Nothing more than was absolutely necessary appeared in the newspapers about Springfield's death. In a letter which he wrote before taking his life he explained his action in a few characteristic words.

'Life's not worth living, that's why I'm going to die. I do not wish any question asked of any one why I intend to solve the "great secret," very suddenly. I'm tired of the whole show. That's enough explanation for any one. I am quite sane, and I hope no fool set of jurymen will bring in a verdict about my taking my life while in an unsound mind. I am reaping as I've sown, and I dare say if I had been a pattern young man things might have ended differently. But there it is. The game, as far as I am concerned, is not worth the candle. Besides, the game's played out. I am grateful to those of my friends who have been kind to me. The personal letters I am writing must be regarded as private and confidential. By that I mean they must not be read to satisfy the vulgar curiosity of the gaping crowd, and no questions must be asked of their recipients. Their contents are meant only for those to whom they are addressed.'

According to the newspaper reports, no awkward questions were asked of Sir Thomas Bolivick, or any members of the party with whom he had dined the night before he died, and the twelve jurymen who brought in a verdict of suicide said nothing about an 'unsound mind.'

Mention was made, however, of a sealed letter, placed by the side of the one I have copied. This letter bore no address, and nothing was written on the envelope but the words: 'This package must not be opened within a week of my burial.'

Comparing this instruction with the 'open letter,' I judged that the package contained more than one letter, but no further information was given.

At the beginning of August two letters arrived by the same post. One was from Lorna Bolivick, and the other was from my friend. The latter was simply a command to get a few days off, and to come and see him. He wanted a chat badly, he said, and if I could not get away, he would come to me, but surely I was not so important that I couldn't be spared for a week-end, if not more. He also insisted that I must send him a wire at once.

On opening Lorna's letter, I found practically the same request. The doctor had forbidden her resuming her nursing work for some months, she said, and had suggested that she should go to the seaside. But this she had refused to do, as she hated leaving her home. Besides, her brother Tom might come home on leave almost any day, and she wanted to be there to meet him.

'But you said you promised dad to pay us another visit as soon as you could,' her letter concluded, 'and I am writing to remind you of your promise. You told me you had some leave still due to you after your last visit, so why not come at once? The sooner the better.'

She gave no special reason for asking me to come, but I read into her appeal a desire to tell me something, and perhaps to ask my advice. I therefore had a chat with my C.O., with the result that I started to see my friend the same day.

On arriving at the station I found him on the platform awaiting me.

'Now this is sensible,' he cried with a laugh. 'This is something like dispatch. Come on, I have a motor outside. I suppose you will trust me to drive you.'

'You look fit, anyhow,' I said.

'Fit as a fiddle,' he replied. 'I go back to the front in four days.'

He looked years younger than when I had first seen him. The old wistful look in his eyes had almost entirely gone, while the parchment-like skin had become almost as smooth and ruddy as that of a boy.

'Oh, it has been glorious,' he said. 'I've taken the little mother to all sorts of places, and dad declares she looks twenty years younger. More than once we've been taken for lovers.'

'And your memory, Jack?'

'Sound as a bell. Wonderful, isn't it? Sometimes I'm almost glad I went through it all. After—after—years of darkness and loneliness, to emerge suddenly into the light! To have a mother, and a father, and—a home!'

'And you and your father get on well together?'

'Yes, in a way. But I have a lot to tell you about that. Here we are!'

I shall not attempt to describe Jack Carbis's home, nor the welcome I received. Had I been their son, Lord and Lady Carbis could not have received me with greater joy.

It was not until late that Jack and I were able to be alone, but at length when the others had gone to bed we found ourselves in a kind of snuggery which had been especially set apart for his own personal use.

'It's great, having you here,' he cried, as he threw himself into an arm-chair; 'great to feel alive, and to remember things. Have you heard from Bolivick?'

'Yes, Sir Thomas sent me a line, also a newspaper containing a report of the inquest. Have you?'

He shook his head. 'We wrote immediately after we left, and Lady
Bolivick has written to mother, but—nothing more.'

'Of course you got particulars about Springfield. It seems he left a sealed packet. Did it contain a letter for you?'

'No, nothing. I often wonder who he wrote to. Do you know anything?'

'Nothing. But I propose going to Bolivick to-morrow; perhaps they'll tell me.'

'To-morrow! I say, old man, have you heard from her?'

I nodded. 'No, her letter contained nothing that would interest you,' I continued as I noted the look of inquiry in his eyes. 'Why don't you go with me? It would seem quite natural, seeing you are off to the front so soon.'

He hesitated a second, and then shook his head. 'No, Luscombe,' he said, 'she'll send for me if she wants me.'

'That's not the way to win a girl. How can she send for you?'

'I seem to have lost confidence since my memory came back,' he replied. 'When I told her I loved her, although I didn't seem to have the ghost of a chance, I felt confident, serene. Now I'm sure of nothing.'

'Nothing?' I queried. 'Do you mean to say that—that your faith in God and that kind of thing is gone?'

'No, no,' he replied quickly. 'That remains. It's the foundation of everything, everything. But God doesn't do things in the way we expect, and when we expect. After all, our life here is only a fragment, and God has plenty of time. He's never in a hurry. It's all right, old man. She'll be mine some time. If not in this world, in another.'

'If I loved a girl, I'd move heaven and earth to get her in this life.'

'Yes, don't fear that I'm not going to do my bit; but I've had a little time for thinking, and I've had to adjust myself to—to my new conditions.'

'With what results? How do things strike you now?'

'What things? The war?'

'Yes, that among others. Have you the same views you had? After our peregrinations through London, you were not optimistic, I remember. You seemed to regard England as in a bad way. You said we were not fit for victory. What are your views now?'

He was silent a few seconds before replying.

'I expect I was a bit of a fool,' he said presently. 'I'm afraid my outlook was narrow and silly. You see, I had no experience to go on. I had no standards.'

'No standards?' I repeated. 'You mean, then, that you've given all your fine sentiments the go-by?'

'And if I had?' he said with a smile. 'Should you be sorry or glad?'

I was silent. As I have stated I had not agreed with him, and yet I should have been sorry had he become like many another of his class.

'I see,' and he laughed gaily. 'No, old man, I've given nothing the go-by. No doubt, I overstated things a bit. No wonder. I saw things only in the light of the present. But in the main I was right.'

'Then what do you mean by saying that your outlook was narrow and silly?'

'I mean this. I looked on life without being able to compare it with what it was before the war. When I went with you through London, and saw the things I saw, when I saw the basest passions pandered to, when I saw vice walking openly, and not ashamed, I said, "God is keeping victory from us because we are not fit for it." In a sense I believe it still. Admiral Beatty was right. "Just so long as England remains in a state of religious indifference, just so long will the war continue. When the nation, the Empire comes to God with humility and with prayer on her lips, then we can begin to count the days towards the end." And that's right. The nation itself, by its lack of faith in God, by its materialism, by its want of prayer, by its greed, and its sin, has kept victory from coming. I tell you the great need of the age is prophets, men of God, calling us to God.'

'And do you stand by what you said about drink?'

'To every word. That phase of our national life has been and is horrible. While vested interests in this devilish thing remain paramount, we are partly paralysed. You see, it is the parent of a great part of the crime of the country. Oh, yes, I stand by that. All the same I was wrong.'

'Why wrong?'

'Because I did not look deep enough. Because I was not able to see the tremendous change that has been wrought.'

'I don't understand,' I said.

'It's this way. You, because the change which has come over the land has come slowly and subtly, have hardly been able to see it. But when, a few weeks ago, my memory came back to me, I realized a sort of shock. I saw how tremendous the change was, and is. A few years ago I was home for a long leave, and I went a good deal into society. What did I see? I saw that the women of England were in the main a mass of useless, purposeless butterflies. I saw that the great mass of the young men of our class were mere empty-headed, worthless parasites. The whole country was given over to money getting and pleasure seeking. I didn't realize it then; but I do now. On every hand they were craving for unnatural excitement, and doubtless there was a great danger of our race becoming decadent. But these last few weeks I've realized the difference. Why, our people have been glorious, simply glorious! See what an earnest tone pervades all life. Think of what the women of all classes have done, and are doing! Think of their change of outlook! Instead of being mere bridge-playing, gambling, purposeless things, finding their pleasures in all sorts of silly fads and foolishness, they've given themselves to service—loyal, noble service. The young fellows who filled up their time by being mere club-loungers, empty-headed society dudes, whose chief talk was women, the latest thing in neckties, or their handicap at golf, are now doing useful work, or fighting for the best in life. As for the rank and file, life has a new meaning to them, and they've become heroes.

'Mind you, we've still a long way to go; but we are on the right road. God is speaking out of the whirlwind and the fire. Religion may not be expressing itself in Church-going, but it is expressing itself in deeper, grander ways. I failed to see it; but I see it now. Oh, man, if England will only be true to the call of God, we can become the wonder and glory of the world!'

'Then you believe we are ready for victory?'

'I do not say that; but we are getting ready. God has been putting us through the refining fires, and I can see such a democracy emerging out of this world upheaval as was never known before.'

'And yet the war does not appear to be coming to an raid,' I urged. 'Think of Russia. Russia is a wild chaos, the victim of every passing fancy. Anarchy is triumphant, and the great army which should be a tower of strength is a rope of sand. If Russia had been true, we should have been——'

'Don't be in a hurry, my friend. God never is. Things will brighten in that direction. I don't say the war will be ended on the battlefield. Sometimes I think it won't. God does things in big ways. Surely the history of the last few months has taught us that. With Him nothing is impossible. People say that Kaiserdom stands more firmly than ever. What of that? The Kaiser may become more autocratic than ever, but his doom is written for all that. What is happening to his invincible legions? They will never save him. We are going to have a new world, my friend, and the pomp of the Kaiser will become a thing of yesterday.'

He was silent a few seconds, and then went on.

'There is something else, too. Russia has failed us, failed us because of corruption, and injustice. But God does not fail. No sooner did Russia yield, than America spoke. Her voice was the voice of the new Democracy. America's action is one of the greatest things in the world. Without thought of gain and realizing her sacrifice she has answered the call of God, and thrown herself into this struggle for the liberty and justice of the world. Had our cause not been righteous America would not have done this, but because it is God's Cause she could not resist the call to give her all. Yes, my friend,

'The mills of God grind slowly,
But they grind exceeding small.'