The last time I saw him he was singularly bright and hopeful. He had thoroughly enjoyed a short September holiday at Lyme Regis, and was eloquent on the beauty of the Dorset and Devon coast. And he spoke with the utmost confidence of the coming campaign on the Western front next spring. For him there could be no doubt as to the final issue of the struggle. The devil was let loose for a while and all the powers of evil were ranged against us in the battle, but right must conquer in the end, he felt convinced, and the hour of victory, he believed, was not far off. Alas! he was not destined to see the day to which he looked forward with such serene confidence. A sharp and sudden attack of influenza carried him off after a fortnight’s illness, and on the 15th of January he breathed his last. A few days later, a large company of the friends who had known and loved him met in the Old Church, which has played so great a part in the history of Chelsea and is so often mentioned in his books. Here his mortal remains were laid under a violet pall, bright with flowers, while sweet boy-voices sang his last Requiem. Among the mourners were the children and grandchildren of Burne-Jones and the daughter of William Morris. So, with the music and flowers which he had loved, and with familiar faces all around, he passed to his well-earned rest, followed by the love and gratitude of thousands whose lives had been cheered and gladdened by his genius. JULIA CARTWRIGHT. _UNCONQUERED: AN EPISODE OF 1914._ BY MAUD DIVER. Copyright, 1917, by Mrs. Diver, in the United States of America. CHAPTER X. Vanish every idle thought, Perish, last of Folly’s ways! All that pride of eye hath sought, All that rebel flesh hath wrought, Utterly reduced to naught, How can ye outlive these days? X. That was how his mother found him when she came in search of him. The lunch-gong had brought no Mark; and no one had seen him, except Maurice, who, from his window, had caught sight of the lovers entering the wood. All the morning she had been secretly anxious. Now she felt certain something was wrong, and telling the others not to wait, she fled out to his favourite haunt, hardly knowing what she expected to find. He did not hear her till she set foot in the summer-house; and the wild idea smote him—Could it be Bel? With a start he looked up; and at sight of his face Lady Forsyth’s heart stood still. ‘My darling Boy, what _has_ happened?’ Mark frowned and straightened his shoulders. ‘She’s chucked me—that’s all,’ he said in a dazed voice. ‘They’ve poisoned her point of view between them.’ His eyes challenged hers. ‘Mother, you’ve been right all along. I suppose—you even foresaw—this!’ ‘Dear, indeed I didn’t.’ Her hand closed on the rough woodwork. She so longed to gather him to her heart. ‘I was anxious—a little. But I hoped better things of her.’