f cowardice, it is not for me to say. I heard nothing of the
matter for many weeks, for they took me off to a nursing home and kept
me in the deathly stillness of a sepulchre. When I resumed my life in
Wellingsford I found smiling faces to welcome me. My first public
action was to give away Phyllis Gedge in marriage to Randall
Holmes--Randall Holmes in the decent kit of an officer and a gentleman.
He made this proposition to me on the first evening of my return. "The
bride's father," said I, somewhat ironically, "is surely the proper
person."

"The bride's father," said he, "is miles away, and, like a wise and
hoary villain, is likely to remain there."

This was news. "Gedge has left Wellingsford?" I cried. "How did that
come about?"

He stuck his hands on his hips and looked down on me pityingly.

"I'm afraid, sir," said he, "you'll never do adequate justice to my
intelligence and my capacity for affairs."

Then he laughed and I guessed what had occurred. My young friend must
have paid a stiff price; but Phyllis and peace were worth it; and I
have said that Randall is a young man of fortune.

"My dear boy," said I, "if you have exorcised this devil of a
father-in-law of yours out of Wellingsford, I'll do any mortal thing
you ask."

I was almost ecstatic. For think what it meant to those whom I held
dear. The man's evil menace was removed from the midst of us. The man's
evil voice was silenced. The tragic secrets of the canal would be kept.
I looked up at my young friend. There was a grim humour around the
corners of his mouth and in his eyes the quiet masterfulness of those
who have looked scornfully at death. I realised that he had reached a
splendid manhood. I realised that Gedge had realised it too; woe be to
him if he played Randall false. I stuck out my hand.

"Any mortal thing," I repeated.

He regarded me steadily. "Anything? Do you really mean it?"

"You dashed young idiot," I cried, "do you think I'm in the habit of
talking through my hat?"

"Well," said he, "will you look after Phyllis when I'm gone?"

"Gone? Gone where? Eternity?"

"No, no! I've only a fortnight's leave. Then I'm off. Wherever they
send me. Secret Service. You know. It's no use planking Phyllis in a
dug-out of her own"--shades of Oxford and the Albemarle Review!--"she'd
die of loneliness. And she'd die of culture in the mater's highbrow
establishment. Whereas, if you would take her in--give her a shake-down
here--she wouldn'