"The horrid thing about it all," continued Darrel, "is that Kervyn is one man in a million;--and in a more terrible sense that is all he can be in this frightful and endless slaughter which they no longer even pretend to call one battle or many. "He's a drop in an ocean, only another cipher in the trenches where hell's hail rains day and night, day and night, beating out lives without distinction, without the intelligence of choice--just raining, raining, and beating out life!... I can scarcely endure the thought of Kervyn ending that way--such a man--my friend----" His voice seemed hoarse and he got up abruptly and walked to the window. Ashes of roses lingered in the west; the forest was calm; not a leaf stirred in the lilac-tinted dusk. Karen, who had been listening, stirred in the depths of her chair and clasped her fingers over her sewing. Mrs. Courland said quietly: "It is pleasant for any woman to have known such a man as Mr. Guild." "Yes," said Karen. "If the charm of his personality so impresses us who have known him only a very little while, I am thinking what those who are near and dear to him must feel." "I, too," said Karen, faintly. "Yet she loves him best who would not have it otherwise it seems." "Yes; he must go," said Karen. "Some could not have it--otherwise." A man came to light the lamps. And a little while after they were lighted Mrs. Courland quietly looked up from her knitting. One swift, clear glance she gave; saw in the young girl's eyes what she had already divined must be there. Then bent again above her ivory needles. After a while she sighed, very lightly. "They're late," remarked Darrel from the window. "They are probably strolling up the drive; Valentine knows enough not to get lost," said her mother. After a few moments Karen said: "Would my playing disturb you?" "No, dear. Please!" So Karen rose and walked to the piano. Presently Darrel turned and seated himself to listen to the deathless sanity of Beethoven flowing from the keys under a young girl's slender fingers. She was still seated there when Valentine came in, and turned her head from the keyboard, stilling the soft chords. "We had such a good time," said Valentine. "We caught half a dozen trout, and then I took him to the Pulpit where we sat down and remained very quiet; and just at sunset three boar came out to feed on the oak mast; and he said that one of them was worth shooting!" "You evidently _have_ had a good time," said Darrel, smiling. "What happened to Guild. Did the boar tree _him_?" "I think he'd be more likely to tree the boar," remarked the girl. And to her mother she said: "He went on toward the winter fold to talk to Michaud who has just returned from Trois Fontaines. There were a lot of men there, ours and a number of strangers. So I left him to talk to Michaud. What have you all been doing this afternoon?" turning to Karen, and from her, involuntarily to Darrel.