the reverie which had held him since
he had left the dinner table. Rising to his feet, he drew himself to the
full of his towering height and took a slow, full breath. Then
deliberately he pushed his trunk into the middle of the floor and began
packing it, with the quiet method which characterized all his personal
arrangements. At first, he worked in grim silence; then, by almost
imperceptible degrees, his face lighted and he fell to humming over to
himself the familiar song,--

_"Even bravest heart may swell
In the moment of farewell--"_

Little by little, the humming rose and filled the room, at first the one
phrase repeated over and over again; then all at once, deep and
resonant, Thayer's full voice came leaping out in the rich Italian
words,--

_"La sul campo nel di della pugna,
Ah! si, Fra le file primiero saro."_

The past was already the past. "Blithe as a knight in his bridal array,"
Thayer was echoing the call of his future destiny. Because he had won a
single battle, there was no reason he should lay down his arms.

_"Careless what fate may befall me,
When Glory shall call me."_

He sang it boldly, joyously. He was not forgetful, only hopeful. He
would leave to the choice of fate the field in which his mastery should
lie. Master he would be at any cost.

_"Careless what fate may befall me,
When Glory shall call me."_

For the last time, that little room was echoing with his voice.

His own rooms in New York were echoing with the same song, when Bobby
Dane entered them, the next Saturday night.

"Well, at least, you don't sound broken-hearted," he observed, as he
took off his coat.

"The sight of you would go far to cure me, if I were," Thayer retorted.
His words were light; but his face and his grip on Bobby's two hands
contradicted his tone.

"Glad of it," Bobby said flatly. "But tell me about Beatrix. How did the
poor girl stand it?"

"Like herself," Thayer answered. "It was enough to shake the nerves of
the Winged Victory; but Mrs. Lorimer went through it like a heroine."

"It was D.T.?"

"Yes."

"It was better that you kept the secret," Bobby said thoughtfully, as he
dropped into a chair by the piano. He sat silent for a moment while,
bending forward, he idly picked out the first few notes of the cavatina
on the lowest octave of the bass. Then he added, "I don't see how you
managed it, Thayer; but it is a good deed done. Was there any trouble
about