because their hosts were scattered in battle, and who suffered
themselves passively to be led into captivity? My country can be
conquered in one way, and one way only, - not until her sons, ay,
and her daughters too, have perished, can these people rule. They
will come to an empty and a stricken country - a country red with
blood, desolate, with blackened houses and empty cities. The
horror of it! Think, my friend David, the horror of it!"

Bellamy threw his head back with a sudden gesture of impatience.

"You take too much for granted," he declared. "England, at any
rate, is not yet a conquered race. And there is France - Italy,
too, if she is wise, will never suffer this thing from her ancient
enemy."

"It is the might of the world which threatens," she murmured.
"Your country may defend herself, but here she is powerless.
Already it has been proved. Last year you declared yourself our
friend - you and even Russia. Of what avail was it? Word came
from Berlin and you were powerless."

Then tragedy broke into the room, tragedy in the shape of a man
demented. For fifteen years Bellamy had known Arthur Dorward, but
this man was surely a stranger! He was hatless, dishevelled, wild.
A dull streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes
were on fire.

"Bellamy!" he cried. "Bellamy!"

Words failed him suddenly. He leaned against the table, breathless,