of the peoples who had taken part in the Games. In turn the
representatives of each people stood and resumed their seat, the music
underlining their individuality and parking them in sections, even as
rivalry had parked them in the Stadium. The majestic anthem of Russia,
the pæan of the Marseillaise, the livelier march of Italy, the song of
Germany, the Star-Spangled Banner; and long before the band struck into
the solemn rhythm of "God save the King," Stella Croyle at all events
knew that Calypso had lost. For she saw a flame illumine Luttrell's face
and transfigure him. He had slipped out of her reach. The doubts and
perplexities which had so troubled him during the last months were now
resolved. As he listened to the Hymns, he saw as in a vision the nations
advancing abreast over a vast plain like battalions in line with their
intervals for manoeuvring spaced out between them. In front of each
nation rolled a grey vapour, which gradually took shape before
Luttrell's eyes; and there was made visible to him a shadowy legion of
men marching in the van, the men who had left ease and women and all the
grace of life behind them and had gone out to die in the harness of
service--one in this, one in that corner of the untravelled world, and
now all reunited in a strong fellowship. The vision remained with him
after the last strains of music had died away, and faded slowly. He
waked to the lights and clamour of the restaurant and turned to Stella
Croyle.

"Stella," he began, and----

"I know," she interrupted in a small voice. She was sitting with her
head downcast and her hands clenched upon her lap so tightly that the
skin was white about the points where the tips of her fingers pressed.
"Perhaps I shan't suffer so very much."