And Pike would understand--he certainly would understand! If short, passionate barks, and a madness of wagging tail-stump, accompanied by jumps of crazy joy, could comfort any one--then Paul had his full measure when the door was opened, and this rough white terrier bounded in upon him, and, frantic with welcome and ecstasy, was with difficulty quieted at last in his master's fond arms. "Oh! Pike, Pike!" Paul said, while tears of weakness flowed down his cheeks. "I can talk to you--and when you wear her collar you will know my Queen--our Queen." And Pike said everything of sympathy a dog could say. But it was not until late at night, when the interminable evening had been got through, that his master had the pleasure of trying his darling's present on. That first evening of his homecoming was an ordeal for Paul. He was still feeble, and dead tired from travelling, to begin with--and to have to listen and reply to the endless banalities of his mother's guests was almost more than he could bear. They were a nice cheery company of mostly young friends. Pretty girls and his own boon companions abounded, and they chaffed and played silly games after dinner--until Paul could have groaned. Captain Grigsby had eventually caught Sir Charles' eye: "You will have the boy fainting if you don't get him off alone soon," he said. "These girls would tire a man in strong health!" And at last Paul had escaped to his own room. He leant out of his window, and looked at the gibbous moon. Pike was there on the broad sill beside him, under his arm, and he could feel the golden collar on the soft fur neck--a wave of perhaps the most hopeless anguish he had yet felt was upon his spirit now. The unutterable blankness--the impossible vista of the endless days to come, with no prospect of meeting--no aim--no hope. Yes, she had said there was one hope--one hope which could bring peace to their crud unrest. But how and when should he ever know? And if it were so--then more than ever he should be by her side. The number of beautiful things he would want to say to her about it all--the oceans of love he would desire to pour upon her--the tender care which should be his hourly joy. To honour and worship her, and chase all pain away. And he did not even know her name, or the country where one day this hope should reign. That was incredible--and it would be so easy to find out. But he had promised her never to make inquiries, and he would keep his word. He saw her reason now; it had arisen in an instinct of tender protection for himself. She had known if he knew her place of abode no fear of death would keep him from trying to see her. Ah! he had had the tears--and why not the cold steel and blood? It was no price to pay could he but hear once more her golden voice, and feel her loving, twining arms.