The deep places he had guessed in James's soul were deep indeed, and again Flemington was struck with humility, for his own unimportance in contrast with this experienced man seemed little less than pitiful. The feeling closed his lips, and he looked round at the shortening shadows and into the stir of coming sunlight as a man looks round for a door through which to escape from impending stress. He, who was always ready to go forward, recoiled because of what he foresaw in himself. His self-confidence was ebbing, for he was afraid of how much he might be turned out of his way by the influence on him of Logie. He wished that he could force their talk into a different channel, but his ready wits for once would not answer the call. Something not understood by him was moving James to expression, as reserved men are compelled towards it at times. Perhaps the bygone youth in him rose up in response to the youth at his side. The many years dividing him from his brother, the judge, had never consciously troubled him in their intercourse, but the tremendous divergence in their respective characters had thrown him back upon himself. Archie seemed to have the power of turning a key that Balnillo had never held. "But I am putting you out of conceit with the world," cried James abruptly; "let no one do that. Take all you can, Flemington! I did--I took it all. Love, roystering, good company, good wine, good play--all came to me, and I had my bellyful! There were merry times in Holland with the Scots Brigade. It was the best part of my life, and I went to it young. I was sixteen the day I stood up on parade for the first time." "I have often had a mind to invade Holland," observed Archie, grasping eagerly at the impersonal part of the subject; "it would be paradise to one of my trade. The very thought of a windmill weaves a picture for me, and those strange, striped flowers the Dutchmen raise--I cannot think of their names now--I would give much to see them growing. You must have seen them in every variety and hue." "Ay, I saw the tulips," said James, in a strange voice. "The Dutchmen can paint them too," said Archie hurriedly. "What devil makes you talk of tulips?" cried James. "Fate painted the tulips for me. Oh, Flemington, Flemington! In every country, in every march, in every fight, among dead and dying, and among dancers and the music they danced to, I have seen nothing but those gaudy flowers--beds of them growing like a woven carpet, and Diane among them!" No feminine figure had come into the background against which stood Archie's conception of Logie. "Diane?" he exclaimed involuntarily. James did not seem to hear him. "Her eyes were like yours," he went on. "When I saw you come into the light of the house two evenings since, I thought of her." Neither spoke for a few moments; then James went on again: