As Dick walked out to the "Emma" that night after supper, he felt keenly his isolation. His mind was full of dread. Europe and her affairs had long been like a chess-board to him. For years with his fellows at Oxford, with _Times_ correspondents in different continental cities, with a host of scattered acquaintances of various points of view, he had played the fascinating game of speculation and forecast that traps every student of history and politics who in the last forty years has spent any length of time in any great continental center. Dick knew something of the ambitions of every nation in Europe, something of their temper and their antipathies. He had in mind all possible lineups. He knew as well as any European statesman that if Austria declared war on Serbia, there would probably be Russian interference, and if Russia went in--"My God," he groaned to himself, "_Der Tag_ is here at last. It's the '_nächste Krieg_.'" He tried hard, as he walked, to push away the depression which was overwhelming him. "Of course, they'll stop it," he told himself; "they have before. It is folly for me to let this thing get hold of me in this way." It was twilight when he crossed the fields to the mining settlement and made for the house of his friend Nikola Petrovitch. In the dim light the little house looked very pleasant. Stana Petrovitch loved her garden, and the severe outlines of the company house were softened with blossoming honeysuckle, which filled the air with a faint perfume. It was very sweet to see, but before Dick was near enough to get more than a pleasant outline, from the house there came a burst of strong, fierce song--a dozen voices, eloquent with emotion. How well he knew it! The Serbian National Anthem: "God of Justice! Thou Who saved us When in deepest bondage cast, Hear Thy Serbian children's voices, Be our help as in the past. With Thy mighty hand sustain us, Still our rugged pathway trace; God, our Hope! protect and cherish Serbian crown and Serbian race! "On our sepulcher of ages Breaks the resurrection morn, From the slough of direst slavery Serbia anew is born. Through five hundred years of durance We have knelt before Thy face, All our kin, O God! deliver! Thus entreats the Serbian race. Amen." It was what he knew. Nikola, Yovan, Marta. They were _going_. "God help the women," he said to himself. Turning, he went around and to the street. It was the end of a shift, and the men who had come out had washed, eaten and now were smoking their pipes in groups at one or another door. The women were collected too. There was excitement in the air. "Mr. Dick," some one called to him. "Is it true, the war?" "I am afraid so," he said.