Seleneck asked none of the questions that were burning the tip of his tongue. A natural delicacy, above all, his comrade’s face, held him silent, and it was Wolff who continued after a moment: "In the event of what you call an ’unlucky accident’ my wife will, of course, return to her own country. Her brother is starting for England to-morrow, so that she will be able to accompany him. But in any case—whether I fall or not—I beg of you to do your utmost to shield her from all trouble—and scandal. She is innocent—absolutely innocent. I know—you cannot hide it from me—that you and all the rest blame her. She is not to be blamed because she married a man not of her own people. She is to be profoundly pitied. That is all, and it explains everything." "You talk as though you were certain of the worst," Seleneck said. "But if everything goes well—what then?" The compasses slipped from Wolff’s fingers. "God knows!" he said. It was no exclamation of despair, rather a reverent surrender of a life which he could no longer shape alone, and Seleneck turned aside, more deeply moved than he cared to show. He had known Wolff from the earliest _Kadetten_ days, and had watched the dawn of great promise break into a day of seeming fulfilment. With unchanging, unenvying friendship he had followed the brilliant career, admiring the boy’s ambition ripening to steadfast purpose, the boyish spirits steadying to a bold and fearless optimism. And, after all, he ended as others ended—in shipwreck—only more tragically, with the port of Victory in sight. Seleneck remembered his own words spoken only a few months before: "Take care that you do not end as Field-Marshal with Disappointment for an Adjutant!" And Wolff was not even major, and something worse than Disappointment, something that was more like Catastrophe, had already chosen him as comrade. Against Wolff’s wish, Seleneck blamed Nora bitterly. He held her responsible for every shadow that had fallen upon the hopeful life, but he swore to himself that she should not know it, and that he would prove her friend for her husband’s sake, whatever befell. "My will is, of course, made," Wolff said, breaking upon his troubled reflections, "and here is a letter to my aunt and Hildegarde; please give it to them in the event of my death." "And for your wife?" "This other letter is for her." Seleneck took the two envelopes and put them in his pocket. "I think everything is settled now?" he said. "Everything. I shall work at these plans as long as possible, and if I get them finished I shall take them to Colonel von Beck before I come to you. If not, I shall leave them locked in here and bring you the key. If anything happens to me, you will know where to find them. They are of some importance, and I would be grateful if you would see to it that they are taken at once to head-quarters." "Pray Heaven you may be able to take them yourself!" Seleneck returned earnestly.