The Red Planet

staff-officer with red tabs, a wounded soldier, an elderly, eloquent gentleman from recruiting headquarters in London, and one or two nondescripts, including myself, were on the platform. A com

r inamoratas in their lives. As our beautiful Educational system had most scrupulously excluded from their school curriculum any reference to patriotism, any rudimentary conception of England as their sacred heritage, and as they had been afforded no opportunity since they left school of thinking of anything save their material welfare and grosser material appetites, the vague talk of peril to the British Empire left them unmoved. They were quite content to let others go and fight. They had their own comfortable theories about it. Some fellows liked that sort of thing. They themselves d

aragement of them. Quite the reverse. In this war they have given freely of their blood. I only speak as an Englishman of England, the great Mother of the Empire. Scot, Irishman, Welshman, Canadian, Australian are filled with the pride of their nationality. It is part of their being. Wisely they have been trained to it from infancy. England, who is far bigger, far more powe

gland is at the root of the peril o

be irrelevant to the dramatic sequence. But when I remember that the result of all the pomp and circumstance of that meeting was seven recru

om London roused enthusiastic cheers. The wounded sergeant, on crutches, displaying a foot like a bandaged mop, brought tears into the eyes of many women and evoked hoarse cheers from the old men. I spoke

had stood behind my chair duri

ther. Suppose I was to go the rounds, so to speak, and say to each of them, 'You young blighter, if you don't come with me a

s of assault and battery. Reckoning the penalty at six mon

e eye grew pe

his," said he, "

articular happened. Then one afternoon came Sir Anthony Fenimore to see me, and with a view to obtaining either m

ugh she belonged to a good old South of England family, she had joined, for reasons known only to herself, the old Free Kirk of Scotland, found a congenial Calvinistic centre in Galloway, and after insulting her English relations and friends in the most unconscionable way, cut herself adrift from them for ever. "Mad as a hatter," Sir Anthony used to say, and, never having met the lady, I agreed with him. She loathed her sister, she detested Anthony, and she appeared to be coldly indifferent to the fact of the existen

that he had bought Miss Althea's ticket at Euston and seen her start off comfortably on her journey. A letter or two had been received by the Fenimores from Galloway, and letters they had written to Galloway had been acknowledged by Althea. She returned to Wellingsford in due course, with b

is orgy of hatred and strife that is going on in the world, it seems ridiculous to go on hating an

er heard Aunt Maria's side of the dispute, thought it very high-spirited of the

t her patriotic sentiments did her credit, and that he was proud to receive her under his roof, and i

ht that tribulation might chasten you in the eyes of the Lord. I've discussed it with our Minister, a poor body, but a courageous man. He told me I was unchristian. No

d me of Aunt Maria,

ied. "She's the sort of knotty, solid human thing th

a night," replied Sir Anthony. "I wish to

, who had been beating about the bush for

s visit to Scotland i

ctly,"

ir and looked at me

went ther

ral reference to the last visit of Althea to

was in October, 191

house to prove she was with you

keting of men, he went to his library

looked them t

details. Read 'e

done so, she

Althea did stay with you. S

come here at considerable dislocation of myself and my principles, to bury the hatchet for the sa

f believed that Althea was in Galloway at the time. Maria's denial had come upon them l

ook the pins out of her hat and threw it on a chair, thus symbolising

dark eyes, "we don't doubt your word-but, as Anthon

do I

and shrivelled, gipsy-like creature. "You might a

when he had got thus far, "What

ained up in a dog-kennel. Of course she was acute. A mind trained in the acrobatics of Calvinistic Theology is, within a narrow compass, surprisingly agile. It jumped at on

ed her. We took it for granted-you know it, Duncan, as well as I do-that, a hot night in June-not able to sleep-she had stuck on a hat and wandered about the grounds, as she had often done before, and a spirit of childish adventure had tempted her, that night, to walk round the back of the town and-and-well, until in the dark, she stepped off the tow-path by the lo

was only a bow at a venture

me a letter which Maria had written to

own confession, had, out of love for Althea, performed the time-honoured jugglery with correspondence. She had posted in Galloway letters which she had received, under cover, f

ake of it?" as

mploys all this subterfuge in order to obtain a weeks liberty for a

able conclusion in

the man,

ave searched her

It was awful-but we had to. Not a scrap

w what the place is. The slightest spark se

de and rubbed his cl

have been y

hat sometimes disconcerted me. I knew t

'the gilded poet'? Once she said he was the most lady-like young man of her acquainta

d me on my senseless knee. "Young Holmes always used to be in and out of the house. They had known each other from childhood. He had a distinguished Ox

mber,"

mus-he declared that the winner of the Newdigate carried the bays of the Laureate in his knapsack; that Randall, white-lipped with horror, murmured to Betty Fairfax, his

and I have sized it up-was

than that she should carry off the hero o

Duncan, taken together-especially if they fit in

ter Sessions," I admitted,

n of his statement. To remember trivial incidents before the war takes a lot of cudgelling. Yes. I distinctly recollected the young man's telling me that Oxford being an intellectual hothouse and

n't think he had any

hy

een far too much

l?" Sir Anthony b

andall's character. Centripetal forces were too strong for t

d I, in conclusion, "I don't

t in my face. As I knew he meant m

as it,

er. Lady Greatorex has a wide circle of acquaintances. Do yo

h a gesture of despair. "After all, what does it matter? Perhaps it'

mote his left palm with his right fist, and th

kill

ep secret for a tune? Had she not been bright and happy from January to June? And that night of tragedy... What more likely than that she had gone forth to keep tryst with her husband and accidentally met her death? "He arrives," said I,

ossibility is possible. But it isn't probable. I have an intuitive feeling th

nothing mor