I reached the Savoy to find word from Tom that he and Dorothy had gone over to the Cecil to see some friends. I followed, leaving word at the office that I had gone. As I stood in the corridor waiting, a page came by, calling my name for the telephone. I took up the receiver with a deep thrill of anticipation. “Orrington?” “Yes.” It was one of our correspondents. “War just declared between England and Germany. I have inside information that the fleets will meet in the Channel, to-morrow, off Dover. I suppose you’ll hunt your man there?” “I’m off for the scene of battle by the first train,” I answered. “Much obliged,” and I hung up the receiver. As I stepped out under the great awning at the head of the courtyard, the gayety and life of the full tide of evening was sweeping through. Beautifully dressed women, gallant men, life and youth and pleasure,--and to-morrow--what? Would a single one of those mighty ships, would one of those brave sailors return? As I stood there, a hush came. The news which I had heard had just been received. Then came a mighty roar, “War, War, War.” Then, as it died away, out burst a great increasing wave of song, the whole multitude joining in one mighty chorus, “God save the King.” I saw Dorothy hastening towards me, her lips quivering. “Jim, have you got to go to sea?” she said stammering. “I’m so afraid no boat will ever return,” and she ended with a sob. I could wait no longer. “Dear love,” I said, “I must, but I love you, dear, and if I die to-morrow or fifty years off, I love you and you alone,” and there, as the last bars of the song rang forth in the full tide of exaltation, as the clamor of the crowded street outside rose to its height, Dorothy and I came to our own. CHAPTER XVII As we stood there in the hush that followed the last bars of the song, Tom came towards us. Dorothy turned to him, starry eyed, and he looked quickly at me. I nodded. Tom smiled widely, as he stretched out his hand. “Nobody else in the world I’d as soon would have her, old man,” he said, as he nearly wrung my hand off. Then turning to his sister, “Well, little girl, so you’ve waked up at last to the real state of things.” Dorothy clung to his arm. “Tom, dear, I have, and I am very happy, but--” her voice broke. “It may only be for to-night. Jim leaves at once for the fleet. He is going out to watch the battle, and if the man sends out his waves to sink those ships, I am afraid he’ll sink every other boat anywhere near.” “This, my children,” said Tom, with a flowing gesture, “is where your old uncle Thomas steps in as the benevolent fairy who saves the handsome lover of the beautiful young princess.” Dorothy looked at him, her whole soul in her eyes. “Tom, don’t joke. Have you any way by which Jim can go and be safe? I can’t ask him to stay behind for me, when he ought to go.”