“I do not wonder. But that is all the better for me. We have known one another now, what is it--ten, fifteen years? Come in with me. We can arrange satisfactory terms. You see, my lads may come back, or they may not. My wonder, when I read the papers, is that any man of them all ever comes out of it alive. But even if they are not killed I am doubting much if they will find office-stools agreeable sitting for the rest of their lives. If they do come back it will be the overseas part they will want. So there it is. What do you say?” “I can’t tell you what I feel, Christianssen. The very thought of it makes a new man of me. But--I don’t know the first thing about timber.” “If you will relieve me of the office work and financing, it will be good business all round. Details as to woods, etc., you can pick up by degrees. I have a good staff here, but the best staff in the world is the better for being looked after. If I can be free to get across to Norway and feel quite safe in going, it will mean much to me and to the business. You will say yes?” “I’ll say yes with more in my heart than I can put into words,” and they shook hands on it. So John Dare took up a new lease of life and hope, and was himself again and twenty years younger than he had been any time this last three months. And presently, for his still greater comfort and relief of mind, came Uncle Tony’s unexpected legacy to Mrs Dare. It was a veritable Godsend. For the heaviest part of his burden, during these late months of no income and vanishing capital, had been the fear of what might befall his home-folks when the worst came to the worst. The thought of it had kept him awake of a night and plunged him into the depths. He had racked his tired brain to find some way out of his difficulties. But it was like trying to climb a huge black wall whose top shut out even the sight of heaven. For always the grim fact remained that his business was utterly gone and he saw no prospect of its revival. By the grace of God and Uncle Tony and John Christianssen he was delivered from torment. The home-folk were safe whatever happened, and he took up his new duties with all the enthusiastic energy of a heart retrieved from despair. XXVIII Upon none of them did the burden of these weighty times lie so heavily as on Lois Luard and Alma Dare. They both received occasional letters indeed, but Ray’s, though always full of cheery hopefulness, were very irregular and subject to lack of continuity through one and another occasionally getting lost on the way. And, great as was Lois’s joy and thankfulness when one arrived, telling of his safety and good health eight or ten days before, she could never lose sight of the terrible fact that five minutes after he had written it the end might have come.