"Come, Dad," Derry would say, and when the men had growled a threat, he
had flung defiance at them. "My mother's motor is up the road with two
men in it. If I don't get back in five minutes they will follow me."

The General had always been tractable in the hands of his son. He
adored him. It was only of late that he had found anything to
criticise.

Derry, driving along the old Conduit road in the crisp darkness,
wondered how long that restless spirit would endure in that ageing
body. He shuddered as he thought of the two men who were his
father--one a polished gentleman ruling his world, by the power of his
keen mind and of his money, the other a self-made vagabond--pursuing an
aimless course.

The stars were sharp in a sable sky, the river was a thin line of
silver, the bills were blotted out.

Bronson was waiting by the big bridge. "He is singing down there," he
said, "on the bank. Can you hear him?"

Leaning over the parapet, Derry listened. The quavering voice came up
to him.

"_He has sounded forth the--trumpet--that shall never call--retreat--
He is sifting out the--hearts of men--before his judgment--
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him! Be jubilant, my feet--'_"

Poor old soldier, beating time to the triumphant tune, stumbling over