During the remainder of Edgecumbe's leave we spent our time in seeing and trying to understand London. As he had insisted, London was the centre of the British Empire; the great heart which sent its life-blood throughout the veins of four hundred millions of people. To understand London, therefore, was to understand the aims, hopes and ideals of the British race. Of course I urged that London was not England, much less the Empire; but I could not help admitting that there was much truth in his contention.

Naturally we did not see our metropolis in its entirety. To know London means a lifetime's study; but we did get a superficial glimpse of its life, and we tried to understand the inwardness of that life.

On the day after the incidents described in the last chapter we visited several churches; we also made our way into Hyde Park, and heard the orators. We interviewed several ecclesiastics both of the Established and Nonconformist order, and if ever a man was depressed it was Edgecumbe.

'These religious organizations do not touch a tithe of the people,' he said to me. 'London is called a Christian City, but it is far more pagan than Christian. The people are not interested in religious things, and even among churchgoers everything seems unreal.'

He was led to modify this opinion later. He saw that while the City was in one sense largely godless, it was in another deeply religious. He realized that, in spite of apparent religious indifference, the teachings of the Founder of Christianity, and the truths for which He lived and died, had, through the centuries, created an atmosphere which influenced every phase of thought and life.

But he did not feel this during the two Sundays we spent together. As far as we could see, only a small fragment of the people entered the doors of the churches, and that even this fragment was filled with no mighty religious hope or enthusiasm.

One sermon, however, struck him forcibly. It was preached by a young man who took for his text, 'And they that were ready went into the marriage feast.' The argument of the sermon was that God gave neither individuals nor nations the highest of blessings until they were ready, and he urged that until England was ready for peace God would not give it her. That until we became less materialistic, less selfish, until we ceased to exploit the war as a means for advancing our own interest, and until we turned to God and kept His commandments, real peace would be a far-off dream.

But I must not stay to describe this at length; indeed, a volume would be necessary to give any true idea of our experiences. We saw London by night as well as by day. We went to munition factories and to night clubs, to hospitals and to music-halls, to seats of Government and to haunts of vice. We talked with hundreds of people of all kinds, and from the drift of their conversation tried to understand the spirit of the City.

I shall never forget the look on Edgecumbe's face after our visit to a hospital for soldiers who suffered from a disease which shall be nameless. The horror in his eyes and the absolute nausea and loathing which possessed him has haunted me ever since.

But there were sights which rejoiced him also. The splendid sacrifices which unnumbered people, both men and women, were making, and the great broad-hearted charity which abounded on every hand, made him realize not only the bad but the good, and led him to realize that beneath the mad whirl of evil passions which was too evident, was a life sacred and sublime.

Presently, however, our peregrinations came to an end. Edgecumbe had appeared before a medical officer, and was declared fit for duty again. He had also received orders to return to his battery, while I daily waited instructions as to my future course of action.

'We have had a wonderful time, Luscombe,' he said. 'I little dreamt, when we started out to see London, what it would be like.'

'Well, what do you think of it all?'

'I am bewildered,' he replied; 'it is all too big to co-ordinate. I want to get a grasp of everything. I want to see things in their true proportion. I want to understand.'

We had just come from the Crystal Palace, where so many thousands of our sailors are quartered, and had been talking with the workers of the Y.M.C.A. concerning their activities there.

'You will never be able to co-ordinate it, Edgecumbe,' I said. 'No man can understand fully the life of a great city like this.'

'No, I suppose not. Still, I am trying to think my way through it.'

'Anyhow,' I said, 'you have to return to duty tomorrow. Let us forget the serious things of life for once. By the way,' I added, 'have you heard from Miss Lorna Bolivick?'

For some seconds he did not reply, and I thought he did not hear what I said. His face was a curious study at the time, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

'No,' he replied presently, 'I have not heard from her. Naturally I did not expect to.'

During the whole time we had spent in London together, he had never once referred to her, and I imagined, and almost hoped, that he had seen the madness of the determination he had expressed when we were down in Devonshire.

'You have given up all thought of her, then?'

'Given up all thought of her? Certainly not. You know what I told you?'

'Yes, but I thought you might have seen how foolish you were.'

'I shall never give up hope,' he replied; 'that is, until hope is impossible. Whatever made you think of such a thing?'

'But do you not see the madness of your plan?'

'No, there is nothing mad in it. By the way, Luscombe, I am awfully hungry. Let us go in here and get some dinner. Don't think, old man, that I can't see your point of view,' he said when we had taken our seats in the dining-room of the restaurant, 'I can. From your standpoint, for a man in my position, without name, without home, without friends, without money, to aspire to the hand of Lorna Bolivick, is to say that he is fit for a lunatic asylum. But I can't see things as you do. God Almighty didn't put this love in my heart for nothing, a love which has been growing every day since I saw her. Why, man, although I have said nothing to you, she is everything to me, everything! That is, from the personal standpoint. If I did not believe in God, I should despair, but, believing in Him, despair is impossible.'

'God does not give us everything we want,' I replied; 'it would not be good for us if He did. Possibly He has other plans for her.'

'That may be so,' he replied calmly, 'but I am going to act as though He meant her for me.'

I looked across the dining-hall as he spoke, and saw, sitting not far away from us, a party which instantly attracted my attention.

'I should not, if I were you,' I said.

'Why?'

'Look!' I replied, nodding towards the table I had noticed.

He gave a start, for sitting at the table were Sir Thomas and Lady
Bolivick and their daughter Lorna. Sitting beside the latter was
Springfield.

'Does not that suggest the answer?'

His face never moved a muscle, and he looked at them as though he were but little interested.

'If ever a man had the appearance of a successful lover,' I went on, 'Springfield has. There, do you see how he is looking at her? Do you see how his every action suggests proprietorship? Then watch her face, see how she smiles at him. It would seem, too, as though her father and mother are very pleased.'

He continued to look at them for several seconds, then he said quite casually, 'They have no idea we are here.'

'No, evidently not. But I think I will go and speak to them.'

'Don't, Luscombe,' and he spoke quickly; 'it will be better not. I don't want that man to know where I am.'

'You are convinced that I was right about him, then?'

'I am convinced there will be a battle royal between me and that man,' he said, and there was a far-away look in his eyes. 'Perhaps—perhaps—I don't know,—the ways of Providence are strange. There is going to be a terrible fight; I can see it coming.'

'What, between you and Springfield?'

'Yes; but there is something more than that, something greater. But I must fight,—I must fight.'

I did not understand the look in his eyes, or the tone of his voice.

'What, to protect yourself against Springfield?' I said.

'To save a woman's soul,' was his reply. 'Would you mind if we didn't talk about it any more just now?' He went on with his dinner as though nothing had happened, and if a stranger had been sitting by, he would have said that Edgecumbe had no interest in the party close by.

'I think I must go and speak to them,' I said; 'it would seem discourteous to be so near, and not speak to people who have shown me so much kindness.'

'Go if you like,' was his answer, 'but don't let them see me. I am going back to the hotel.'

I waited until he had left the room, and then turned towards Sir Thomas
Bolivick's table.