"I don't know. It was a mine perhaps, perhaps a torpedo. A ship has been blown up." He lifted his head and turned to her: "But you are not to say such a thing to anybody--after I leave you at Trois Fontaines." "No, Kervyn." "Not to anybody. Not even to your father. Do you understand me, Karen?" "No. But I won't tell anybody." "Because," he explained wearily, "the Admiralty may have reasons for concealing it. If they mean to conceal it, this ship of ours will be stopped again and held for a while in some French or British port." "Why?" "So that the passengers cannot talk about what they saw tonight." His haunted glance fell on the satchel at their feet. "As for that," he said, "I've had enough of it, and I'll take no further chances. Where are our passports?" "Locked in with the other papers. I was all ready to throw them out of the port when you knocked." "Unlock the bag now. I'll get rid of the whole business," he said bluntly. "Kervyn--I can't do that." "What?" he exclaimed. "I can't destroy those papers if there is a chance of getting through with them. I gave my promise, you know." The dull surprise in his eyes changed gradually to impatience. "If another ship stops us, they'll have to go overboard, anyway." "We may not be stopped again. If we are, we have time." "Karen." "Yes--dear?" A slight flush came into his haggard face; he hesitated, looked up at her where she was kneeling on the sofa beside him. "Dear," he said gently, "I have never intended that you should carry those papers to your father, or to anybody else." "I don't quite understand you." "Try to understand. I am a friend to England--even a closer friend to--Belgium." "I know. But you are _my_ friend, too." "Devotedly, Karen." He took hold of her hand; she slipped down to the sofa and settled there beside him with a little air of confidence which touched and troubled him. "I _am_ your friend," he said. "But there is another friendship that demands first of all the settlement of prior obligations. And, if these obligations conflict with any others, the others must give way, Karen." "What do you mean?" "The obligations of friendship--of--of affection--these must give way before a duty more imperative." "What duty?" "Allegiance." "To--whom?" "To the country in which my race had its origin." "Yes.... But America is neutral, Kervyn." "I mean--Belgium," he said in a low voice. "Belgium! Are you then Belgian?" she asked, amazed. "When Belgium is in trouble--yes." "How can you be loyal to two countries?" "By being loyal to my own manhood--and to the God who made me," he answered in a low voice. "You feel so deeply about this war?" "Nothing on earth could stir me as deeply, Karen. Unless--America were in danger." "I--I can't understand."