'Great God! man,' was his reply, 'but the country's at stake, the Empire's at stake! Truth, righteousness, liberty are at stake! If we don't win in this war, German devilry will rule the world, and shall the country allow the Trade, as it calls itself, to batten upon the vitals of the nation? That's why I am bewildered. I told you just now that perhaps I look at things differently from what I ought to look at them. I have lost all memory of my past life, and I judge these things by their face value, without any preconceived notions or prejudices. I have to begin _de novo_, and perhaps can't take into account all the forces which have been growing up through the ages. But, Heavens! man, this is a crisis! and if we are going to win this war, not only must every one do his bit, but all that weakens and all that destroys the resources of the nation must be annihilated!' Our conversation came abruptly to an end at that moment, caused by the entrance of my orderly, who told me that a gentleman wished to see me. 'Who is it, Jenkins?' I asked. 'Major St. Mabyn, sir.' He had scarcely spoken when, with a lack of ceremony common at the front, George St. Mabyn entered. 'Ah, there you are, Luscombe! Did you know that both Springfield and I have had a remove? We got here last night. I fancy there are going to be busy times. I was awfully glad when I heard you were here too.' 'No, I never heard of your coming,' I replied, 'but this is really a great piece of luck.' I had scarcely uttered the words, when I turned towards Paul Edgecumbe, who was looking steadily at St. Mabyn. There was no suggestion of recognition in his eyes, but I noticed that far-away wistful look, as though he were trying to remember something. Instinctively I turned towards George St. Mabyn, who at that moment first gave a glance at Edgecumbe. Then I felt sure that although Edgecumbe knew nothing of St. Mabyn, his presence startled the other very considerably. There was a look in George St. Mabyn's eyes difficult to describe; doubt, wonder, fear, astonishment, were all there. His ruddy cheeks became pale, too, and I was sure his lips quivered. 'Who--who have you got here?' he asked. 'It's a chap who has got knocked about in a scrap,' I replied. St. Mabyn gave Edgecumbe a second look, and then I thought his face somewhat cleared. His colour came back; his lips ceased twitching. 'What did you say your name was, my man?' 'Edgecumbe, sir.' 'D.C.L.I., I see.' 'Yes, sir.' He saluted as he spoke, and left the room, while George St. Mabyn stood looking after him. CHAPTER VIII I BECOME AN EAVESDROPPER