydifference to--to that?'

'Not a bit. '

'Oh, I have been mad--criminally mad!' she burst out passionately. 'Noone despises me more than I despise myself. You say he loves me, buthe would hate me, scorn me if--if he knew. '

'Knew what?'

'I can't tell you. I simply can't. '

'But you _will_!' I said grimly; 'you will tell me now. '

'Major Luscombe!'

'Yes, be as angry as you like, I am angry too. And I tell you plainlythat I am not going to allow my friend's life to be ruined because ofthe vagaries of a silly child. For you _are_ a silly child. You havegot hold of some hare-brained fancy, and you are magnifying it into amountain. You've got to tell me all about it, because I'm sure itstands in the way of my friend's happiness. '

'But you don't understand. I've been--oh, I'm ashamed of myself!'

Some men perhaps would, on listening to this outburst, have imaginedsome guilty secret on her part. But knowing her as I did, it wasimpossible for me to do so. 

'You are going to tell me about it, ' I said. 'What is it?'

'But you'll not tell him; promise me that. '

'You must trust me, ' I replied, 'and your trust must be complete. Whatpower had Springfield over you? What did he say to you in that letter?'

She was silent for a few seconds, then she said, 'You remember what Isaid about him when I first saw him?'

'Yes, you said he made you think of snakes. You told me you dislikedhim. '

'That's why I'm so ashamed. I knew he was a bad man, and yet hefascinated me. I was afraid of him, and yet he almost made me promiseto marry him. '

'Go on, ' I said when she hesitated, 'tell me the rest. '

'When--when--your friend came here for the first time, he--he----'

'Fell in love with you. Yes, it is no use mincing words. The momenthe saw you, he gave his life to you. He told me so. He told you so. '

'I knew it before he told me. '

'How did you know?'

Her tell-tale blush, her quivering lips, told their own story, and Icould not help laughing aloud. 

'Don't be cruel!' she cried. 

'I am not cruel, I am only very happy. I am happy because my friend isgoing to be happy. '

'But you don't know all. '

'I know that love overcomes all difficulties, and I know that you loveeach other. '

'Yes, but listen. He--that is, that man--told me that although you didnot know who your friend was, he knew. He said that he had been guiltyof deeds in India, which if made known would mean life-long disgrace. That he, that is Colonel Springfield, had only to speak and--and oh, Ican't tell you! I'm too ashamed!'

'I don't need telling, ' I laughed. 'I know. He bound you to secrecybefore telling you anything. He found out that you loved Jack, and heused your love as a lever. Like the mean scoundrel he was, he tried tomake you promise to marry him, by threatening to expose Jack if youwouldn't. And you, because you were a silly girl, were afraid of him. You were the victim of an Adelphi melodrama plot. '

'Oh, I am ashamed, ' she cried; 'but--he showed me proofs, or whatseemed to be proofs of his guilt. He said his loss of memory was real, but that he, Colonel Springfield, knew who he was, and--oh, I am madwhen I think of it!'

'And that's all!' I laughed, 'Why, little girl, when Jack knows, he'llrejoice in what you've told me. '

'No, he won't, ' she cried piteously. 'Don't you see, he made mebelieve it! That is why--why I'm so ashamed. What will he think whenhe knows I believed him guilty of the most horrible things?'

'I know what he'll think when he knows that in order to save him youwere ready to----'

'Besides, don't you see?' she interrupted, 'I refused him when he wasnameless, and--and all that sort of thing, while now as Lord Carbis'sson----'

But she did not finish the sentence. At that moment Jack Carbis leaptover a stile into the lane where we were walking. 

With that quick intuition which I had so often noticed, he seemed todivine in a moment what we were talking about. He looked at us bothfor a few seconds without speaking, while both of us were so startledby his sudden appearance, that I think we were both incapable ofuttering a word. 

'How did you get here?' I gasped presently. 

'I motored over, ' he said. 'After you had left thismorning--I--I--thought I would. It was only a hundred and fifty miles. They told me at the house which way you had gone, and----'

'You followed us, ' I interjected. 'Jack, I think you have something tosay to Lorna, and I fancy Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick may be lonely. I shall see you presently, shan't I?'

Lorna looked at me with frightened eyes, as if in protest, then sheturned towards my friend. 

'Will you come with me?' said Jack, and his voice was tremulous, 'Isay, you will come, won't you?'

She hesitated a second, and then the two walked away together in thequiet Devonshire lane, while the shadows of evening gathered. 

 * * * * *

I did not go into the house on my return. Instead I sat on the lawnand awaited them. Darker and darker the night shadows fell, while thesky became star-spangled. Away, two hundred miles distant, the gunswere booming, but here was peace. 

The mystery, the wonder of it all came to me as I sat thinking. On thelong battle line the armies of Empires were engaged in a deadlystruggle, while close by a man was telling a girl that he loved her, while she would be foolishly trying to explain what required noexplanation. 

The moon was rising as they came back. The first beams were shiningthrough the trees as I saw them approach. 

'Well, Lorna?' I said as they came close to where I was. 

She looked at me shyly, and then lifted her eyes to Jack's. In thepale moonlight I saw the look of infinite happiness on her face. 

'May I, Jack?' I said. 'This morning you called me your brother, andas Lorna is to be my sister, may I claim a brother's privilege?'

For answer, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. 

'I say, ' cried Jack with a happy laugh, 'you are coming it a bit thick, aren't you? I didn't get one as easily as that. '

'Of course not--you didn't deserve to. But where are you off to?

'I'm going to beard the lion in his den. I'm going to have a serioustalk with Sir Thomas. Will you look after Lorna till I return?'