"It must be," he said. Then he endeavored to soften his decision. "It is best so. Best for our work; for you; for--Vita. Ach! I would like to tell you all I have in here"--he tapped his broad brow with a forefinger. "But I cannot. I may not. Dorby has been a haven to me, and I longed to be near and witness the growth of that work which is to make impossible the vile cruelty of men, all the horrors of an indefensible slaughter. I told myself I would sit here and see my dream slowly, step by step, fulfilled. I said that you and your father were the laboring genius setting up the defence which was to serve humanity in the days to come. And in the pride and joy of my heart I told myself that mine was the brain that had conceived this merciful weapon, which I should watch grow to its final triumph. But now I know that it is not so. I may not witness the triumph of my labor here, where it is to be achieved. My presence adds jeopardy to it. It adds jeopardy to you all. It must not be. I have made my mind up. I must go." Ruxton inclined his head as though in a measure of agreement. "If it can be done in safety perhaps it is as well," he said. "Safety?" The wide eyes shining beneath the shaggy white brows were smiling and full of a boyish delight at the thought of adventure. "Show me. How can it be otherwise? Have we not held the secret of our landing? Who is to know the secrets of our cove? The tides--is there a Teuton spy who would face the entrance of that cove and believe that it is free to us to enter or leave it at will? No one would believe it could serve a landing." "No. And you will go that way?" "Yes. I shall leave on Sunday night. The tide will serve us at half-past six. It is then dark." The old man's spirits were rising at the thought of cheating his enemies. His eyes were full of guileless delight. Ruxton was regarding him with something of the same spirit lighting his own smiling eyes. "It would seem safe enough. I can offer no objection. And yet----" "Ach! you still fear for me," cried the other impulsively. "It is the obstinate English in you. Yes, yes. That temperament. You bite hard and will not let go. So." But Ruxton suddenly bestirred himself. He passed the simple levity of the other by. His eyes had become serious.