his life desolate and maimed in all that gave it value, he made the
appalling discovery that he was left almost alone of all whom he had
known and loved in past days. For of his close friends none were left
as before. For the most part they were lying on one or other of the five
battle fronts of the war. Others had found service in other spheres.
Only one was still in his home town, poor old Phil Amory, Frances'
brother, half-blind in his darkened room, but to bring anything of his
own heart burden to that brave soul seemed sacrilege or worse. True
enough, he was passing through the new and thrilling experience of
making acquaintance with his father. But old Grant Maitland was a hard
man to know, and they were too much alike in their reserve and in their
poverty of self-expression to make mutual acquaintance anything but a
slow and in some ways a painful process.

Hence in Maitland's heart there was an almost extravagant gratitude
toward this young generous-hearted girl whose touch had thrilled
his heart and whose voice with its passionate note of loyal and
understanding comradeship still sang like music in his soul, "Always and
always, Captain Jack, and evermore."

"By Jove, I have got to find some way of playing up to that," he said
aloud, as he turned from the gravelled driveway into the street. And in
the months that followed he was to find that the search to which he then
committed himself was to call for the utmost of the powers of soul which
were his.



CHAPTER II