"Right away, before I go. To-night, to-morrow."

"Are you mad? You cannot do things like that, you know. Marry Jane! Do you know what you are asking?"

"Yes, Doctor, I know. But I have just seen Helen Brookes. She is perfectly amazing, perfectly fine in her courage and all that, and she told me about Scuddy's death without a tear. But, Doctor, there was a point at which she broke all up. Do you know when? When she told me of her chief regret, and that was that she and Scuddy had not been married.

They both wanted to be married, but her parents were unwilling. Now she regrets it and she will always regret it. Doctor, I see it very clearly.

I believe it is better that we should be married. Who knows what will come? So many of the chaps do not come back. You are going out too, I am going out. Doctor, I feel that it is best that we should be married."

"And what does Jane think about it?" enquired the Doctor, gazing at Larry in a bewildered manner.

"Jane! Good Lord! I don't know. I never asked her!" Larry stood gaping at the Doctor.

"Well, upon my word, you are a cool one!"

"I never thought of it, Doctor," said Larry.

"Never thought of it? Are you playing with me, boy?" said the Doctor sternly.

"I will go and see her," said Larry, and he dashed from the room. But as he entered the study, dinner was announced, and Larry's question perforce must wait.

Never was a meal so long-drawn-out and so tedious. The Colonel and Jane were full of conversation. They discussed the news from the West, the mine and its prospects, the Lakeside Farm and its people, the Colonel's own family, the boys who had enlisted and those who were left behind, the war spirit of Canada, its women and their work and their heroism (here the Colonel talked softly), the war and its prospects. The Colonel was a brilliant conversationalist when he exerted himself, and he told of the way of the war in England, of the awakening of the British people, of the rush to the recruiting offices, of the women's response.

He had tales, too, of the British Expeditionary Force which he had received in private letters, of its glorious work in the Great Retreat and afterwards. Jane had to tell of her father's new Unit, now almost complete, of Mr. Murray's new battalion, now in barracks, of the Patriotic Fund and how splendidly it was mounting up into the hundreds of thousands, and of the Women's War a.s.sociation, of which she was Secretary, and of the Young Women's War Organisation, of which she was President; and all with such animation, with such radiant smiles, with such flashing eyes, such keen swift play of thought and wit that Larry could hardly believe his eyes and ears, so immense was the change that had taken place in Jane during these ten months. He could hardly believe, as he glanced across the table at her vivid face, that this brilliant, quick-witted, radiant girl was the quiet, demure Jane of his college days, his good comrade, his chum, whom he had been inclined to patronise. What was this that had come to her? What had released those powers of mind and soul which he could now recognise as being her own, but which he had never seen in action. As in a flash it came to him that this mighty change was due to the terribly energising touch of War.

The development which in normal times would have required years to accomplish, under the quickening impulse of this mighty force which in a day was brought to bear upon the life of Canada, this development became a thing of weeks and months only. War had poured its potent energies through her soul and her soul had responded in a new and marvellous efflorescence. Almost over night as it were the flower of an exquisite womanhood, strong, tender, sweet, beautiful, had burst into bloom. Her very face was changed. The activities with which her days and nights were filled had quickened all her vital forces so that the very texture and colour of her skin radiated the bloom of vigorous mental and physical health. Yet withal there remained the same quick, wise sympathy, quicker, wiser than before war's poignant sorrows had disciplined her heart; the same far-seeing vision that antic.i.p.ated problems and planned for their solution; the same proud sense of honour that scorned things mean and gave quick approval to things high. As he listened Larry felt himself small and poor in comparison with her. More than that he had the sense of being excluded from her life. The war and its activities, its stern claims, its catastrophic events had taken possession of the girl's whole soul. Was there a place for him in this new, grand scheme of life? A new and terrible master had come into the lordship of her heart. Had love yielded its high place? To that question Larry was determined to have an answer to-night. To-morrow he was off to the Front. The growing fury of the war, its appalling losses, made it increasingly doubtful that he should ever see her face again. What her answer would be he could not surely say. But to-night he would have it from her. If "yes" there was time to-morrow to be married; if "no" then the more gladly he would go to the war.

After dinner the Doctor and the Colonel took their way to the study to smoke and talk over matters connected with military organisation, in regard to which the Doctor confessed himself to be woefully ignorant.

Jane led Larry into the library, where a bright fire was burning.

"Awfully jolly, this fire. We'll do without the lights," said Larry, touching the switch and drawing their chairs forward to the fire, wondering the while how he should get himself to the point of courage necessary to his purpose. Had it been a few months ago how easy it would have been. He could see himself with easy camaraderie put his arm about Jane with never a quiver of voice or shiver of soul, and say to her, "Jane, you dear, dear thing, won't you marry me?" But at that time he had neither desire nor purpose. Now by some d.a.m.nable perversity of things, when heart and soul were sick with the longing for her, and his purpose set to have her, he found himself nerveless and shaking like a silly girl. He pushed his chair back so that, unaware to her, his eyes could rest upon her face, and planned his approach. He would begin by speaking of Helen, of her courage, of her great loss, then of her supreme regret, at which point he would make his plea. But Jane would give him no help at all. Silent she sat looking into the fire, all the vivacity and brilliance of the past hour gone, and in its place a gentle, pensive sadness. The firelight fell on her face, so changed from what it had been in those pre-war days, now so long ago, yet so familiar and so dear. To-morrow at this hour he would be far down the line with his battalion, off for the war. What lay beyond that who could say? If she should refuse--"G.o.d help me then," he groaned aloud, unthinking.

"What is it, Larry?" she said, turning her face quickly toward him.

"I was just thinking, Jane, that to-morrow I--that is--" He paused abruptly.

"Oh, Larry, I know, I know." Her hands went quickly to her breast. In her eyes he saw a look of pain so acute, so pitiful, that he forgot all his plan of approach.

"Jane," he cried in a voice sharp with the intensity of his feeling.

In an instant they were both on their feet and facing each other.

"Jane, dear, dear Jane, I love you so, and I want you so." He stretched out his arms to take her.

Startled, her face gone deadly pale, she put out her hands against his breast, pushing him away from her.

"Larry!" she said. "Larry, what are you saying?"

"Oh, Jane, I am saying I love you; with all my heart and soul, I love you and I want you, Jane. Don't you love me a bit, even a little bit?"

Slowly her arms dropped to her side. "You love me, Larry?" she whispered. Her eyes began to glow like stars in a pool of water, deep and l.u.s.trous, her lips to quiver. "You love me, Larry, and you want me to--to--"

"Yes, Jane, I want you to be my wife."

"Your wife, Larry?" she whispered, coming a little closer to him. "Oh, Larry," she laid her hands upon his breast, "I love you so, and I have loved you so long." The l.u.s.trous eyes were misty, but they looked steadily into his.

"Dear heart, dear love," he said, drawing her close to him and still gazing into her eyes.

She wound her arms about his neck and with lips slightly parted lifted her face to his.

"Jane, Jane, you wonderful girl," he said, and kissed the parted lips, while about them heaven opened and took them to its bosom.

When they had come back to earth Larry suddenly recalled his conversation with her father. "Jane," he said, "when shall we be married? I must tell your father."

"Married?" said Jane in a voice of despair. "Not till you return, Larry." Then she clung to him trembling. "Oh, why were you so slow, Larry? Why did you delay so long?"

"Slow?" cried Larry. "Well, we can make up for it now." He looked at his watch. "It's nine o'clock, Jane. We can be married to-night."

"Nonsense, you silly boy!"

"Then to-morrow we shall be married, I swear. We won't make Helen's mistake." And he told her of Helen Brookes's supreme regret. "We won't make that mistake, Jane. To-morrow! To-morrow! To-morrow it will be!"

"But, Larry, listen. Papa--"

"Your father will agree."

"And my clothes?"

"Clothes? You don't need any. What you have on will do."

"This old thing?"

"Perfectly lovely, perfectly splendid. Never will you wear anything so lovely as this."

"And then, Larry, what should I do? Where would I go? You are going off."

"And you will come with me."

But Jane's wise head was thinking swiftly. "I might come across with Papa," she said. "We were thinking--"

"No," cried Larry. "You come with me. He will follow and pick you up in London. Hurry, come along and tell him."

"But, Larry, this is awful."

"Splendid, glorious, come along. We'll settle all that later."

He dragged her, laughing, blushing, almost weeping, to the study. "She says she will do it to-morrow, sir," he announced as he pushed open the door.

"What do you say?" said the Doctor, gazing open-mouthed at him.

"She says she will marry me to-morrow," he proclaimed as if announcing a stupendous victory.

"She does!" said the Doctor, still aghast.