ur sleep, our indifference, our lethargy. When the nation gives itself
to God, victory will come.'

I did not pursue the conversation any further. I could see what was in
his mind, and I did not think that he looked at facts in their right
perspective, although I could not help feeling the tremendous amount of
truth in what he said.

The next day he went back to duty, while I was informed that for some
time my work would lie at home. A fortnight later Edgecumbe wrote me a
letter, telling me that he was ordered to the front. It seems that his
colonel was more than ever impressed by his evident knowledge of
artillery work, and he was made a special case.

A week later he had left England, while I, little dreaming of what the
future would bring forth, remained at home.

CHAPTER XXX

THE MARCH OF EVENTS

The events which I have now to record bring this narrative into this
present year of grace 1917. When I started writing, I had but little
idea of the things I should have to narrate. The drama was then only
partially acted, the story was not complete. As the reader may remember,
when I was in Exeter, shortly after I had first met Edgecumbe, and had
been telling Sir Roger Granville what little I knew of his history. Sir
Roger was much interested. He said that the whole case promised great
things, and that anything might happen to him, that he might have a wife
living, and that he might be heir to big possessions, and that when some
day his memory was restored to him many romantic things might come to
pass.

Although I did not say so at the time, his words aroused my imagination,
and when, months later, I fell in with Edgecumbe again, having some
little time at my disposal, I set down as well as my memory would serve
the story of our meeting, and what had happened subsequently.

The remainder of this narrative will, to an extent, be in the nature of a
diary, for so close are some of the events at the time of which I am
writing, that their recital becomes a record of what took place only a
few weeks ago. It is many months ago since first I took pen in hand to
set forth Edgecumbe's story, and now, as I draw near to what, as far as
this history is concerned, is its ending, I am almost afraid to write of
certain things in detail, for fear of wounding some of the people who are
yet alive, and who may feel sensitive that I am making their doings
public.

The year 1916 was drawing to an end when I received