ecessary
orders, and returned rubbing his hands, and venting his surplus energy
in a variety of hearty noises expressive of pleasure at seeing his old
friend.

'Now, start at the beginning,' he said, 'and give me everything. The
semaphore's up, and there's a clear track ahead.'

'But I want to know about things here first.'

'After you, my son. Put it over now. By the way, that's a nasty scar
on your head. How did you get it?'

In a few words Selwyn traced the course of events which had led to his
crusade against Ignorance, a crusade which had in an inexplicable way
turned particularly against England. He spoke of Doug Watson's letter
with its description of the slaughtered German boy, and he told of the
air-raid in the moonlight, the climax to his long orgy of idealism. He
touched lightly and humorously on his hospital experience, but not once
did he mention the inner secret of his heart. To the whole recital
Forbes listened with a genuineness and a bigness of sympathy which
seemed to belong to his body as well as his mind.

'That is pretty well everything,' said Selwyn. 'I have come back here,
humble and perplexed, to try to get my bearings. There have been two
men financing my stuff, and they must account to me for the uses to
which they have put it. Edge, I was sincere. Not one word was written
but I put my very life-blood into it.'

The arrival of tea put a temporary stop to the author's
self-revelation, and his host busied himself with his hospitable duties.

Selwyn passed his hand querulously over his face. The clergyman looked
at him with a feeling of pervading compassion.

'I was going to ask about Gerard Van Derwater,' said Selwyn, 'How is
he?'

'Van's very well. He is in the Intelligence Division right here in New
York.'

'I heard he was engaged to Marjory Shoreham.'

'Yes--he was. They broke it off a few weeks ago; or, rather, she did.'

'I am sorry to hear that,' said Selwyn earnestly. 'I always liked her
immensely, and I was glad that poor old Van had been the lucky suitor.
You remember how I used to say that he always carried a certain
atmosphere of impending tragedy, although he was never gloomy or moody
about it.'

'Well, Austin, I think the tragedy has come.'

'I must see him,' said Selwyn. 'In coming back here, you and he were
the two I wanted most to meet. I knew that neither of you would
withdraw your friendship without good reason; but also I knew you would
tell