there, from whatsoever distant shore it might come.

The clock behind him struck a silver note, and instantly this vain
fantasy vanished; what was the use of regarding the two wine-filled cups
when he knew that Nina was far and far away? He sprang to his feet and
went to the window, and gazed out into the black and formless chaos
beyond.

"Nina!" he called, "Nina!--Nina!" as if he would pierce the hollow
distance with this passionate cry.

Alas! how could Nina answer? At this moment, over all the length and
breadth of England, innumerable belfries had suddenly awakened from
their sleep, and ten thousand bells were clanging their iron tongues,
welcoming in the new-found year. Down in the valleys, where white mists
lay along the slumbering rivers; far up on lonely moorlands, under the
clear stars; out on the sea-coasts, where the small red points of the
windows were face-to-face with the slow-moaning, inarticulate main;
everywhere, over all the land, arose this clamor of joy-bells; and how
could Nina respond to his appeal? If she had heard, if she had tried to
answer, her piteous cry was swallowed up and lost; heart could not speak
to heart, whatever message they might wish to send, through this
universal, far-pulsating jangle and tumult.

But perhaps she had not heard at all? Perhaps there was something more
impassable between her and him than even the wide, dark seas and the
night?

He turned away from the window. He went back to the chair; he threw his
arms on the table before him--and hid his face.

CHAPTER XIX.

ENTRAPPED.

There were two young gentlemen standing with their backs to the fire in
the supper-room of the Garden Club. They were rather good-looking young
men, very carefully shaven and shorn, gray-eyed, fair-moustached; and,
indeed, they were so extremely like each other that it might have been
hard to distinguish between them but that one chewed a toothpick and the
other a cigarette. Both were in evening dress, and both still wore the
overcoat and crush-hat in which they had come into the club. They could
talk freely, without risk of being overheard; for the members along
there at the supper-table were all listening, with much laughter, to a
professional entertainer, who, unlike the proverbial clown released from
the pantomime, was never so merry and amusing as when diverting a select
little circle of friends with his own marvellous adventures.

"It's about time for Lionel Moore to make