JANUARY was a very busy month in the hospital at Grote; the accommodation had been increased, and now it comprised a hundred and twenty beds. Early in the month a convoy had come with many very serious cases among its numbers, and during the next fortnight there were three deaths, the first that had yet occurred. Helen had waves of abject misery over these; she could not help wondering if something more might have been done to save the men, and Miss Hawker spoke to her, so she thought, rather brutally on the subject, in connection with certain supplies, which she had undertaken and forgotten to order, running short.

“If the work is too heavy for you,” she had said, “you had better ask for someone to help you. We can’t afford to have mistakes of that sort happen. Supposing it had been some ether you had forgotten about, and we had run short of anÆsthetics?”

This was all quite well deserved, and Helen did not resent it.

“I know; I am very sorry,” she said. “But I have been worrying very much and that made me forget. It shan’t happen again.”

“Yes; I saw that,” said Miss Hawker. “You were worrying over those men who have slipped through our fingers. There’s nothing so useless as that. You’ve got to do your best, and when you’ve done that, you mustn’t let yourself get soft. You’ve got to think; it’s not your business to feel, if your feeling does no good.”

Helen made a great effort with herself; it cost her the jettisoning of all her pride to make the suggestion that she now offered.

“You must let me know if you think I’m not up to the work,” she said, “and get someone else.”

Miss Hawker, who was already half-way to the door, paused a moment.

“And a pretty rebellion we should have in the wards,” she remarked. “And have you heard from your son lately?”

“Yes, I heard this morning,” said Helen. “He’s very well.”

“So there is something left to be thankful for,” said Miss Hawker, leaving the room.

Miss Hawker, Helen thought, was like some mental tonic, bitter and rasping to the taste, but internally invigorating.... Then the pendulum swung back again in the hospital, and a couple more cases that hung to life by a mere thread, strengthened their hold, and passed out of danger. Though it was not permissible to feel dejection when things went badly, it was not only permissible but obligatory to be elated when things went unexpectedly well, and while Robin was safe, and doctors were satisfied with temperature charts, all that was of prime importance in life, apart from the existence of the war at all, must be accepted thankfully as outweighing the rest.

But as the days of January went on, there were events and tendencies which, though they belonged to the class of secondary importance, were intensely pleasing to her. By far the best of these was a certain change that was taking place in her relations with her husband. For years their intimate life had lain so far apart, that they were no more than ships voyaging distantly at sea, and from time to time exchanging a perfectly friendly signal with each other; but of late the interval between them seemed to have sensibly diminished. It was as if Robin had both of them singly in tow, and, in consequence, they were rapidly approaching each other in his wake. His father, no less than she, had always been devoted to the boy, and though, when Robin was secure at home or at Cambridge, this tie failed to bring them together, now, when he was imperilled in the trenches, the steady pull of their love for him resulted in their drawing nearer to each other. To them both Robin’s safety, in their personal life, took precedence of all other desires and aims; it formed a living connection between them.

And as when from opposite sides of some southern pergola two sprays of vine touch and are entangled, they put forth tendrils that grope for each other, seeking interlacement, so between Helen and her husband now, when once the contact was made, it was continually being strengthened by sensitive feelers put forward shyly enough at first, which grew into anchors and interlockings of living tissue. It was, for instance, a very tentative touch, ready to be withdrawn, that made him suggest, a month ago, that he should come down to Grote to spend a week-end there, if he would not be a burden on her time and the arrangements of the hospital, but after that his visits grew frequent.

January turned sleepily over in its winter’s sleep and became February, who dreamed about spring. The moss was vividly green now below the trees, and the sides of the path down to the river were white with snowdrops. Her husband had been unable to get down for the next week-end, but looked forward to an early visit, and for Helen the days passed swiftly in the monotony of a routine that only varied in details. The main end in view was always the same, namely, that the men should move on from the hospital wards into the convalescent wards, and from lying in the loggia should be promoted to the use of their own powers of locomotion again.

No very serious fresh cases had been brought in, and in this mild February air, soft and enervating to the hardy, but stimulating and life-giving to the weak, there was a general all-round rise in the well-being of the wards. Bad cases improved rapidly, slight cases got well, and for the present there was no influx of the severely wounded. She never could quite attain to the professional attitude of Miss Hawker, who one day when a case of pneumonia, following on a slight wound, exhibited very marked improvement, said, “The case presents no further interest.” But she knew that somewhere, down below, there was no tenderer heart than Miss Hawker’s. Her efficiency, as matron, was based on her having it in control. Sometimes Helen wished that her own heart was better drilled; sometimes she wanted to give it all the pangs of which it was capable. Experience was dearly bought, if you had to pay for it with even a superficial callousness. And then again she knew she was wrong. She did not really want Mr. Brinton to grow dim-eyed—as Aline would certainly have done—because an unconscious subject for his skill must lose a leg. Emotion must never impede efficiency, as long as there was anything practical to be done; you had to control such emotions as pity and vague compassion. You could show your compassion best by doing your work well.

There came a morning with a throb of excitement in it. Jaye was promoted to the locomotive dignity of a bath-chair, to be pulled round the lawn by an orderly, and was allowed a half-hour on the terrace. Helen, for whom Jaye still “had a fancy,” accompanied this progress, and Jaye had questions of weight to communicate. The one that really mattered was whether it was reasonable of him to expect that his girl should feel for him now what she undoubtedly felt before when he had two legs instead of one. Apparently there was no question as to the sincerity of her affection when the boy was still a biped. Helen had heard something of that during his convalescence, and she knew that if she had been Jaye’s girl, she would have married him—even at the early age of nineteen, which was the case with both of them—before he had gone out to France. But in the present circumstances, was it fair of Jaye to expect constancy?

“It’s like this, sister,” he said. “If you arsk me if I would marry my girl, she having lost a leg, and me not, well, I should say I must think about it. I dessay I shouldn’t—I don’t see as you could blame me. Now, here am I, same as what we supposed she was, and what am I to expect of her?”

The orderly gave a suppressed giggle and said, “Gawd!”

“Don’t you be interrupting,” said Jaye, who was waxing fat like Jeshurun, and would willingly kick with his one leg. “You don’t understand nothing with your four arms and legs.”

Helen thought over rapidly what she knew of Jaye, for that was the first part of the problem. She had thought him a simple quiet boy when he first came, then a very nervous boy, when the time for his operation approached, then an almost angelic boy, because he had wanted her to be with him during it. (The want, it must be understood, was angelic, the demand the most trying that had ever been made of her.) Since then, as his convalescence restored him, he had ceased to be simple and quiet, and had become a bumptious life and soul of the ward, who, Miss Hawker said, should be sternly suppressed. And yet, all the time, in all his phases, he was only being a boy....

That was only the first part of the problem: the second part was even more vital to the correct solution, but it implied a knowledge of the character of Jaye’s girl, and Helen at present had not the privilege of her acquaintanceship.

“You must get your girl to come down and see you here, Jaye,” she said. “I don’t know what she’s like. She may be so fond of you that she doesn’t care a bit about your leg. She may not care two straws how many legs you have. But I think I should give her a chance, if I were you, instead of taking it for granted, quite straight off, that she can’t care for you any more.”

Jaye was suddenly seized with diffidence.

“Gawd! Fancy me talking to a real lady about my girl and me!” he said. “Seems cheek, doesn’t it?”

“Not a bit. We’ll have her down some afternoon,” said Helen. “Where does she live?”

“Isle o’ Man,” said Jaye uncompromisingly. “She had a situation in Hammersmith when we first met, and it was on a Bank Holiday it was, and we fair clutched each other, first time of meeting, in one of them hurly-go-rounds. Or was it a cock-shy at cocoanuts? I couldn’t say.”

And this was the quiet boy, reduced to apathy by pain and injury, now blossoming out again into his ordinary self. How many identities, how many characters, seemingly complete in themselves, she asked herself, went to make up one quite ordinary human being? And did she not supply, in herself, another case in point? So few months ago she had been the engrossed pilot in extravagant and rudderless voyagings: now, anchored in the same waters, she was equally engrossed in the not very promising love-affairs of a one-legged boy, with whom she had nothing in common except a bond of humanity, and the bond of the cause in which he had suffered. So long as all was well with Robin, she could not better spend priceless irrecoverable time than in participating in Jaye’s love-affairs.

“Isle o’ Man,” repeated Jaye again. “Her mother drank herself to death, and, like a good girl, she went back to see after her father. That was before I had my little accident.”

Helen rapidly reviewed those premisses. There was really a great deal to be said in defence of the girl if she decided to throw Jaye over. If she had been just attracted by this brilliant half-back in League matches, with his speed and his swiftness, and his certainty for some years to come of a good income, it would be requiring a heroism on her part to stick to a bargain which had lost its allurement. And yet you found heroisms where you would never look for them: her going back to the Isle of Man showed a capacity for devotion. Again, the real Jaye, something she had found in him, independent of his right leg, might have drawn her. Certainly, she must come down and see Jaye, but Helen wished that her family did not live quite so far away. Or would it be better for Jaye to go up there, when he had got his new leg and a facility in its use....

She was debating this when she saw her husband approaching them across the grass. He had not let her know that he was coming to-day, though she had been expecting to hear from him, by any post, that he could get down for a day and a night. The posts, too, were very irregular, he might easily have written, and the letter not yet arrived. But even as this went through her mind, and seemed all reasonable enough, she knew that she was holding at arm’s length a fear that threatened to spring upon her.

“We must talk about it again, Jaye,” she said, “for I must leave you now, as I see Lord Grote is coming to look for me. But I like her for having gone to the Isle of Man to see after her father.”

She left him with a smile and a nod, and struck on to the grass to meet her husband.

“I did not expect you,” she said, as they came within speaking distance, “but it is quite delightful to see you. Did you write or telegraph to say that you were coming? I have not received anything.”

“No, my dear,” said he. “I didn’t write or telegraph. I—I just came.”

She faced him quite quietly, knowing already that she knew. There was no tremor in her voice when she spoke.

“It’s about Robin, then,” she said. “Tell me: what about Robin?”

He took both her hands in his, and she spoke again:

“Robin has been killed,” she said.

“Yes, Helen,” said he.

They stood there looking at each other, with hands still clasped, and the steadfast love which had illuminated the sky above her came swiftly down the stairs of heaven and shone on them. And her lips smiled, and the light of that love was in her eyes as she kissed him.

“Robin gave himself,” she said. “We have to give him, too.”

“Can you do that, Helen?” he asked. “I can’t.”

“We must learn to,” said she.

He was silent a moment.

“There are no details yet,” he said. “Just the bare news was sent me. I thought I would tell you myself.”

“That was good of you,” she said. “I always dreaded a telegram, but I didn’t dread you.”

For that moment they came together more closely than their love of Robin had ever yet brought them.... More clearly than anything, more clearly even than the memory of her last day with him, she remembered now, how twenty years ago she stood with her husband here, and told him that she was with child. And through the estrangements, the unfaithfulness, and all the sequel of the marriage that had so soon been void of honour and of love, there shone, as through rent mists, the gold of a gathered harvest.

Together thus they walked back to the house. So short a time had elapsed since she left Jaye’s bath-chair, that it had still not arrived at the end of the terrace. The post had come in, and there was a pile of letters for her in the hall. The topmost of them was unstamped and addressed in pencil. “From Robin,” she said, and she took it up as she would have taken up some sacred thing....

She was alone again that evening, for her husband had to get back to town, sitting in the white room where she had seen the last of Robin, and the inevitable reaction from that first splendid spring of her spirit to accept what had happened, and not to grudge the gift he had made of himself, came upon her like some wind that withers.

Robin was dead, and she knew now that it was his unconscious inspiration entirely that had caused her to devote herself to the hospital which, together with the thought of him, had filled her life for the last months with the zest of unselfish and loving living. Apart from that, the only other cause of her taking it up was her inability to divert herself with her old amusements.

Now the light that had inspired her had gone, and her life here, which, when the light shone on it had seemed so real and solid, was nothing more than a shell of ash ready to crumble at a touch. Probably, for mere decency’s sake, she would continue at her work, especially since she had already proved her inability to amuse herself otherwise; but for the future it would be but a filling of the hours that passed more quickly if she was busy. She thought of the New Year’s party: she thought of Jaye: she thought of the incessant works and rewards that filled her day; but in this black flood of reaction that passed over her they signified no more than a flock of dispersed dreams.

Long ago she had foreseen that Robin’s death would leave her with nothing that was worth the trouble of living for, and her foresight was fulfilled. But it had underestimated the quality of the loneliness, the outer darkness of it. Perhaps she was vaguely, carelessly glad that she had been of some use to Jaye, that she had comforted her husband to-day with the high courage that had now utterly evaporated, leaving only the black sediment of despair; but she was glad only with such a remembrance as she might have had in having assisted a fly to escape from the web of a spider. It was easy to help it: it meant nothing. For her it was midnight with no star, nor any dawn to follow: a timeless, eternal midnight. In the course of years the moment would come that she would cease to be conscious of the midnight, and that was all she could look forward to.

The darkness descended and closed round her. Perhaps she was wrong about the nothingness from which she came, and the nothingness into which she would go. Perhaps some ingenious artificer had designed all this, and how must he laugh to see the hearts into which he had put the capability of suffering, ache and rebel at his contrivances. Some day he would get tired of his sport, and throw away the play-thing that had diverted the tedium of eternity; but for the time it must amuse him to give his puppets the power of loving, so that he might listen to their squealings when he took away what he had encouraged them to love. No decent mother would let her child get fond of a toy with the intention of taking it away, but the artificer of the world laughed at the mother’s misplaced compassion.

Suddenly Helen felt herself pulled up by a rein external to herself. She was imagining things that her reason, at the least, was incapable of believing. She had allowed herself to do that out of sheer bitterness of heart; but it led to a conclusion that was unthinkable in its horror. She shook herself free from what must be a dream, and woke again to the lesser midnight of the nothingness from which she had come, and the nothingness which before many years would softly close round her again.

It was here she had knelt, saying good-bye to Robin, wishing him “good luck with his honour,” and here that he had said that he and she had never loved each other so much as to-day. Then he had gone out of that door without looking back, telling her that he would not do so. Step by step, minute by minute, she went through again the hours he had spent here then.

Up till the last moment they had said to each other nothing that mattered; the day had been spent as if there had been a hundred other such days to follow. And yet through the idle talk and the laughter and the nonsense had come to him, even as to her, the clear knowledge that they had never loved each other so much. Then he had gone out of the door without looking back, and she, blind fool, had let him go. Why had she not gone up with him to London, and had a few more hours of him? She would gladly give all that remained to her now if he would only stand for one second by the door again, and look back at her, a little dim-eyed, and with mouth that quivered, so that she could see him once more with her mortal eyes, and hear him speak to her just one word. A minute of the world that once held Robin was surely worth more than anything in the world which held him no longer....

It was a surprise to herself when, without warning, the sobs gathered in her throat, and she gave herself up to an abandonment of desperate tears. Not since she had known that Robin was dead had she even wanted to cry. While Grote was with her, all she had desired was to give him of her courage, and when he had gone, the fatigue of that braced effort or the withdrawal from it of the love that had wanted it, had caused the reaction which denied all that she had held on to then, and all that had previously inspired her. But now she had none for whom she must be strong, and her heart was sick with its own bitterness.

She had tried everything: she had been eager for her own happiness, and had failed; she had been busy for others; she had been brave for others; she had been bitter, and she had loved. Now, watering her desolation, and her bitterness and her love alike, came her tears. Like a moving thunder-shower they passed over her own desolation, her own bitterness, her own bravery, but over the field where her love rose in springing crop, like the blades of winter wheat, they lingered and poured themselves out, salt no longer, but with an amazing sweetness. She had no self-pity left in her, no compassion for her own sorrow: these would have made a saltness in her weeping, but none was there. She wept at first for the sorrow of her bereaved love, the natural salt tears; but what was it that made the sweetness, if it was not the joy of finding that love was still alive?

All her life she had been a friend to love. She had made friends too easily, but among all those tremulous times was there ever an occasion when her love had been quite alone, awaking no response of some kind? There had always been two in order to enable love to exist. They might differ in their kinds, there might be passive love, content to receive, active love content to give, low love content to get, high love content— ... content to be. But wherever love existed at all, there were two concerned in it. One might even reject, disdain, make mock, but he must be there. He might refuse to put his signature which made the contract valid, but the space for his signing must be there: the contract, though it should never come into effect, must have a space for two names. Otherwise, it could never have been drawn up.

Her thoughts swarmed to these conclusions, and before she knew that she had spoken, she heard her voice say “Robin.”

It was not to the memory of him that she had spoken when she said that. She had thought over the blessed days, and, in especial, the last thrice-blessed day of all, and she had said good-bye to them, for they were over. Gaze as she might at that door, never would Robin be outlined against it, as he left her without turning his head; on the arm of the chair where he had sat, never again could she feel his warm, smooth fingers grasping hers, as she wished him the good luck of his honour. But she had not spoken to the memories of what was irrecoverable: she had spoken to someone who remembered, even as she remembered, who loved even as she loved. She had not spoken to the past: she had spoken to the present, giving him the contract for him to sign yet once more. And if, with mortal eye, she had seen him by the door, turning back, though he had said he would not, to smile at her again, she would not have thought it strange. Nor would she have thought it to be a wraith, a phantom projected from her own longing to see him. It would have been just Robin; very likely he would have a smile and a ridiculous joke about Miss Diphtheria for her. Why not? Must he lose his human characteristics because a chance shell discharged not with regard to him had stiffened and stifled him? What had that shell to do with Robin? How could it conceivably lessen the might of love, or put love among the things that had been and were no longer?

Something dearly-loved, his laughing eyes, his mouth, his knee which she had kissed and covered up, the body of him that was born of her body, his blood and his bone, blood of her blood, and bone of her bone, were somewhere buried in France, shattered and torn to fragments, or perhaps pierced by some little pencil-mark of a wound that had left him fallen backwards where a moment before he had stood eager and alert. She hoped it had been like that, for she loved his beauty, and shrank from thinking of its violent disfigurement. Some day, perhaps, she would know how the supreme moment came to him; but it was no vital part of him that was concerned in that. That was secondary compared with something else that grew out of the darkness and glowed before her.

All this last month, after he had gone to France, she had felt his presence with her, and had told herself that it was their love, the reallest thing she knew, which had given her that certainty. That certainty was with her still, and it arose from no memory of their love, but from the love itself, which existed now. There were two to that contract still, Robin and herself.

* * * * * *

There began to be a stir of movement in the quiet house, and she started up, wondering if some emergency had arisen for which her help might be needed.... Then she saw that there was light coming through her curtains, and, looking out, knew that the late winter dawn was beginning to break....

She had to be up early that morning, for she had some arrears of work to do, left over from yesterday, and it did not seem worth while to go to bed for an hour. Presently there came a tap at the door from her bedroom, and Simpson looked in, her old face puckered and puzzled to find her sitting there.

“Eh, Miss Helen,” she said, “and you’ve not been to bed all night! You’ve been sitting up and grieving——”

And then Simpson could not go on.

Helen got up and kissed her.

“Yes, darling old Sim,” she said, “I’ve been grieving. And then I think—I think I’ve been rejoicing. I’ve found Robin again, Sim.”

Presently Simpson spoke again.

“And you’ll go to bed now, dear, won’t you?” she said. “You’ll take a rest to-day.”

“No, indeed, I won’t. But I’ll take my cup of tea if you will bring it in here. And then will you make me a hot bath? Really hot, Sim, so that I scream when I move.”

Simpson patted and stroked her hand a moment longer, smiling through her tears. “You were always one for a bath fit to boil you, Miss Helen,” she said.

It had rained in the night, and the lawn shone with the moisture as the sun rose. In the sky was “the bright shining after rain.”

THE END

Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.

Messrs. Hutchinson & Co.

are pleased to give the following particulars of many important New Books for the Autumn of 1919, and also a splendid list of New Novels, which, as will be seen by the undermentioned names, are almost all by the Leading Authors.

Hutchinson’s New Novels, 6/9 Net.

A Man and his Lesson

By W. B. MAXWELL

Author of “The Devil’s Garden,” etc.

“All Life is a Lesson” is the sub-title of this story, and the hero, Bryan Vaile, is forced to learn a good deal in a comparatively short time. He passes through various phases of social experiences and of love, and the interest of the novel centres in Vaile’s love for two women.

The book is full of up-to-date scenes and various backgrounds, but the steady purpose of the writer—a progress towards higher things—runs through the whole.

The Rubber Princess

By G. B. BURGIN

Author of “A Gentle Despot,” etc.

A new novel in Mr. Burgin’s most delightful style, happy, optimistic, and ending charmingly. The scene is laid in the beautiful English countryside where Sir Hilary has his mansion. Beryl Dennison and her selfish father, Sir Hilary, and his beloved wife, and Jimmy Carmichael, not forgetting “Blinder” and her lovers, are people we are better and happier for meeting.

Green Pastures

By UNA L. SILBERRAD

Author of “The Mystery of Barnard Hanson,” “The Lyndwood Affair.”

A novel which breathes an atmosphere of chivalry and courtesy and daintiness. The tale belongs to the period of the Beaux and Dandies, and all the fragrance and charm of a characteristically English setting cling about the figures of Mr. Scarlet and Damaris, and Tobiah and Mistress Breadlebane.

A novel which is bound to bring the author many new admirers.

The Sleeping Partner

By M. P. WILLCOCKS

Author of “The Eyes of the Blind,” “Change,” etc.

Both in scene and atmosphere, an entirely new departure of Miss Willcocks’. A story with a most original plot, told in such a delightful manner that the readers’ interest is held and kept in suspense until the very end—a psychological surprise.

Sonia Married

By STEPHEN McKENNA

Author of “Sonia,” “Midas & Son,” etc.

Charming as ever, Sonia tackles the difficult questions of matrimony with all her usual courage and originality. Whether she is skimming merrily on the surface of Life, or diving into its tragic depths, she is equally irresistible, and gives Mr. McKenna full opportunity for a merciless analysis of the heart of modern woman.

The best novel Mr. McKenna has written.

Robin Linnet

By E. F. BENSON

Author of “Up and Down,” “Dodo,” etc.

A story with all the charm of style, witty dialogue and able characterisation which have always marked this author. Young Robin Linnet’s life at Cambridge, with his friends and his “dons” with which the story opens, is an excellent piece of descriptive work. A story of which the interest steadily increases and which combines all the elements of a first-class novel.

As God Made Her

By HELEN PROTHERO LEWIS

Author of “Love and the Whirlwind,” etc.

Rachel Higgins receives a legacy. Her method of spending it is most novel and interesting. The story goes with a dramatic swing and every scene interests and amuses. A good story in the best sense of the word.

Bait

By DOROTA FLATAU

Author of “Yellow English” (11th edition).

An uncommon story by the author of last year’s great success. Dimpsey Dorcas Durden is a more than up-to-date heroine, and her life among the smart set is the theme of a thoroughly smart novel replete with witty epigrams and catchy sayings. A distinctive book.

The Peculiar Major

By KEBLE HOWARD

Author of “The Smiths of Surbiton,” etc.

Asked how he came to write a novel so far away from his usual line as “The Peculiar Major,” Mr. Keble Howard replied:

“I didn’t write it. The Major wrote it, and he didn’t so much write it as set down in the form of a story the amazing things that happened to him. How could he help it? The Great War, a world in agony, a crowned villain, an astounding discovery, London, love, laughter—why anybody could knock up a yarn with such ingredients as those!

“As for my share, I just put in a comma or two, and got my friend, Mr. H. G. Wells, to give the enterprise his blessing.”

The Man’s Story

By H. B. SOMERVILLE

Author of “Ashes of Vengeance,” “The Mark of Vraye,” etc.

A fascinating story by this well-known author with an interest which grows as the pages are turned. “The Man” and his wife, Le Sars and the actress, the characters who act and react on one another are drawn with a fidelity and a knowledge which make the story vivid. A novel that will appeal to all, especially to feminine readers.

Happy House

By BARONESS VON HUTTEN

Author of “Sharrow” (48th Thousand), etc.

“Happy House” in Hampstead is a delightful sunny place in a garden, and the scene of a story full of dramatic incident.

Old Mrs. Mellish, the chief character of the book, is a vivid creation, the utter unexpectedness of her final action is the distinctive feature of this new novel by a well-known writer.

The Beach of Dreams

By H. de VERE STACPOOLE

Author of “The Blue Lagoon,” “The Pearl Fishers,” etc.

Mr. Stacpoole has no rivals in his own particular field, and “The Beach of Dreams” will certainly increase his popularity. It rivals in interest his famous stories, “The Blue Lagoon,” and “The Pearl Fishers,” and may be said to show even greater power and psychological insight. His descriptive writing is as vivid as ever; we hear the roar of the “Wooley” and of the breakers on the cliffs of Kerguelen, we see ClÉo de Bronsart and Raft huddled together on a ledge, with the hungry waves below and the mighty cliffs above, and we thrill to Raft’s fight with Chang and ClÉo’s intervention, which turns the day. A most exciting story with a great surprise at the end.

Konigsmark

By PIERRE BENOIT

The publishers believe that they can congratulate both the public and themselves on the appearance of this most remarkable novel, which has already taken France by storm. At heart the reading public still demand a good plot, and the plot of Konigsmark will be readily recognized as the work of genius. But the novel is far more than a most enthralling story. It introduces characters which, for truth and personality, stand out in a different class from the usual puppets of fiction, and, above all, the book is distinguished by that human touch, that all-pervading sense of humour and charm of style which cannot fail to make a deep and lasting impression.

Julian

By ISABEL C. CLARKE

Author of “The Children of Eve,” “The Elstones,” etc.

A new novel by the author of “The Elstones” and one written with all the power and insight displayed in that story. The heroine, Eunice Dampier, has a strange and eventful career; the development of her character under the care of the Parmeters is sketched with an able pen. Eunice is a real person with human faults and failings, as well as human charm and attraction.

The Further Side of the Door

By the author of “The Pointing Man”

The peculiar charm and ability to create an atmosphere of mystery which mark the author of “The Pointing Man” are very evident in this new novel. It is a well woven tale of uncommon distinction and quality. Richard Ansell’s story is one that may be the fate of many a man in these days. A story full of appeal and with a delightful current of romance.

Odds and Ends

By B. M. CROKER

Author of “Blue China,” etc.

Mrs. Croker’s signature is a hall-mark of excellence of workmanship, and that excellence is maintained in this delightful collection of her stories, some grave, some gay, and all showing the master hand.

The reader will be delighted with the variety of subject and mood and the finish of style. While the majority of the scenes are laid in her beloved Ireland, India furnishes the background for some of the most amusing as well as tragic incidents. A book that every admirer of Mrs. Croker will welcome with enthusiasm.

The Chinese Puzzle

By MARIAN BOWER and LEON M. LION

The Novel of the famous Play

This remarkable story will make as strong an appeal in novel form as it has done as a play.

There is tension throughout and clever characterization. All the persons in the tale are as vivid as on the stage, and the style is distinguished.

The Level Track

By CURTIS YORKE

Author of “Disentangled,” “Joyce,” “She Who Meant Well,” etc.

The Romance of Prudence Royton, who, from a humdrum, Cinderella-like existence, is suddenly thrown into the conflicting currents of wealth and matrimony. The story is characteristic of Curtis Yorke in its direct, vivid and arresting style, and will be one more favourite added to the long list of this popular writer’s popular books.

FIRST EDITION OF 60,000 COPIES

The Lamp in the Desert

By ETHEL M. DELL

Author of “The Hundredth Chance,” “The Bars of Iron,” etc.

A new novel by this most popular author is always an event. The scene of this powerful story is laid in the Indian hill country, and the story is replete with incident and remarkable characterisation. Stella Denzil and her lover will take their places in the gallery of favourites which Miss Dell has given her admirers.

My Trifling Adventures

By MRS. ALFRED SIDGWICK

Author of “The Inner Shrine,” “Anne Lulworth,” etc.

The innumerable admirers of this favourite novelist will welcome with delight the latest novel from her pen. Mrs. Sidgwick has a descriptive charm and a power of visualisation which never fail. She has brought all her powers to bear on this story of a young girl in strange and not altogether pleasant surroundings; it is written with humour and a deep understanding of human nature which will appeal to all who like to read about Life as it really is.

Jimmy Higgins

By UPTON SINCLAIR

Author of “The Jungle,” etc.

This is the story of Jimmy Higgins, socialist, worker and sometime soldier in the American Expeditionary Forces. It is a character study written with all Upton Sinclair’s power and virility. The pictures he paints are drawn with a sweeping brush and in crude colours that make the lights and shadows distinct and impressive. “Jimmy Higgins” is a story that is sure to arouse great interest among the reading public all over the world. It is strong with the strength of the untamed spirit.

Platonic Peter

By MRS. HORACE TREMLETT

Author of “Giddy Mrs. Goodyer,” “Birds of a Feather,” etc.

Judy Bettington was the Mayoress of Midboro’, a dazzling beauty in a Paris hat. How she adopted Peter Barham as a friend, whether he was really so platonic as he should have been, and what Thomas the Mayor had to say about it, is all told in the particularly entertaining, light-hearted style which Mrs. Tremlett has made quite her own. A most exhilarating story, with a smile on every page.

The Scent Shop

By PEGGY WEBLING

Author of “In Our Street,” etc.

In her ninth and latest novel Miss Webling tells a quaint story of London life. She uses her knowledge of the little-known forms of fine labour, in this case the old and exquisite art of scent-making, to form a picturesque background for a delightful romance. The characters are all entertaining, and are described in the author’s most attractive manner.

Peter Jackson, Cigar Merchant

By GILBERT FRANKAU

Author of “One of Them,” etc.

A romance of married life, a romance which resembles the life of many a couple. Strong and frank, a remarkable novel, is the opinion of a balanced reader. It is a story which will especially appeal to all who have passed the first bloom of married life and see how Peter and his wife found themselves and each other. A novel that will have a lasting success.

Stone Walls

By CECILIA HILL

Author of “The Citadel,” “Wings Triumphant.”

A novel that should enlarge this author’s circle of readers. Both style and treatment bear out the promises made in the former books. The heroine Petra is drawn with the same “sure touch of affection and experience” (to quote the Times critic on the author’s last novel), which characterizes the work of this clever writer.

Nearly a Million of this Favourite Author’s Novels have been already sold.

The City of Palms

By KATHLYN RHODES

Author of “The Lure of the Desert,” “The Desert Dreamers,” etc.

The action of the story passes in an oasis in the desert of Northern Africa, known to the Arabs as “The City of Palms.” The chief characters are a young Englishman, who has settled down in the oasis, his young wife, and a man of hybrid nationality, half Pole, half Turk, whose ill-will the English girl is unfortunate enough to incur. The threads of these three lives become entangled, and the story is concerned chiefly with the intrigue set in motion by the Turk, in which the Englishman runs the risk of losing both wife and land.

A Villa in the South

By DUNCAN SWAN

Author of “Molyneux of Mayfair,” “A Country House Comedy,” etc.

A delightfully entertaining book full of movement and telling the story of charming and likeable people. A novel written in Mr. Swan’s most attractive style, with the Villa Beauregarde as a fascinating background for an amusing society comedy.

Mr. Swan’s talent is well-known to all lovers of good literature; this novel is written with a lightness of touch and charm of style which are certain to enhance his reputation.

The Little Soul

By ELINOR MORDAUNT

Author of “The Garden of Contentment,” “A Ship of Solace,” etc.

Another novel that will delight all admirers of Miss Mordaunt’s great gifts. Charles Hoyland is a remarkable character, drawn with great power and force. Philip McCabe and Diana Clayton, the foils to this driving power, are most charming and attractive people, whose careers will be followed with intense interest. The story ends on the note of hope, never absent from any picture of real life.

The Historical Nights’
Entertainment Series I.

By RAFAEL SABATINI

Author of “The Snare,” “The Banner of the Bull,” etc.

In speaking of this series, Mr. Sabatini says, “I have set myself the task of reconstructing in the fullest possible detail and with all the colour available from surviving records a group of more or less famous events. I have selected for my purpose those which were in themselves bizarre and resulting from the interplay of human passions, and whilst relating each of these events in the form of a story, I compel that story scrupulously to follow the recorded facts and draw on my imagination merely, as one might, to fill in the outlines which history leaves grey.”

The Historical Nights’
Entertainment Series II.

By RAFAEL SABATINI

Author of “The Snare,” “The Banner of the Bull,” etc.

“I have tried to reconstruct, in the fullest possible details, the most bizarre and famous events which have resulted from the interplay of human passions in history. How nearly I have approached success in this task—how far I have fallen short—my readers will discern.” R. S.

All Roads Lead to Calvary

By JEROME K. JEROME

Author of “Paul Kelver,” “Two Men in a Boat,” etc.

“Her face has always been a woman’s fortune. If she’s going to become a fighter, it will have to be her weapon,” Joan Allway finds this a truth though at times a bitter one, for she determines to fight for the right as she sees it, against the forces which strive to make life easy. Joan meets life with a high courage which nothing is able to damp, but the solution of her problems must be found in the pages of Mr. Jerome’s fascinating novel.

IMPORTANT FORTHCOMING BOOKS

The Dover Patrol—1915, 1916 & 1917

By Admiral SIR REGINALD BACON,
K.C.B., K.C.V.O., D.S.O

With over one hundred illustrations, maps and plans.

2 handsome volumes, 34s. net.

The history of the Dover Patrol is one of the outstanding romances of the war, and Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon’s forthcoming book sheds new light on the varied operations of the naval forces which he commanded for nearly three years.

The occupation and fortification of the Belgian coast by the enemy, changed dramatically the strategical situation, throwing upon the Dover Patrol heavier responsibilities than Nelson, or any admiral who commanded these narrow waters in previous wars, had had to bear. The enemy was in a position to threaten the left flank of the Allied armies besides menacing the enormous volume of sea traffic passing through the straits. The Dover Patrol consequently had to deny the use of these waters to the Germans, established on the Belgian Coast, while at the same time, rendering them safe for British shipping, and above all that, it had to protect the left flank of the Allied armies and safeguard the stream of storeships and transports passing across the Channel within seventy miles of the fortified bases of the enemy.

Sir Reginald Bacon in this important book, which is very fully illustrated with charts and photographs, gives a detailed account of the work of the Dover Patrol, with its ships manned, not only by the Navy, but drawing their personnel from all classes and composed of monitors, destroyers, submarines, drifters, trawlers, mine sweepers, motor boats and motor launches. He describes the ceaseless watch and ward, maintained for so long off the Belgian coast which was patrolled daily within sight of Ostend and Zeebrugge; a feat unparalleled in the war for hardihood and daring in view of the danger from mines and submarines. The methods whereby this work was accomplished and the precautions taken against loss form an interesting portion of the narrative. Admiral Bacon also gives some account of the landing of heavy guns at Dunkirk—great engineering achievements—and of the many bombardments carried out on the enemy’s positions from the sea.

The book will be regarded as the crowning vindication of the naval aptitudes of the British people, for the Dover Patrol was in the main an improvised force created to meet a great national peril.

If the Germans had dominated the Straits of Dover in the early months of the war, who could then have prophesied that the Allies would have triumphed?

IMPORTANT FORTHCOMING BOOKS

Westminster Cathedral
and Its Architect

By W. DE L’HOPITAL

With numerous Illustrations from Mr. Bentley’s drawings including coloured plates, plans and reproductions from photographs.

In 2 large handsome volumes, Crown 4-to, cloth gilt and gilt top, £3 3s. 0d. net.

The history of Westminster Cathedral, and of its architect, the late John Francis Bentley, will undoubtedly form one of the principal publishing features of the autumn season. Westminster Cathedral is acknowledged to be among the most important buildings of modern times, and as the Chief Cathedral of the Roman Catholic Church in the British Empire it has a further importance of the first mark. Bentley’s own life, and the story of how the great Byzantine cathedral grew into being from Cardinal Manning’s first proposals, and how it fell to his successor, Cardinal Vaughan, to initiate and carry out the work, has been told by the architect’s daughter, Mrs. de l’Hopital, who has made full use of her father’s papers. An important feature of the book is the illustrations, which comprise some full page plates in colour from Mr. Bentley’s watercolour drawings, and numerous illustrations in line and from photographs, besides many plans.

The Madman

By KAHLIL GIBRAN

“The William Blake of the Twentieth Century.”—Rodin.

With three illustrations, 5s. net.

“The Madman” introduces to England the work of the greatest poet of Arabia. The man of whom the great Rodin said “The world should expect much from this poet painter of Lebanon. He is the William Blake of the Twentieth Century.”

Kahlil Gibran is as much the poet of the Near East as Tagore is of the East. In the opinion of many critics he is a far greater poet than Tagore. Among the millions who read Arabic, Gibran—poet, painter, dramatist and critic—is considered the outstanding genius of the epoch.

41st Year of Issue.

The Year’s Art, 1920

Compiled by A. C. R. CARTER

A concise epitome of all matters relating to the Arts of Painting, Sculpture, Engraving, and Architecture, and to Schools of Design, which have occurred during the year 1919, together with information respecting the events of 1920.

Over 600 pages with illustrations

Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d. net.

IMPORTANT FORTHCOMING BOOKS

The Peace Conference

By Dr. E. J. DILLON

Author of “The Eclipse of Russia” etc.

In one large handsome volume, 21s. net.

Dr. Dillon has been for so many years in the closest touch with the inmost circles of European politics that his opportunities for collecting material for the work which bears this comprehensive title have been unrivalled. His two large volumes cover all the essential points of the vast conference and form a work which should be a permanent history of the events of these world shaking months. Dr. Dillon gives personal impressions of the leading delegates with special reference to their individual fitness to conduct their parts in the negotiation for a world peace settlement. He gives a vast amount of hitherto unpublished information on the growth and development of the causes of dissension among the Associated Powers and the methods taken to arrange a settlement of these. He deals with the sincerity of the various national delegations in discussing the terms of a peace on an ideal basis as distinct from a peace on the old bases where national claims were paramount. He has much of supreme interest to say about the Italian situation, and the claims of America as regards the Monroe doctrine and as regards her German-American population. He discusses the probability of the permanence of the League of Nations, and touches with deft certainty on the indications and possibilities of the Japanese and Chinese questions. A most valuable and interesting part of the book is the discussion of the “Fourteen” points as a basis for Peace, and their effect on the imperfectly developed and the undeveloped races and an examination of them from the politico-religious point of view. Other interesting chapters deal with the sources of information of which Dr. Dillon was able to make use, and the reception accorded this special information by the high parties in Paris. Dr. Dillon also has much of surpassing interest to tell of the inner history of the Peace Conference and the influences which affected the speed and trend of the settlement.

It does not seem too much to claim that this work is unique in its source and in the variety of reliable information which is gathered into its covers. It should be studied by every thinking reader who wishes to know what really happened at Paris during those fateful months when the peace of the world was being settled, we hope for all time.

Memories of an Old Etonian—1860-1912

By GEORGE GREVILLE

Author of “Society Recollections in Paris and Vienna,” and “More Society Recollections.”

In demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. net

With numerous Illustrations

In this fascinating volume the author has chiefly related his recollections of Eton fifty years ago—the Eton of Dr. Hornby, and has added yet another volume to the chronicles of the great school.

It is not easy to describe the varied contents of this book; it suffices, however, to say that it contains much besides these early reminiscences. Mr. Greville supplies the reader from his apparently inexhaustible memories with abundant anecdotes and society sketches during the latter half of Queen Victoria’s reign.

My Chinese Days

By GULIELMA F. ALSOP

With 8 Illustrations on art paper in one handsome volume, 10s. 6d. net.

With its background of Oriental colours, customs and mystery this is a fascinating volume of vignettes of Chinese life by a woman physician. The author obtained the material for her sketches either from her own observations during her four years’ work as a practising physician or she heard of them direct. She gives intimate pictures of the domestic life of the Chinese of all classes, and tells of her many romantic, tragic and humorous experiences.

Fields of Victory

By MRS. HUMPHRY WARD

In crown 8vo, with illustrations, coloured map and large folding statistical chart, 7s. 6d. net.

This is a book of paramount importance and of topical interest. It is a survey of the British Armies in the field and of Britain’s part in the future Peace of the World. The author has visited the scenes of the great conflict, and gives us from the Fields of Victory and from personal contact with the leading persons in the great drama, and prominent British and Allied representatives, who have put all available material and information at her disposal, an abiding and inspiring picture of Great Britain’s achievements in the past and of her aims and ideals for the future.

Gardens of Celebrities
and Celebrated Gardens

25s. net. By JESSIE MACGREGOR

In one large handsome volume, with 20 beautiful coloured plates and exquisite pencil drawings by the Author

A book that is likely to become a classic. The beautiful Water Colour paintings and delicate pencil drawings of some of the most famous Gardens in and around London, add greatly to the interest of the letter-press. Special permission was granted by Queen Alexandra to Miss Macgregor to make sketches in the precincts of Marlborough House. Miss Macgregor, who was a favourite pupil of Sir Frederick Leighton, has been a regular Exhibitor at the Royal Academy. The text gives a most exhaustive survey of London Gardens and their History, from the days of the Norman Conquest. Both by those who know and love their London and by many Americans and overseas Britons this unique book, with its fascinating accounts of Hogarth House, Walpole House, the Chelsea Physicke Garden, and many other historical backgrounds will be read with unfailing delight.

The book is a veritable treasure house of Garden Lore.

Sappho: A Rendering and an Authority

By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE

Half cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net.

In this delightful volume Mr. Stacpoole has used all the charm of language which marks him as a descriptive writer of such high order. The music of his diction rings in every line of this translation, which is vibrant with the spirit of the original.

The Ruined Cities of Northern Africa

By RAGNAR STURZENBECKER

With about 60 illustrations from photographs printed on art paper.

Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. net.

Dr. Sturzenbecker’s name is well known throughout Europe as one of the leading authorities on the ancient civilizations of North Africa, which he describes. The excavations have, on the whole, yielded greater treasures than Pompeii and Herculaneum, for they have concerned towns of great size and importance which for centuries have lain hidden under their sandy covering.

Two New Volumes of
HUTCHINSON’S NATURE LIBRARY.

A new series of books on Natural History and other kindred subjects, written by experts in popular language, but with strict accuracy in every detail.

Each volume in large crown 8vo, handsome cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. net, fully illustrated

Bird Behaviour

By FRANK FINN, F.Z.S.

Author of “Birds of the Countryside,” etc.

With 44 illustrations, on art paper.

Mr. Frank Finn is well known as one of our chief authorities on all that concerns bird-life. Those who are familiar with his books are aware that he has made it a practice only to write from personal observation. “Bird Behaviour,” the subject of his new book, has never before received serious attention, but it is one in which Mr. Finn is thoroughly at home. Some of the points treated in the volume relate to the locomotion of birds, their nutrition and the reasons for their choice of particular foods—the care of the young, nests, migration, senses of smell and sight.

Insect Artisans and their Work

By EDWARD STEP, F.L.S.

Author of “Messmates,” “Toadstools and Mushrooms of the Countryside,” etc.

With 54 illustrations, on art paper.

From quite early days in the study of Entomology it has been generally known that certain Insects in the perfection of their industry might almost be accepted as the prototypes of the human artificer. Thus, the wasp was taken as the first paper-maker, a certain wild bee as a mason, and another bee as a carpenter.

OTHER VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED

Messmates: A Book of Strange Companionships

By EDWARD STEP, F.L.S.

Author of “The Romance of Wild Flowers,” “Shell Life,” etc.

With 55 Illustrations from photographs, on art paper

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The Infancy of Animals 2nd Edition

With 64 plates on art paper and numerous illustrations in the text

The Courtship of Animals

By W. P. PYCRAFT, A.L.S., F.Z.S.

Zoological Department, British Museum.

Author of “A History of Birds,” “Story of Reptile Life,” etc.

With numerous illustrations on art paper RECENT SUCCESSFUL BOOKS

In the Morning of Time

By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

Author of “Red Fox,” etc.

With nine illustrations. In crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d. net.

The stories of this author dealing with the adventures of animals, of which “The Red Fox” is, perhaps, the best known, have for a long time enjoyed great popularity. In the present work, Mr. Roberts gives us a story of a man in primÆval times, and he introduces descriptions of the strange scenery and monstrous fauna of the time.

Indo-China and its
Primitive People

By CAPTAIN HENRY BAUDESSON

With 60 illustrations from photographs by the Author.

In demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. net.

In the course of his travels Captain Baudesson carefully observed the curious customs of the MoÏ and Chams, the uncultured people of Indo-China, among whom he dwelt for many years. The story of his travels is presented in vivid language and is full of local and picturesque colour. Tigers and elephants were frequently encountered during the journey of the mission, and many members of the expedition were wounded by the poisoned arrows of the natives, while jungle fever and malaria made havoc among them.

Old Days in
Bohemian London

Recollections of Clement Scott

By MRS. CLEMENT SCOTT

In demy 8vo. cloth gilt, with 16 illustrations, 10s. 6d. net.

These recollections are something more than memoirs of one who probably knew his Bohemian London better than any living contemporary. Mr. Clement Scott was for many years Dramatic Critic to “The Daily Telegraph,” and in this remarkable book one finds references to and anecdotes, hitherto unpublished, of most of the notabilities both Protean and those who have trodden the bigger stage of Life during the past twenty-five years.

Secrets of the Bosphorus 2nd Edition

Revealed by Ambassador MORGENTHAU

CONSTANTINOPLE 1913-1916

With 19 Illustrations on art paper.

Published at the popular price of 8s. 6d. net.

It is impossible to overrate the importance of this book. It contains amazing revelations concerning many obscure phases of the world-war. A book that holds its place and continues to be in great demand.

The Game of Diplomacy 2nd Edition

By a EUROPEAN DIPLOMAT

With unique portraits of Illustrious Personages

In demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 10s. 6d. net.

Baron de Schelking, the author, was First Secretary at the Russian Embassy in Berlin for a number of years. His memoirs will rank as a historical document of the first importance.

Indian Studies 2nd Edition

By GENERAL SIR O’MOORE CREAGH,
V.C., G.C.B., G.C.S.I.
Former Commander-in-Chief in India

In demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. net.

A brilliant and exhaustive survey of India.

The fruit of forty years’ experience in India by a former Commander-in-Chief.

One of Them: A Novel in Verse

By GILBERT FRANKAU

In Cr. 8vo, with coloured Wrapper, 6s. 9d. net.

God and Tommy Atkins 4th Edition

By Dr. ALEXANDER IRVINE

Author of “My Lady of the Chimney Corner,” etc.

3s. 6d. net.

Recent Successful Novels.

Each in cr. 8vo., cloth, 6s. 9d. net.

3/6 Net Series

OF

FAMOUS NOVELS

Each in crown 8vo, printed on good paper, cloth bound with most attractive picture wrapper in colours.

NEW EDITIONS OF

Ethel M. Dell’s Great Novels

The Hundredth Chance

Now published for the first time in cheap form

The Bars of Iron

(222nd Thousand)

The Story of an African Farm

By OLIVE SCHREINER

A Classic which has delighted Hundreds of Thousands of readers and will prove as acceptable to millions more. Olive Schreiner’s masterpiece is ever new, ever interesting. It is the acknowledged classic of South Africa. One of the greatest novels ever written.

Queen of the Rushes

By ALLEN RAINE

Over Two Million copies of this famous author’s books have already been sold. “Allen Raine” is the hall mark of all that is pure and wholesome in literature. This novel deals with her beloved Wales, of which she is at once the prophet and novelist.

The Relentless Desert

By KATHLYN RHODES

A novel of thrilling interest and intrigue by one of the most popular of modern novelists whose books are always in great demand. A worthy edition of a book which will have a widely extended field in its new form.

Hutchinson’s 2/-Net Novels

NEW VOLUMES AND NEW EDITIONS FOR AUTUMN 1919

Each volume bound, and with a most attractive pictorial wrapper

Hutchinson’s 2/-Novels

Already Published.