'What pigmies we are, and for how little do the plans of individuals count! God speaks, and lo the pomp of the Czar becomes but as chaff which the wind drives away! Who would have believed a few months ago that all the so-called glory of the Imperial House of the Romanoffs would become the dream of yesterday? All the long line of Royal sons no longer counts. Czardom with all it meant has gone for ever. The man, whose word a few weeks ago meant glory or shame, life or death, is to-day an exile, a prisoner. His word no more than the cry of a puling child! And to-morrow? God may speak again, and then Kaiserism will fall with all its pomp and vanity. 'Of course I am but a poor ignorant soldier, and my word cannot count for much; but I have a feeling that before many years are over,--perhaps it may be only a matter of months--the Kaiser will either die by his own hand, or else God, through the millions of bereaved and heart-broken people, will hurl him from his throne. 'What is the power of autocratic kings? Only the moaning of night winds. Yesterday it was not, and tomorrow it will not be. But God lives through His people, and that people is slowly moving on to liberty and power. That is why I believe the end of war is drawing near. It is never the _people_ who long for war; it is the kings, the potentates who are ever guilty of making it. Thus when they cease to rule, war will cease, and there will be peace and brotherhood. 'Anyhow, President Wilson has spoken, and he has expressed the highest feelings of the American nation, and although the end of this war may not come as we expect, it will come in the overthrow of Junkerdom and military supremacy.' After this I did not hear from Edgecumbe for some time, and I began to grow anxious at his long continued silence, then when June of this year arrived, an event took place which overcame me with astonishment. I had had a hard day at the training camp, and was sitting outside the mess tent, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder, and heard a cheery voice close by me. 'Hulloa, Luscombe, why that pensive brow?' I looked up and saw my friend standing by me, with his left arm in a sling, looking pale and somewhat haggard, but with a bright light in his eyes. 'Edgecumbe!' I cried. 'Ay, but I am glad to see you! Where did you spring from, and what have you been doing?' 'That's what I've come to tell you,' he said quietly. CHAPTER XXXI EDGECUMBE'S RETURN 'You are wounded,' I stammered, scarcely knowing what I was saying. His appearance was so sudden, and unexpected, that I could scarcely believe that it was really he who stood there before me. 'It's not bad I hope?' 'No, not bad. Not enough to make a fuss about;--it might have been, though'; and I noticed that his voice became grave. 'How? What do you mean?' 'I'll tell you some day--soon perhaps. Are you busy?' 'No, my work is over for the day. I _am_ glad to see you, old man. Are you home for long?'