nnecessary escapades where his senses
could enjoy a thrill not far removed from insanity. Only when out of the
line, when the mockery and the hideousness of the whole thing demanded
his mind's solution, would the mood of despondency return. But in the
trenches he knew neither pity nor fear. Men fought for the privilege of
serving under him, and with their instinct for euphony and love of the
bizarre gave him the name of 'Hell-fire.' He gloried in the physical
ascendancy of it all--in the dangers--in the discomforts. He was an
instrument of revenge, a weapon without feeling.

On the other hand, Van Derwater had undergone no appreciable change. He
carried himself with the same dignity and formality as in his days at
Washington--except when emergency would scatter the wits of his
fellow-officers, and he would suddenly become a dynamic force, vigorous
in conception and swift of action. Yet success or failure left him
unmoved, once a crisis had passed. His men respected but did not
understand him. They wove a legend about his name. They said he had
come to France wanting to be killed, but that no bullet could touch him.
And even those who scoffed, when they saw him, unruffled and strangely
solitary, moving about with almost ironic contempt of danger, wondered if
there might not be some truth in the story.

'Major Van Derwater would like to speak to you right away, sir.'

Telling a non-commissioned officer to take his place, Selwyn followed the
messenger along the road until they came to the spot which Van Derwater
had chosen for his headquarters. Daylight was emerging from its retreat,
and there was the promise of a warm day in the glowing east.

'You sent for me, sir?' he said.

'Yes. You might question these two British stragglers. Their story is
not straight, but they seem decent enough fellows. If you are not
satisfied'----

He was interrupted by an exclamation of astonishment from Selwyn, who had
noticed the Englishmen for the first time.

'Great Scott!' gasped Selwyn. 'Dick Durwent!'

Dick looked up, and at the sight of the American's face he uttered a cry
of relief. 'Is that really you, Selwyn? What luck! You remember
Mathews at Roselawn, don't you? You can say'----

'Good-mornin', sir,' said the unperturbed groom. 'This is a werry
pleasant surprise, to be sure. How are you, sir?'

'Van,' said Selwyn, after shaking hands with them both, 'this is Lord
Durwent's son, and the other is his