with no joy in it, and no hope, because Luke had failed.

We are told that there shall be two in the field, that the one shall
be taken and the other left. But we have yet to learn why, in our
limited vision, the choice seems invariably to be mistaken. We have
yet to learn why he who is doing good work is called from the field,
leaving there the man whose tastes are urban.

Except for the sake of the record--and we cannot really be expected
in these busy times to live for generations past or yet unborn--
except for the record it would have been more expedient that Henry
should fail and Luke succeed. Everybody knew this. It was the
common talk on board the Britannia. Even the examiners knew it.
Luke himself was aware of it. But there had always been a fatality
about Luke.

And now, when it was quite apparent that Luke was a sailor and
nothing else, the Navy would have none of him. Those who knew him--
his kindly old captain and others--averred that, with a strict and
unquestionable discipline, Luke FitzHenry could be made a first-
class officer and a brilliant sailor. No one quite understood him,
not even his brother Henry, usually known as Fitz. Fitz did not
understand him now; he had not understood him since the fatal notice
had been posted on the broad mainmast, of which some may wot. He
did not know what to say, so, like the wise old Duke, he said
nothing.

In the meantime the train raced on. Every moment brought them
nearer to London and to the Honourable Mrs. Harrington.