ounded soldiers pass, and old men touched their hats to them.
The heart of London beat in unison with the great heart of humanity.

From crowded streets, from domes and spires and open parks, there
soared to heaven a mighty _Gloria--gloria in excelsis_.'

After a lunch, during which they were both shy and extraordinarily
happy, they took a taxi-cab and drove to a house in Bedford Square.

Leaving Elise, Selwyn knocked at the door, and was admitted to a room
where a girl in an American nurse's outdoor costume waited for him.

'I got your letter in answer to mine, Austin,' said she, giving him
both her hands, 'and I am all ready. Did you see him?'

'I did--yesterday afternoon. But, Marjory, I told him nothing of you,
and if you want to withdraw there is yet time. Have you really thought
what this means to you?'

Her only answer was a patient smile as she opened the door and led him
outside.

'Elise,' said Selwyn, as they entered the cab, 'I want to introduce
Miss Marjory Shoreham of New York.'

'Austin has told me all about you,' said Elise, 'and I think you are
wonderfully brave.'

She took the nurse's hand and held it tightly in hers as the car drove
towards Waterloo.

An hour later they reached a Sussex station, and hiring a conveyance,
drove to a charming country home which was owned by a Mr. Redwood, whom
Selwyn had met on board ship. A servant told them as they drove up to
the door that the master of the house had gone to the village, but that
they were to come in and make themselves at home.

As he helped the girls to alight Selwyn heard the nurse catch her
breath with a spasm of pain. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a
man standing on the lawn facing the sun, which was reaching the west
with the passing of afternoon.

'Please remain here,' said Selwyn, 'and I will motion you when to come.'

He walked towards the solitary figure, who heard him, and turned a
little to greet him.

'Is that you, Austin?'

'Yes, Van,' answered Selwyn. 'How could you tell?'

With his old kindly, tired smile the ex-diplomat put out his hand,
which Selwyn gripped heartily.

'I suppose it is nature's compensation,' said Van Derwater calmly.
'Now that I cannot see, footsteps and voices seem to mean so much more.
I was just thinking before you came that, though I have seen it a
thousand times, I have never _felt_ the sun in the west before.
Look--I can feel it on my face from over there. Sir Redwood tells me