Helen was speechless, and Philippa divined at once the cause of her agitation. She sprang to her feet. “Helen, you don't imagine--” she gasped. “Listen!” There was a voice in the hail--a familiar voice, though strained a little and hoarse; Mills' decorous greetings, agitated but fervent. And then--Major Richard Felstead! “Dick!” Helen screamed, as she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Dick! Dick!” It was an incoherent, breathless moment. Somehow or other, Philippa found herself sharing her brother's embrace. Then the fire of questions and answers was presently interrupted by Mills, triumphantly bearing in a fresh dish of curry. “What will the Major take to drink, your ladyship?” he asked. Felstead laughed a little chokingly. “Upon my word, there's something wonderfully sound about Mills!” he said. “It's a ghoulish thing to ask for in the middle of the day, isn't it, Philippa, but can I have some champagne?” “You can have the whole cellarful,” Philippa assured him joyously. “Be sure you bring the best, Mills.” “The Perrier Jonet 1904, your ladyship,” was the murmured reply. Mills' disappearance was very brief, and in a very few moments they found themselves seated once more at the table. They sat one on either side of him, watching his glass and his plate. By degrees their questions and his answers became more intelligible. “When did you get here?” they wanted to know. “I arrived in Harwich about daylight this morning,” he told them; “came across from Holland. I hired a car and drove straight here.” “When did you know you were coming home?” Helen asked. “Only two days ago,” he replied. “I never was so surprised in my life. Even now I can't realise my good luck. I can't see what I've done. The last two months, in fact, seem to me to have been a dream. Jove!” he went on, as he drank his wine, “I never thought I should be such a pig as to care so much for eating and drinking!” “And think what weeks of it you have before you?” Helen explained, clapping her hands. “Philippa and I will have a new interest in life--to make you fat.” He laughed. “It won't be very difficult,” he promised them. “I had several months of semi-starvation before the miracle happened. It was all just the chance of having had a pal up at Magdalen who's been serving in the German Army--Bertram Maderstrom was his name. You remember him, Philippa? He was a Swede in those days.” “What a dear he must have been to have remembered and to have been so faithful!” Philippa observed, looking away for a moment. “He's a real good sort,” Felstead declared enthusiastically, “although Heaven knows why he's turned German! He worked like a slave for me. I dare say he didn't find it so difficult to get me better quarters and a servant, and decent food, but when they told me that I was free--well, it nearly knocked me silly.” “The dear fellow!” Philippa murmured pensively.