It was all immensely reassuring, and Sabre gathered up his bundle of papers and went into his room, feeling on the whole rather pleasurably excited than otherwise. But as he read, column after column and paper after paper, measures that had been taken by the Government, orders to Army and Naval reservists, the impending call for men, the scenes in the streets of London, and with these the deeply grave tone of the leading articles, the tremendous statistics and the huge foreshadowing of certain of the military correspondents, the breathless news already from the seats of war,--as his mind thus received there returned to it its earlier sense of enormous oppression and tremendous conjecture. War.... England.... The first sentence of his history, now greatly advanced, came tremendously into his mind: "This England you live in is _yours_...." And now at war--challenged--threatened-- It surged enormously within him. He got up. He must go out into the streets and see what was happening. The day wore on. He felt extraordinarily shy and self-conscious about the performance of a matter that had entered his mind with that surging uplift of his feelings. It was four o'clock in the afternoon before he took himself to it and then, leaving its place, he unexpectedly encountered Mabel. She was just going into the station. She had come in, as she had proposed, and she told him what she had said to Jones and what Jones had said to her. "Abominably rude man." Then she asked him, "Was that Doctor Anderson's gate you came out of just now?" "Yes." "Whatever had you been to see him about?" He flushed. He never could invent an excuse when he wanted one. "I'd been asking him to have a look at me." "Whatever for?" "Oh, nothing particular." "You couldn't have been to see him for nothing." "Well, practically nothing. You remember when I increased my life insurance some time ago they said my heart was a bit groggy and made a bit of a fuss? Well, I thought I'd just see again so as to get out of paying that higher premium." "Oh, that. What nonsense it was. What did he say?" "Said I had a murmur or some rot. I say, if you're going back now, don't wait dinner for me to-night. I'll get something here. The _Evening Times_ is bringing out a special edition at nine o'clock. I'd like to wait for it." She assented, "Yes, bring home the paper." He went into the office. The afternoon post had brought letters to his desk. He turned them over without interest, then caught up one,--from Nona. Marko, this frightful war! I have thanked God on my knees for you that last week you prevented me. If I had done it with this! Tony has rejoined the Guards, he was in the Reserve of Officers. And you see that whatever has been, and is, dear, he's my man to stand by in this. Marko, it would have been too awful if I couldn't, and I thank God for you, again and again and again. Nona.