This is all, I think. I'm sorry about the August fishing on the Black Erenz. It is a lovely stream and full of trout. All Luxembourg is lovely; it is a story-book country--a real land of romance. I wish I might have seen it again. Never were such forests, such silver streams, such golden glades, such wild-flowers--never such hills, such meadows, such skies. Well--if I come back to you, I come back. If not--good-bye, old fellow--with all it implies between friends of many years. Say to your kind friends, the Courlands, who so graciously invited you to bring me with you to Lesse Forest, that I shall not be able to accept their delightful hospitality, and that my inability to do so must remain to me a regret as long as I live. (These guns are thundering enough to crack the very sky! I really wish I could hear some band playing "Tipperary.") Good-bye for a while--or indefinitely. Good luck to you. KERVYN GUILD. "Is that quite acceptable to you?" asked Guild of the young Death's Head hussar beside him. "Quite acceptable," replied the officer politely. "But what is there remarkable in anybody drinking six quarts of beer?" Guild laughed: "Here is the note that I desire to enclose with it, if I may do so." And he wrote: DEAREST: You must not grieve too much. You have George. It could not be avoided, honourably. He and I are good Americans; we are, perhaps, something else, too. But what the Book of Gold holds it never releases; what is written there is never expunged. George must do what I did when the time comes. I would have done more--was meaning to--was on my way. Destiny has ordered it otherwise. While I live I think always of you. And it shall be so until the last. This letter is to be sent to you by Harry Darrel only in the event of my death. There's a good chance for me. But if things go wrong, then, good-bye, dearest. KERVYN. P. S. Tell George that it's up to him, now. K. He held out the letter cheerfully to the hussar, but the latter had read it, and he merely nodded in respectful silence. So Guild folded it, sealed it in an envelope, wrote on it, "For my Mother in case of my death," and inclosed it in his letter to Darrel. "Any time you are ready now," he said, rising from the little enameled iron table under the arbour. The hussar rose, clanking, and set a whistle to his lips. Then, turning: "I shall have yet one more glass of beer," he said blandly, but his eyes twinkled. The grey car rolled up in a few moments. Over it at a vast height something soared in hawk-like circles. It may have been a hawk. There was no telling at such a height.