her letter from me. I
presume we shall be sent home directly, and I shall make straight
for London and Mount Street, where I expect I shall find you. Dear
old chap, I can guess what you have been going through; but it
looks as if we should meet again in this world after all."

What this letter meant to Philip Vaughan they only know who have
been through a similar experience; and words are powerless to express
it

* * * * *

After the first bewilderment of joy had subsided, Philip began
to study the practical bearings of the letter. By a comparison of
the date within and the post-mark outside, the letter appeared to
have been a long time on the way, and another delay had occurred
since it had arrived at Mount Street. It was possible that peace
might have been actually concluded. News in those days took long
to travel through Scottish glens, and Vaughan had never looked at
a paper since he left England. It was conceivable that the Guards
were already on their homeward voyage--nay, it might even be that
they were just arriving, or had arrived, in London. The one clear
point was that Vaughan must get home. Twenty miles on his landlord's
pony brought him to a telegraph-office, whence he telegraphed to
his servant, "Returning immediately," and then, setting his face
southward, he travelled as fast as steamers and express trains
would take him. As he travelled, he picked up the news. Peace had
been concluded on the 30th of March, and some of our troops were
homeward bound; some had actually arrived. The journey seemed
unnaturally long, and it was dark when the train rattled into Euston
Station.... In a bewildered mood of uncertainty and joy, he rang
the bell in Mount Street. His servant opened the door. "You're
just in time, sir. You will find him in the drawing-room."

The drawing-room of the lodging-house had always been Grey's
sitting-room, and during his absence Vaughan had studiously kept it
in it accustomed order. There were some stags' heads on the walls,
and a fox's brush with a label; a coloured print of Harrow, and
engravings of one or two Generals whom Grey had specially honoured
as masters of the art of war; the book-case, the writing-desk,
the rather stiff furniture, were just as he had left them. Philip
flung open the door with a passionate cry of "Arthur! Arthur! At
last! Thank God----" But the words died on his lips.

In the middle of the room, just under the central chande