thank you for what you've just said. Captain of his
soul--yes, I've heard it often enough, but never stopped to ponder its
meaning. And as the captain mustn't lose his ship if mortal man can
prevent the loss, so a man must bring the ship of his soul safely into
port. Is that what you meant just now?"

She smiled faintly in the moonlight, and for once there was no mockery
in her smile.

"We have wandered from our original metaphor of a battlefield," she said
gently, "but I like your simile of a ship better. Yes, I suppose that is
what I was trying to convey--in a confused fashion, I'm afraid. We each
have our voyage to complete, our ship to bring into harbour; and even
though sometimes it seems about to founder"--he knew she alluded to the
catastrophe of her own life--"we must not let it sink if we can keep it
afloat."

For a moment there was silence between them; and again they heard the
melancholy hoot of the owl, flying homewards now.

Then Anstice said slowly:

"You are right, of course. But"--at last his pent-up bitterness burst
its bounds and overflowed in quick, vehement speech--"it's easy enough
for a man to handle his ship carefully when he has some precious thing
on board--or even when he knows some welcoming voice will greet him as
he enters--at last--into his haven. But the man whose ship is empty, who
has no right to expect even one greeting word--is there no excuse for
him if he navigate the seas carelessly?"

"No." In the moonlight she faced him, and her eyes looked oddly
luminous. "For a derelict's the greatest danger a boat can encounter on
the high seas ... all our boats cross and recross the paths of others,
you know, and no man has the right to place another's ship in peril by
his own--carelessness."

"By God, you're right," he said vehemently; and she did not resent his
hasty speech. "Mrs. Carstairs, you've done more for me to-night than you
know--and if I can repay you I will, though it cost me all I have in the
world."

"You can repay me very easily," she said, holding out her hand, all the
motherhood in her coming to the surface. "Save Cherry--she is all _I_
have--now--in the world; and her little barque, at least, was meant to
dance over summer seas."

"God helping me, I will save her," he said, taking her hand in a quick,
earnest clasp; and then he entered his waiting car and drove away
without another word, a new courage in his heart.

* * * * *

A