'Can't we go down to Devonshire to-night?' cried Edgecumbe, as our train reached London.

'Impossible, my dear fellow,' I replied.

'But why not?' and I could see by the wild longing look in his eyes what he was thinking of.

'Oh, there are a dozen reasons. For one thing, she may not be able to get away from the hospital; for another—I don't think it would be wise.'

'I simply must go, Luscombe! I tell you something's going to happen, something great. I feel it in every breath I draw. We must go—go at once.'

'No,' I replied. 'I wrote her last night, and told her that we should step in London at the National Hotel till we heard from her. If she wants us to come we shan't be long in getting her reply.'

He gave a long quivering sigh, and I could see how disappointed he was, but he said no more about the matter, and when we arrived at the hotel he had seemed to have forgotten all about it.

'Look here,' he cried, pointing to a paragraph in an evening newspaper, 'that's on the right lines. I'm going.'

The paragraph which interested him was a notice of a big meeting that was to be held that night for the purpose of discussing certain phases of the Army, and consequently of the war, about which newspapers were usually silent. The fact that a Cabinet Minister of high rank, as well as a renowned general, were announced to speak, however, caused the news editor to give it prominence.

'It's on the right lines,' he repeated. 'Yes, I'm going.'

'Better go to some place of amusement,' I suggested.

'Nero fiddled while Rome was burning,' was his reply.

A little later we found our way to a huge hall where some thousands of people had gathered. It was evident that the subject to be discussed appealed strongly to a large portion of the population, and that the audience was much interested in the proceedings.

I could see, however, that Edgecumbe was disappointed in the meeting. None of the speakers spoke strongly and definitely. Each enlarged on the difficulties of the situation, and spoke of the impossibility of making men pure by Act of Parliament, but no suggestion was made whereby the evils mentioned might be grappled with and strangled. While all admitted that a frightful state of things existed, and declared that something ought to be done, no one had the courage to demand drastic reforms, or strike a prophetic note. The Cabinet Minister enlarged in a somewhat stilted fashion upon what the Government had done to check drunkenness, while another speaker told of the magnificent work of the Y.M.C.A., and of the hostels and huts which had been provided, both in England and on the Continent; but all felt that the heart of the matter had not been touched. It was not until the General spoke that the audience was anything like aroused, and even he failed to get at close quarters with the evils which all admitted.

Indeed I, who could not see how more could be done than had been done, felt that the meeting was a failure, and as, when the General sat down, the reporters were preparing to leave, and the audience grew restless, I felt that the whole thing was in the nature of a fiasco.

'Let's go, Edgecumbe,' I said.

'No, not yet,' and I saw that he was much excited.

'But the meeting is practically over. There, the chairman is going to call on somebody to propose the usual vote of thanks.'

But he took no notice of me. Instead he rose to his feet, and his voice rang clearly throughout the hall.

'My lord,' he said addressing the chairman, 'I am a soldier just home from the front. May I say a few words?'

It was only then that I realized what a striking figure Edgecumbe was, and although I was almost stunned by his sudden action, I could not help comparing him, as he was now, with the first occasion on which I had seen him. Then, with his nondescript garments, his parchment-like skin, and the look of wistful indecision in his eyes, he was a creature to be pitied. Now, in the uniform of a major, he stood stalwart and erect. In spite of the fact that his left arm was in a sling, there was something commanding in his attitude. His eyes no longer suggested indecision, and his bronzed skin was no longer wrinkled and parchment like. He looked what he was—a tall, strong, capable man, instinct with life and energy.

There was something, too, in the tones of his voice that aroused the interest of the audience, and thousands of eyes were turned towards him.

The chairman adjusted his eye-glasses, and looked at Edgecumbe, who still stood erect, the cynosure of all eyes.

'I am sure,' said the chairman, 'that in spite of the fact that it is growing late, we shall be glad to hear a few words from a soldier just back from the front. Will he kindly come to the platform.'

The audience, doubtless noting Edgecumbe's wounded arm, gave him a cheer as he left his seat, while the reporters, probably hoping for something good in the way of copy, again opened their note-books.

'I asked permission to say a few words, my lord,' he said, 'because I have been deeply disappointed in this meeting. This is a great audience, and it is a great occasion; that is why the lack of an overwhelming conviction, the lack too of anything like vision of the inwardness of the problem under discussion is so saddening. I had hoped for a message to the heart of the nation; I had waited to hear the Voice of God, without which all such gatherings as this must be in vain.'

He hesitated a second, and I feared lest he had lost thread of his thought, feared too lest after his somewhat flamboyant commencement his appearance would be only a fiasco. I saw, too, that the chairman looked at him doubtfully, and I had a suspicion that he was on the point of asking him to sit down.

But his hesitation was only for a moment. He threw back his shoulders as though he were on the battlefield and was about to give an important command.

'I speak as one who has been a soldier in the ranks, and who knows the soldier's hardships, his temptations, his sufferings. I also speak as one who knows what a fine fellow the British soldier is, for believe me there are no braver men beneath God's all-beholding sun than our lads have proved themselves to be.'

He had struck the right note now, and the audience responded warmly. There was something magnetic in Edgecumbe's presence, too, something in his voice which made the people listen.

'I want to say something else, before getting to that which is in my heart to say,' he went on. 'We are fighting for something great, and high and holy. We are contending against tyranny, lies, savagery. Never did a nation have a greater, grander cause than we, and if Germany were to win——'

In a few sentences he outlined the great issues at stake and made the audience see as he saw. It was evident, too, that the occupants of the platform became aware that a new force was at work.

Then followed the greatest scene I have ever seen at any public gathering. For some time Edgecumbe seemed to forget who he was, or to whom he spoke; he was simply carried away by what seemed to him the burning needs of the times. He spoke of the way thousands of young fellows were ruined, and of the facilities which existed for their ruin. He told of scenes he had seen in France, scenes which took place when the men were 'back for rest,' and were 'out for a good time.' He described what we had witnessed together in London. He showed, too, in burning words that the two outstanding evils, 'Drink and Impurity,' were indissolubly associated, and that practically nothing was done to stem the tide of impurity and devilry which flowed like a mighty flood.

'I say this deliberately,' he said, 'it is nothing short of a blood-red crime, it is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit of God, to call men from the four corners of the earth to fight for a great cause like ours, and then to allow temptations to stand at every corner to lure them to destruction. Some one has described in glowing terms the work of the Y.M.C.A., and I can testify the truth of those terms, but ask Y.M.C.A. workers what is the greatest hindrance to their work, and they will tell you it is the facilities for drink, drink which so often leads to impurity, and all the ghastly diseases that follows in its train.

'How can you expect God's blessing to rest upon us, while the souls of men are being damned in such a way?'

'What would you do?' cried some one, when the wild burst of cheering which greeted his words ceased.

'Do?' he cried. 'At least every man here can determine, God helping him, to fight against the greatest foe of our national life. You can determine that you will leave nothing undone to strangle this deadly enemy. Personally, after seeing what I have seen, and knowing what I know, I will make no terms with it. Even now, if a fortune were offered me, made by drink, I would not benefit by it. But more, you can besiege the Government, you can give it no rest until it has removed one of the greatest hindrances to victory.

'What England needs is to realize that God lives, and to turn to Him in faith and humility. Just so long as we remain in a state of religious indifference, just so long will the war continue; and just so soon as we give our lives to Him, and put our trust in Him, just so soon will victory be seen. God has other ways of speaking than by big guns. God spoke, and lo, all the pomp of the Czars became the byword of children! God will speak again, and all the vain glory of the Kaiser will become as the fairy stories of the past!'

I know that what I have written gives no true idea of Edgecumbe's message. The words I have set down give but faint suggestions of the outpourings of a heart charged with a mighty purpose. For he spoke like a man inspired, and he lifted the whole audience to a higher level of thought, and life, and purpose. People who had listened with a bored expression on their faces during the other speeches, were moved by his burning words. Club loungers who had been cynical and unbelieving half an hour before, now felt the reality of an unseen Power.

Then came the climax to all that had gone before. No sooner had
Edgecumbe sat down than the chairman rose again.

'You wonder perhaps,' he said, 'who it is that has been speaking to us. You know by his uniform that he is a soldier, and you know he is a brave man by the decoration on his tunic, but few I expect know, as I have just learnt, that this is Major Edgecumbe, the story of whose glorious career is given in to-day's newspapers.'

If the meeting was greatly moved before, it now became frenzied in its enthusiasm. Cheer after cheer rose, while the great audience rose to its feet. All realized that he spoke not as a theorist and a dreamer, but as a man who had again and again offered his life for the country he loved, and the cause in which he believed—a man, not only great in courage, but skilful in war, and wise in counsel.

When the excitement had somewhat ceased, an old clergyman, who had been sitting at the back of the platform, came to the front.

'Let us pray,' he said, and a great hush rested on every one, while he led the multitude in prayer.

When the meeting finally broke up, the General who had spoken earlier in the evening came and shook Edgecumbe by the hand.

'This meeting is worth more to win the war than an army corps,' he said.