He paused, and for a moment Eve looked ahead at the gleaming chain of lamps; then, still very slowly, she brought her glance back again. “No,” she said very slowly. “You are not too old. But there are times when age--and things like age--are not the real consideration. It seems to me that your own inclination, your own individual sense of right and wrong, has nothing to do with the present moment. The question is whether you are justified in going away”--she paused, her eyes fixed steadily upon his--“whether you are free to go away, and make a new life--whether it is ever justifiable to follow a phantom light when--when there's a lantern waiting to be carried.” Her breath caught; she drew away from him, frightened and elated by her own words. Loder turned to her sharply. “Eve!” he exclaimed; then his tone changed. “You don't know what you're saying,” he added, quickly; “you don't understand what you're saying.” Eve leaned forward again. “Yes,” she said, slowly, “I do understand.” Her voice was controlled, her manner convinced. She was no longer the girl conquered by strength greater than her own: she was the woman strenuously demanding her right to individual happiness. “I understand it all,” she repeated. “I understand every point. It was not Chance that made you change your identity, that made you care for me, that brought about--his death. I don't believe it was Chance; I believe it was something much higher. You are not meant to go away!” As Loder watched her the remembrance of his first days as Chilcote rose again; the remembrance of how he had been dimly filled with the belief that below her self-possession lay a strength--a depth--uncommon in woman. As he studied her now, the instinctive belief flamed into conviction. “Eve!” he said involuntarily. With a quick gesture she raised her head. “No!” she exclaimed. “No; don't say anything! You are going to see things as I see them--you must do so--you have no choice. No real man ever casts away the substance for the shadow!” Her eyes shone--the color, the glow, the vitality, rushed back into her face. “John,” she said, softly, “I love you--and I need you--but there is something with a greater claim--a greater need than mine. Don't you know what it is?” He said nothing; he made no gesture. “It is the party--the country. You may put love aside, but duty is different. You have pledged yourself. You are not meant to draw back.” Loder's lips parted. “Don't!” she said again. “Don't say anything! I know all that is in your mind. But, when we sift things right through, it isn't my love--or our happiness--that's really in the balance. It is your future!” Her voice thrilled. “You are going to be a great man, and a great man is the property of his country. He has no right to individual action.” Again Loder made an effort to speak, but again she checked him.