ngratulation stuck in Crowther's throat. "I wish this had
come--twenty years ago!" was all he found to say.

"Thank Heaven it didn't!" ejaculated Piers. "Why, don't you see it's
the one thing for me--about the only stroke of real luck I've ever had
in my life?"

"And your wife doesn't know?" said Crowther.

"She does not. And I won't have her told. Mind that!" Piers' voice was
suddenly determined. "She knows I shan't keep out of it, and that's
enough. If she wants me--which she won't--she can get at me through
Victor or one of them. But that won't happen. Don't you worry yourself as
to that, my good Crowther! I know jolly well what I'm doing. Don't you
see it's the chance of my life? Do you think I'm going to miss it, what?"

"I think you're going to break her heart," Crowther said gravely.

"That's because you don't understand," Piers made steady reply. "Nothing
will alter so long as I stay. But this war is going to alter everything.
We shall none of us come out of it as we went in. When I come
back--things will be different."

He spoke sombrely. The boyish ardour had gone out of him. Something of
fatefulness, something of solemn realization, of steadfast fortitude, had
taken its place.

"I tell you, Crowther," he said, "I am not doing this thing without
weighing the cost. But--I haven't much to lose, and I've all to gain.
Even if it doesn't do--what I hope, it'll steady me down, it'll make a
man of me--and not--a murderer."

His voice sank on the last word. He freed himself from Crowther's hold
and turned away.

Once more he opened the window to the roar of London's life; and so
standing, with his back to Crowther, he spoke again jerkily, with obvious
effort. "Do you remember telling me that something would turn up?
Well,--it has. I'm waiting to see what will come of it. But--if it's any
satisfaction to you to know it--I've got clear of my own particular hell
at last. I haven't got very far, mind, and it's a beastly desert road I'm
on. But I know it'll lead somewhere; so I shall stick to it now."

He paused a moment; then flung round and faced Crowther with a certain
air of triumph.

"Meantime, old chap, don't you worry yourself about either of us! My
wife will go to her friend Mrs. Lorimer till I come home again. Then
possibly, with any luck, she'll come to me."

He smiled with the words and came back to the table. "May I have a
drink?" he said.

Crowther poured one out for him in silence. Somehow he