“Mary is a wonder, Thomas. Her memory is as excellent as her cooking. All right; I’ll take half an hour off. I’ve done a good day’s work already.... No; don’t draw the curtains yet awhile. There may be some lonely soul passing by, in the cold and dark out there, who will enjoy the sight of this cosy warmth and brightness. I will draw them, when I get back to work.” As the old man left the room, closing the door behind him, Luke Sparrow pushed aside his mass of papers, rose, flung himself upon the couch, stretched his limbs, and shook off the strain of long hours of concentration. A tempting tea tray, arranged with much care and thought, was at his elbow. Mary’s golden bannocks stood for memories—memories not his own; but he took them, on trust, from Mary. The room was a perfect combination of work and comfort; outside interests and home. He took a miniature-case from his pocket and opened it. Exquisitely painted on ivory, the lovely face looked out at him; the lips smiled their message of abiding tenderness. It had been painted before the night which turned that bright hair white. Of all the treasures he had found in the despatch-box, this meant the most to him. He looked long at it now, as he sat alone upon that couch on which he had once lain with her arms wrapped around him. “Miriam, belovèd,” he said, “I think you would like this home of ours. And I believe you would like my book. And I am sure you would be amused to know that Mary drags old Thomas out ‘of an evening’ to see ‘the pictures.’ Mary is having the time of her life, and Thomas thinks it is bad for Mary’s soul. But you and I would agree that Mary’s soul can stand a little more gaiety than her life with Thomas has hitherto provided. “Now I must pour out my own tea from your beautiful William the Fourth silver teapot, so solid and embossed, and sturdy on its little feet, with a pair of acorns on the lid. “Miriam, do you know how lonely it is to have all this, yet not to have you? And so slowly the months pass; and so many years are yet to come. “Oh, my belovèd! Send me thoughts of hope and patience, and strength to play the man.” SCENE XIX THE GREAT CHANCE _Ten months later_ Luke Sparrow, erect and vigorous, in the khaki uniform which had begun to mean so much to England, stood on his study hearth-rug, giving final instructions to his old servant. “I’m in luck, Thomas. So early in the day; but I lost no time, and it’s France for me to-morrow; and, please God, that means Belgium, and in the thick of it. You will look after things, till I get back. Don’t let Mary fret. Give her a cheerful time. “If I don’t return, my things will come back to you. My will is in that drawer. Everything will belong to you two faithful souls. That is what her ladyship would wish.... That’s all right, Thomas. Yes, I know all about it. Goodbye, old friend....