I received a hearty welcome as I came up, and Sir Thomas tried to persuade me to spend the evening with them, and to accompany them to the theatre. As far as I could judge, however, neither Springfield nor Lorna seconded his proposal. I thought she preferred Springfield's company to my own. They were now sitting over their coffee. Sir Thomas was smoking a huge cigar, while Springfield lit cigarette after cigarette and threw them away before they were half consumed.

'When did you come up?' I asked.

'Oh, we have been here four days. Captain Springfield—oh, I beg his pardon,—Colonel Springfield, has to go to the front the day after to-morrow, and I was anxious to see him before he went.'

'"Colonel"?' I said. 'Have you been gazetted?' and I turned to
Springfield as I spoke.

'Sir Thomas is a little premature,' he replied with a smile. 'My name was down for my majority before I returned home wounded, and I was gazetted two months ago. As to my being colonel,—but there, it is no use making a secret of it, I suppose I am to have my battalion immediately on my return.'

'Yes, I saw General —— at the War Office yesterday,' and Sir Thomas smiled benignantly. 'Such services as Springfield has rendered can't go long unrewarded, and in these days seniority does not count so much. By the way, what has become of our eccentric friend Edgecumbe?'

'Don't you know. Have you heard nothing about him?' and I turned quickly to Springfield as I spoke.

'I saw him nearly three weeks ago,' he replied; 'it seems he was not fit for work, and came to London on leave. I saw him twice, I think, and took him to one or two clubs. Since then I have lost sight of him.'

'And heard nothing about him?' I asked, looking at him steadily.

'Nothing at all. Sir Thomas, it is nearly time for us to go, but there is time for another liqueur. We can meet the ladies in the vestibule.'

I accompanied Lorna Bolivick a few steps down the room, while Lady
Bolivick went a little ahead.

'Am I to congratulate you, Lorna?' I said. 'Forgive me, I am taking you at your word.'

She gave me a quick look, which I could not understand, and then replied,
'I start nursing again next week.'

'You know what I mean,' I persisted, and I laughed as I spoke.
'Springfield looks a very happy man.'

'Don't speak that way.' she replied; 'at least not yet.'

'Why?' I asked; and then, overstepping the bounds of good taste, I went on, 'Edgecumbe told me all about it.'

'Did he? I am so sorry. But—but—come and see us, won't you? We are staying at the Carlton. We shall be there three days more. I want to talk to you. Good night,' and she rushed away.

When I returned to the table, I found that the waiter had replenished the liqueur glasses, and I saw, not only by the empty champagne bottle, but by Springfield's eyes, that his libations had been liberal.

'By the way, Luscombe,' he said, 'do you know where Edgecumbe is? Has he returned to duty?'

Before I could reply, Sir Thomas, fortunately I thought, burst in with another question, 'What do you really make of that fellow Edgecumbe?'

'One of the bravest, finest, and most conscientious men I ever met,' I replied.

Springfield laughed mockingly.

'Why, is not that your opinion?' and I looked at him steadily.

'A man is bound to think kindly of a man who has saved his life. Because of that I tried to be friendly to him. He was staying at that Y.M.C.A. show for penniless officers, and I thought I'd do him a good turn, but—but——' he hesitated.

'But what?' I asked.

'Of course I know little of him. I never saw him until I met him down at
Sir Thomas's place. But if you weren't so certain about his sanctity,
Luscombe, I should be inclined to look upon him as a criminal madman';
and there was a snarl in his voice.

'Surely you must have reasons for that,' I said.

'Yes, I have.'

'What are they?'

'I don't think I am obliged to tell,' he replied truculently.

'I think you are,' I said. 'To say the least of it, you owe him your life,—I can testify to that, for he exposed himself to almost certain death while digging you out from under a big heap of dÉbris; none of the others who were there would have done it. And it is hardly decent to call one who has done such a thing a criminal madman, without having the strongest reasons.'

'I have the strongest reasons,' he replied, and I saw that his libations had made him less cautious than usual. 'I do not think any one can doubt his madness, whilst as for the criminality,' and he laughed again, 'evidently he does the pious when he is with you; but when he gets among men of his own ilk, his piety is an unknown quantity. But the ladies are waiting, Sir Thomas; we must be off.'

I did not seek to pursue the conversation further. I did not think it wise. And certainly the dining-room of a popular restaurant was not the place for a scene.

I went back to the hotel very slowly, and having taken a somewhat roundabout course it was not until an hour after I had left the restaurant that I arrived there. I went into all the public rooms, and looked for my friend. But he was nowhere visible. Then, feeling somewhat uneasy, I went to his bedroom door, and was much relieved at hearing him bid me enter. I found him sitting in an easy chair with a handful of notes, which he had evidently been reading.

'What have you got there?' I asked.

'Oh, each night after we came back I wrote down my impressions,' he replied, 'and I have been looking at them.'

'Well, you are a cool customer!' I laughed.

'Thank you. But what has led you to that tremendous conclusion?'

'Why, you see the woman with whom you pretend to be in love taken away by another man, and never show the least desire to play your game! If it were any one else but Springfield, I should not wonder so much, but knowing your opinion of him, I can hardly understand it.'

'Yes, I hardly understand myself,' he replied; 'in fact, I am rather a mystery to myself.'

'Do you really love Lorna Bolivick?' I asked.

'Excuse me, old man, but I don't quite understand you.'

He looked at me steadily for a few seconds, and then went on quietly, 'I fancy there is no need to tell you about that.'

'And yet you stand by and see Springfield carry her off before your eyes, and Springfield is a rotter.'

'Yes, that's just what he is. But he can't harm her yet.'

'What do you mean by "yet"?'

'I can't put it into words, Luscombe. My first impulse when I saw them together just now was to go to the table and denounce him,—to warn her against him. But it would have been madness. The time is not yet come.'

'Meanwhile, he will marry her,' I said.

'No, he won't. I am afraid he has fascinated her, and I am sure he means to marry her,—I saw it down in Devonshire. But there is no danger yet; the danger will come by and by,—when or how I don't know. It will come, and I must be ready for it. I will be ready, too. Meantime, I have other things to think about. I am worried, my friend, worried.'

'What is worrying you?'

'I am going back to duty to-morrow, but from what I can hear I am to be treated as a special case. My colonel has said all sorts of kind things about me, I find. But that's not what I am thinking about now. This war is maddening me,—this constant carnage, with all the misery it entails. You asked me some time ago what I thought about the things we had seen,—what my impressions were, and I told you that I could not co-ordinate my ideas, could not look at things in their true perspective. I say, Luscombe, Admiral Beatty was right.'

'What do you mean?'

'Do you remember what he said?—"Just so long as England remains in a state of religious indifference, just so long as the present conditions obtain, will the war continue."'

'Don't let us talk about that now.'

'But I must, my dear chap. I am going back to duty to-morrow, and I want to realize the inwardness of all we have seen. One thing I am determined on.'

'What is that?'

'To fight this drink business as long as I have breath. It is doing us more harm than Germany. I am told there is danger of a food famine. It is said that bread is going to be scarce,—that people may be put on short rations. Of course we only hear hints now, but there are suggestions that Germany is going to pursue her submarine policy with more vigour, so as to starve us. A man I met in the hotel a little while ago told me that they were going to sink all merchant ships at sight, regardless of nationality. Of course you know what that means.'

'There are always rumours afloat,' I said.

'They might do it. Germany is capable of anything. But we could laugh at that, but for this drink business. Think of it! Four million tons of grain wasted in making drink since the beginning of the war, and there is a talk about a shortage of bread. Three hundred thousand tons of sugar have been used in making drink since the beginning of the war, and it is difficult for people to buy sugar for the common necessities of life! And that is not the worst of it. Why, man, you know what we have seen during these last weeks,—all the horror, all the misery, all the devilry! What has been at the bottom of nine-tenths of it? Night after night, when we have come back from seeing what we have seen, I have been studying these questions, I have been reading hours while you thought I was asleep. And I tell you, it would not be good for us to have victory, until this thing is destroyed. And I doubt whether God Almighty ever will give us victory, until we have first of all strangled once and for ever this drink fiend.'

'Don't talk nonsense! You are becoming a teetotal fanatic.'

'Think, Luscombe,' and he rose from his chair as he spoke, 'suppose God were to give us victory to-night? Suppose the Germans were to cave in, and tell us that we could dictate the terms of peace? Suppose our armies were to come back while things are as they are, and while the thought and feeling of the nation is as it is? Don't you see what would follow? When trouble was first in the air, Asquith said that "war was hell let loose." Would not hell be let loose if victory were to be declared? Think of the drunkenness, the devilry, the bestiality that you and I saw! Think what those streets round Waterloo station are like! Think of the places we went to, and remember what took place! And these are grave times,—times of struggle and doubt, and there are only a few odd thousands home on leave. But what would happen, with all these public-houses standing open, if hundreds of thousands, intoxicated with the thought of victory, came back? You have told me what took place during the Boer War; that would be nothing to the Bacchanalian orgies we should see if victory were to come now.'

'Then you don't want victory?'

'Don't want victory! I long for it! Why—why I get almost mad as I think of what is daily taking place. Here in England people don't really know what is happening. No hell ever invented is as bad as war. It is the maddest and ghastliest crime ever known, the greatest anachronism ever conceived. It mocks everything high and holy; it is the devil incarnate! But one can't close one's eyes to facts. You remember what that preacher man said in his sermon. He told us that Almighty God often kept things from men and nations until they were ready, and that if, as sometimes happened, things came before a people were ready, they proved curses and not blessings. For my own part I believe we shall have victory as soon as we are ready for it; but are we ready?'

'Then what do you believe will happen?'

'I am afraid we have dark days before us. As a nation we are putting material gain before moral fitness. The people who are making fortunes out of our national curses are fighting like death for their hand, and the nation seems to believe in a policy of laissez faire. If a man is in earnest about these things, he is called a fanatic. Purge England of her sins, my friend, and God will give us the victory.'

'That's as shadowy as a cloud, and has about as much foundation as a cloud,' I retorted.

'Perhaps events will prove that I am right. Don't let us imagine that God has no other means of working except through big guns. I have read a good deal of history lately, and I have seen that, more than once, when men and nations have been sure that certain things would happen, Almighty God has laughed at them. God answered Job out of the whirlwind; that's what He'll do to England.'

I laughed incredulously.

'All right,' he went on. 'It is very easy to laugh, but I should not be at all surprised if Russia were to make a separate peace with Germany, or if something were to happen to disorganize her forces. Would not that make a tremendous difference to the war?'

'Of course it would, but Russia will make no separate peace, and nothing will happen. Russia's as safe as houses, and as steady as a rock. Don't talk nonsense, old man, and don't conjure up impossible contingencies to bolster up your arguments.'

He was silent a few seconds, then he turned to me and said quietly, 'You know the country pretty well, don't you?'

'Pretty well, I think.'

'Do you think the condition of London represents the nation as a whole?'

'Yes, I think so. I don't say that such things as we witnessed down by Waterloo or in those so-called studios around Chelsea can be seen anywhere except in the big towns and cities, but otherwise I should say that London gives a fair idea of the condition of the country.'

'Let me ask you this, then. Bearing what we have seen in mind, the good as well as the bad, do you think we are ready for victory?'

I was silent for some seconds, then I said somewhat weakly I am afraid, 'You cannot expect us all to be saints, Edgecumbe. Human nature is human nature, and—and—but there is a great deal of good in the country.'

'Doubtless there is. When I think of the quiet determination, the splendid sacrifices, the magnificent confidence of our people, added to the unwearying kindness to the wounded and the needy, I feel like saying we are ready for victory. But could not all that be matched in Germany? With the world against them they have gone straight on. Have we been determined? So have they. Have we made sacrifices? So have they. Have we been confident? They have been more so. I dare say too that with regard to kindness and care for their wounded and dying they could match us. But Germany can't win; if they did, it would be victory for the devil. It would mean a triumph for all that was worst in human life. God Almighty is in His Heaven, therefore whatever else happens German militarism will be crushed, and the world rid of an awful menace. But this is what has impressed me. We as a nation have a unique position in the world, and if history ever meant anything at all, we are called to lead the world to higher things. Our opportunity is tremendous; are we ready for it? I do not close my eyes to all the good there is in the country, and I am sure there are millions who are leading godly, sober lives. But as far as the Government and the great bulk of the country are concerned, we are spiritually dead. I have been studying the utterances of our statesmen, and I have looked too often in vain for anything like idealism and for a vision. You know what the old proverb says, "Where there is no vision, the people perish," and that is what we lack.'

'You are very hopeless,' I laughed.

'No, I am not. I can see that out of this upheaval will come a new England, a new world. But not yet. We are not ready for the Promised Land, not ready for the higher responsibilities to which God is calling us. That is why the victory is delayed. Great God! I wish we had a few men like Admiral Beatty in the Government. We want to be roused out of our 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.