reflected, he had met him under his own roof as his wife's
guest. He paid his reckoning to mine host, tipped the stable lad who had
helped him with his horse, and took his place beside von Gabelroth in the
car.

As they glided along the dark roadway and the young German reeled off a
string of comments on the incidents of the day's sport, Yeovil lay back
amid his comfortable wraps and weighed the measure of his humiliation. It
was Cicely's gospel that one should know what one wanted in life and take
good care that one got what one wanted. Could he apply that test of
achievement to his own life? Was this what he really wanted to be doing,
pursuing his uneventful way as a country squire, sharing even his sports
and pastimes with men of the nation that had conquered and enslaved his
Fatherland?

The car slackened its pace somewhat as they went through a small hamlet,
past a schoolhouse, past a rural police-station with the new monogram
over its notice-board, past a church with a little tree-grown graveyard.
There, in a corner, among wild-rose bushes and tall yews, lay some of
Yeovil's own kinsfolk, who had lived in these parts and hunted and found
life pleasant in the days that were not so very long ago. Whenever he
went past that quiet little gathering-place of the dead Yeovil was wont
to raise his hat in mute affectionate salutation to those who were now
only memories in his family; to-night he somehow omitted the salute and
turned his head the other way. It was as though the dead of his race saw
and wondered.

Three or four months ago the thing he was doing would have seemed an
impossibility, now it was actually happening; he was listening to the
gay, courteous, tactful chatter of his young companion, laughing now and
then at some joking remark, answering some question of interest, learning
something of hunting ways and traditions in von Gabelroth's own country.
And when the car turned in at the gate of the hunting lodge and drew up
at the steps the laws of hospitality demanded that Yeovil should ask his
benefactor of the road to come in for a few minutes and drink something a
little better than the wayside inn had been able to supply. The young
officer spent the best part of a half hour in Yeovil's snuggery,
examining and discussing the trophies of rifle and collecting gun that
covered the walls. He had a good knowledge of woodcraft, and the beasts
and birds of Siberian forests and North African deserts were