a court-martial?"

"No!" said Chris in amazement. "Do you mean--"

He bent his head. "It is possible."

"That you may be vindicated?" she questioned eagerly. "Oh, Bertie!"

"It is possible," he repeated. "Yet I will not permit myself to hope. It
is no more than a rumour. It is also possible that it may not even touch
the old _affaire_, since he made no appearance at my trial."

"But if it did!" said Chris.

He gave her an odd look. "If it did, Christine?" he questioned.

"You would go back with flying colours," she said. "You would be
reinstated surely!"

He shook his head. "I do not think it."

"You mean you wouldn't go?" she asked.

He turned his face up to the sun with a peculiar gesture. "Who can say?"
he said, with closed eyes. "Me, I think that the good God has other plans
for me. I may be justified--I do not know. But I shall wear the uniform
of the French Army--never again."

He spoke perfectly calmly, with absolute conviction; but there was that
in his face that startled her, something she had never seen before.

She put out a hesitating hand, and touched his sleeve. "Bertie!"

Instantly he looked at her, saw the scared expression in her eyes, and,
smiling, pressed her hand.

"_Mais_, Christine, these things--what are they? Ambition, success,
honour--loss, failure, shame; they seem so great in this little life of
mortality. But, after all, they are no more than the tools with which the
good God shapes us to His destiny. He uses them, and when His work is
done He throws them aside. We leave them behind us; we pass on to that
which is greater." He paused a moment, and his eyes kindled as though he
were on the verge of something further; then suddenly they went beyond
her, and he relinquished her hand. "Madame has returned," he said. "Let
us go!"

Looking up, Chris saw Aunt Philippa upon the terrace above them.

The expression on her relative's face was one of severe and undisguised
disapproval, as her gaze rested upon the two in the garden. Chris, as she
moved to meet her, felt a sudden flame of indignation at her heart. How
dared Aunt Philippa look at them so?

"We have been waiting for you," she said, speaking in some haste to
conceal her resentment. "Has anything happened?"

Aunt Philippa replied in the measured accents habitual to her. "Nothing
has happened. I have been to Sandacre Court, at Mrs. Pouncefort's
invitation, to see the gardens. I waited for you, Chris, for nearly an
hour th