is no doubt of it. It is a frightful thing--this future
that looms before us; and I pray that for you at least it may hold only
happiness.

For, my lady, when I write good night, I speak it aloud as I write; and
there is in my voice more than I dare tell you of now.

THE AGONY COLUMN MAN.

Not unwelcome to the violet eyes of the girl from Texas were the last
words of this letter, read in her room that Sunday morning. But the
lines predicting England's early entrance into the war recalled to her
mind a most undesirable contingency. On the previous night, when the war
extras came out confirming the forecast of his favorite bootblack, her
usually calm father had shown signs of panic. He was not a man slow
to act. And she knew that, putty though he was in her hands in matters
which he did not regard as important, he could also be firm where he
thought firmness necessary. America looked even better to him than
usual, and he had made up his mind to go there immediately. There was no
use in arguing with him.

At this point came a knock at her door and her father entered. One look
at his face--red, perspiring and decidedly unhappy--served to cheer his
daughter.

"Been down to the steamship offices," he panted, mopping his bald head.
"They're open to-day, just like it was a week day--but they might as
well be closed. There's nothing doing. Every boat's booked up to the
rails; we can't get out of here for two weeks--maybe more."

"I'm sorry," said his daughter.

"No, you ain't! You're delighted! You think it's romantic to get caught
like this. Wish I had the enthusiasm of youth." He fanned himself with a
newspaper. "Lucky I went over to the express office yesterday and loaded
up on gold. I reckon when the blow falls it'll be tolerable hard to cash
checks in this man's town."

"That was a good idea."

"Ready for breakfast?" he inquired.

"Quite ready," she smiled.

They went below, she humming a song from a revue, while he glared at
her. She was very glad they were to be in London a little longer. She
felt she could not go, with that mystery still unsolved.

CHAPTER VI

The last peace Sunday London was to know in many weary months went by,
a tense and anxious day. Early on Monday the fifth letter from the young
man of the Agony Column arrived, and when the girl from Texas read it
she knew that under no circumstances could she leave London now.

It ran:

DEAR LADY FROM HOME: I call you that because the wor