The newcomer turned out various French and German books from a dilapidated armchair, and obeyed. He was a fresh-coloured, handsome youth, some fifteen years younger than Meynell, the typical public-school boy in appearance. But his expression was scarcely less harassed than the Rector's. "I expect you have heard from my father," he said abruptly. "I found a letter waiting for me," said Meynell, holding up the note he had taken from the hall-table on coming in. But he pursued the subject no further. The young man fidgeted a moment. "All one can say is"--he broke out at last--"that if it had not been my father, it would have been some one else--the Archdeacon probably. The fight was bound to come." "Of course it was!" The Rector sprang to his feet, and, with his hands under his coat-tails and his back to the fire, faced his visitor. "That's what we're all driving at. Don't be miserable about it, dear fellow. I bear your father no grudge whatever. He is under orders, as I am. The parleying time is done. It has lasted two generations. And now comes war--honourable, necessary war!" The speaker threw back his head with emphasis, even with passion. But almost immediately the smile, which was the only positive beauty of the face, obliterated the passion. "And don't look so tragic over it! If your father wins--and as the law stands he can scarcely fail to win--I shall be driven out of Upcote. But there will always be a corner somewhere for me and my books, and a pulpit of some sort to prate from." "Yes, but what about _us?_" said the newcomer, slowly. "Ah!" The Rector's voice took a dry intonation. "Yes--well!-you Liberals will have to take your part, and fire your shot some day, of course--fathers or no fathers." "I didn't mean that. I shall fire my shot, of course. But aren't you exposing yourself prematurely--unnecessarily?" said the young man, with vivacity. "It is not a general's part to do that." "You're wrong, Stephen. When my father was going out to the campaign in which he was killed, my mother said to him, as though she were half asking a question, half pleading--I can hear her now, poor darling!--'John, it's _right_ for a general to keep out of danger?' and he smiled and said, 'Yes, when it isn't right for him to go into it, head over ears.' However, that's nonsense. It doesn't apply to me. I'm no general. And I'm not going to be killed!" Young Barron was silent, while the Rector prepared a pipe, and began upon it; but his face showed his dissatisfaction. "I've not said much to father yet about my own position," he resumed; "but, of course, he guesses. It will be a blow to him," he added, reluctantly. The Rector nodded, but without showing any particular concern, though his eyes rested kindly on his companion.