"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar." "How odd," murmured the girl in a wondering voice, "the very lines that I was thinking of," and in low tones she finished the quotation: "O joy, that in our embers Is something that doth live; That nature yet remembers, What was so fugitive!" CHAPTER V. A THREE-FOLD PLEDGE. All through the following day the deep impressions of the previous evening held Linton as one is held by the memory of some haunting and impressive dream. Everything down below seemed insignificant and irrelevant. They were dining out that evening, and he could not shake off the feeling that in everything connected with that ordinary function he was playing the part of a small automaton on a puppet stage. He and his fellow-puppet, Sir Robert, got into a little motor-car and rushed over five miles of little roads, between two little hedges, to General Hartwell's little bungalow. Presently, they were sitting round a little white-covered table, cutting up food with little implements, and taking little sips out of little glasses. How wise and important they thought themselves in the midst of all these little things; how self-satisfied everyone appeared! There were four of them at the dinner-table, the third guest being Major Edgar Wardlaw, of the Sappers, a man to whom their host showed great deference and affection. Wardlaw talked but little; the look in his eyes and the lines on his broad, fair forehead suggested concentration of thought on some problem remote from those which the others were discussing. The General himself did most of the talking. He was a woman-hater, that is to say, a hater of woman in the abstract. To the individual woman he was gentleness and kindness itself. But rumours of a new and daring forward movement by the Vice-President of the Council and her party had roused the veteran to a pitch of extraordinary resentment. It was said that Lady Catherine contemplated forming a regiment of Amazons in the Twentieth Century! It was monstrous. The General boiled over with disgust and indignation. His language at times became absolutely lurid. "A devilish nice pass we've come to at last," he growled. Then he seemed to be vainly ransacking his vocabulary for strong language, and gulped down his wine in default of finding an adequate objurgation. The judge laughed with gentle amusement at his fiery old friend. "It's all very well to laugh, Herrick, but, damme, sir, it's the last straw, it's the last straw!" roared the General. "Just what we've been wanting," said Sir Robert, calmly. "Eh, what d'ye mean?" General Hartwell stared. "When people get the last straw laid on, they can't stand any more. So now's the time for the worm to turn." "You're right! By gad, you're right! But how's the worm going to manage it?" cried the old officer, leaning back.