"And what about the O. C.?" inquired Captain Neil.

"Oh, nothing special. He just saw that the others carried on. Now tell me about you people. What have you been doing and what are you going to do?"

"Well, 'we're here, because we're here,'" chanted Captain Neil.

"And why didn't you send me word as to your movements?" said Barry.

"What hours of agony you would have spared me!"

"But I did," replied Phyllis. "I sent you our town address and told you everything."

"Now isn't that rotten!" exclaimed Barry. "Never mind, I've found you, and now what's the programme?"

"Well," cried Captain Neil with great enthusiasm, "we are all off to Edinburgh to-morrow, where we meet the Howlands, and then for a motor trip through the Highlands and to my ancestral home."

Barry's face fell. "To-morrow?" he said blankly, with a quick look at Phyllis. "And you are all going?"

"Not I," said Mrs. Vincent, "but why should you not join the party? You need just such a change. It would do you good."

"Sure thing he will," cried Captain Neil.

During the supper they had firmly resolved to taboo the war. They talked on all manner of subjects, chiefly of the proposed motor trip, but in spite of the ban their talk would hark back to the trenches. For Captain Neil must know how his comrades were faring, and how his company was carrying on, and Barry must tell him of their losses, and all of the great achievements wrought by the men of their battalion. And Barry because his own heart was full of all their splendid deeds let himself go. He told how Sally and Booth had met their last call, of the M. O.

and his splendid work in rescuing the wounded.

"No word in all of this of the Pilot, I observe," interjected Captain Neil.

"Oh, he just carried on!"

Then he told how at last the M. O. went out, and how on his face there was only peace. He had to tell of Corporal Thom, and how he gave himself for his comrades and how Cameron kept the faith, a long list of heroes he had to enumerate, of whom the world was not worthy, whose deeds are unknown to fame, but whose names are recorded in the books of God. And then reverently he told of McCuaig.

As Barry talked, his heart was far away from London. He was seeing again that line of mud bespattered men, patiently plodding up the communication trench. He was looking upon them sleeping with worn and weary faces, in rain and mudsoaked boots and puttees, down in their flimsy, dark dugouts. He was hearing again the heavy "crash" of the trench mortar, the earth shaking "crumph" of the high explosive, the swift rush of the whizbang. Before his eyes he saw a steady line of bayonets behind a crumbling wall, then a quick rush to meet the attack, bomb and rifle in hand. He saw the illumined face of his dying friend.

As he told his tale, his face was glowing, his eyes gleaming as with an inner fire.

"Oh, God's Mercy!" he cried, "they are men! They are men! Only God could make such men."

"Yes, only God," echoed Mrs. Vincent after a long pause. "They are God's men, and to God they go at last. Truly they are God's own men."

While Barry was speaking, Phyllis, her hands tightly clasped, was leaning forward listening with glistening eyes and parted lips. Suddenly she rose, and went hurriedly to the door.

"Forgive me," said Barry, turning to Mrs. Vincent. "I should not have talked about these things. It's Neil here that drew me out. It's his fault."

In a few minutes Captain Neil arose and saying, "I'll see where Phyllis has gone," went out at the same door.

"They are very great friends," said Mrs. Vincent. "We are very fond of Captain Fraser. Indeed, he is like one of our family."

"A fine, brave chap he is," said Barry warmly, but with a queer chill at his heart.

"Phyllis has made some very delightful friends in France. Those Americans at Etaples were very good to her," and she continued to chat in her soft, gentle voice, to which Barry gave a courteous hearing but very casual replies. His heart and his ears were attentive for the returning footsteps of those who had so abruptly deserted them. While Mrs. Vincent was talking, an ugly question was thrusting itself upon his attention, demanding an answer. He could see--any one with eyes could see--that there was between Phyllis and his friend Captain Neil some understanding. Just what was between them Barry longed to know. It flashed upon him that upon the answer to that question his whole future hung, for if this girl was more than friend to Captain Neil, then the joy of life had for him been quenched. No motor trip for him to-morrow.

He had had enough heart-wrenching to bear as it was without that. No!

If between these two a closer relation than that of mere friendship existed, his way was clear. He would return to the trenches to-morrow.

"Oh, here you are, dear," said Mrs. Vincent, as Phyllis and Captain Neil returned to the room. "You found the air too close, I fear."

"No," said Phyllis with simple sincerity, "it was Barry. I saw those men, and I could not bear it. I can't bear it now." Her lips were still trembling, and her eyes were filled with tears.

"And yet," said Barry, "when you were over there in the midst of it all, you never once weakened. That's the wonder of it. You just go on, doing what you must do. You haven't time to reflect, and it's God's mercy that it is so. Thank God we have our duty to do no matter what comes. Without that life would be unbearable."

"Now, what about to-morrow?" said Captain Neil briskly, as Mrs. Vincent rose from the table. "We must settle that. What about it, Barry?"

"I don't know. Do you think I should go? It's your party and it's already made up."

"Not quite," said Phyllis, looking shyly at him. "You belong to the party more than any of us, you know."

"Then what about Paula?" said Barry. "This is her party, is it not?"

Phyllis was silent.

"I think, Captain Dunbar," said Mrs. Vincent, "if you would like it, you ought to go. You need something of the kind, and you will fit in admirably with the party, I am quite sure. To-day," she added with a little laugh, "I was doubtful as to the propriety of these young people going off all the way to Edinburgh by themselves, but you know in these war times we do extraordinary things, but now if you join them, my scruples will be removed."

"Some chaperon," whispered Captain Neil audibly to Phyllis. Then he added briskly, "Well, then, that's settled. To-morrow at 8:37 we meet at King's Cross, 8:37, remember."

But for Barry the matter was far from settled.

"I can't quite make up my mind to-night," he said. "I shall be at King's Cross, however, in the morning at any rate."

"But, Barry," began Phyllis, protesting, "you must--I want--"

She ceased speaking abruptly, her face flushing and then going suddenly white.

"Oh, rot, old man," said Captain Neil, impatiently, "you will come. Of course he'll come," he added to Phyllis.

They moved together out of the room, Mrs. Vincent and Captain Neil leading the way.

"Oh, Barry, aren't you going?" said Phyllis in a low voice.

"How can I answer that?" he replied, almost in anger. "Do YOU ask me to go? Do YOU want me to go?"

"Of course, we all want you to go," said the girl.

"Is that your answer?" His voice was tense; his face strained. "If that is all, Phyllis, I must say 'Good-bye' to-night. Why should I go with you? Why should I stay here in London? There's nothing for me here. The war is the only place--"

"Oh, Barry," she said, her eyes bright with tears, "how unkindly, how terribly you talk." Then with a swift change of mood she turned upon him. "What right have you to talk like that?" she cried in sudden wrath.

"What have I done--what have we done to you?"

"Wait, Phyllis," he cried desperately. "Oh, let them go on," he added impatiently. "For Heaven's sake, is there no place about here where I can talk to you?" They were both pale and trembling. "I must talk to you to-night--now--at once." He stood between her and the door. "Can't you see I love you? I love you, do you hear? If you don't love me, why should I live?"

"Oh, Barry," said the girl, in a hurried voice. "You must not talk like this. Come this way. I know this place." She hurried out by a side door, down a corridor, and into a small parlour, with cosy corners, where they were alone.

"Now, Phyllis," said Barry, facing her, with a settled fierceness in his voice and manner. "I am quite mad, I know, to love you, but I do. I can't help it any more than breathing. I have no right to tell you this, perhaps. I am nobody, and I have nothing to offer any girl. I see that now. Oh, I see that clearly now, but I never thought of that part of it before. I only loved you. How could I help it? I hardly knew myself until tonight. But I know now," he added in a voice of triumph, the gloom lifting from his face, and the fierce light fading from his eyes.