“H’m! If Russia,--then France! If France,--then Germany and Italy!... And how shall we stand? It is incredible,” and he turned hastily for hope of relief to the columns of the paper, and read in a leader headed “_Europe and the Crisis_,”--“All who have the general peace at heart must hope that Austria has not spoken her last word in the note to Servia, to which she requires a reply to-night. If she has we stand upon the edge of war, and of a war fraught with dangers that are incalculable to all the Great Powers.” Then the front door opened and his wife came out into the porch. “Breakfast’s ready, father,” she said briskly. “Any news?” She was a very comely woman of fifty or so, without a gray hair yet and of an unusually pleasing and cheerful countenance. The girls got their good looks from her, the boys took more after their father. “Any light on matters?” asked Mrs Dare hopefully again, as he came slowly along the path towards her. And then, at sight of his face, “Whatever is it, John?” He had made it a rule to leave ordinary business worries behind him in town where they properly belonged. But matters of moment he frequently discussed with his wife and had found her aloof point of view and clear common-sense of great assistance at times. His late disturbance of mind had been very patent to her, but, beyond the simple facts, he had been able to satisfy her no more than himself. “Very grave news, I’m afraid,” he said soberly. “Austria and Servia look like coming to blows.” “Oh?” said Mrs Dare, in a tone which implied no more than interested surprise. “I should have thought Servia had had enough fighting to last her for some time to come.” “I’ve no doubt she has. It’s Austria driving at her. Russia will probably step in, and so Germany, Italy, France, and maybe ourselves----” “John!”--very much on the alert now.--“It is not possible.” “I’m afraid it’s even probable, my dear. And if it comes it will mean disaster to a great many people.” “What about Lois? Will she be safe out there?” “We must consider that. I’ve hardly got round to her yet. Let us make sure of one more comfortable breakfast anyway,” he said, with an attempt at lightness which he was far from feeling, and as they went together to the breakfast-room, Honor came dancing down the stairs. “Hello, Dad! Did they give extra prizes for early rising at your school?” she asked merrily, and ran on without waiting for an answer,--“And did you choke that boy who was whistling ‘Tipperary’? I had to finish without accompaniment and he was doing it fine. He has a musical soul. It was Jimmy Snaggs. He’s in my class at Sunday School. You should hear him sing.” “You tell him again from me that if he can’t deliver papers properly he’d better find some other walk in life,” said Mr Dare, as he chipped an egg and proceeded with his breakfast.