of her
face, almost touching the crimson lips. There was so much magnetism in
her beauty, such a heaven in the unconquered warmth of her impetuous
being, that Selwyn gripped the arms of his chair to help to restrain the
mad impulse to grasp her in his arms and smother those lips and the
flushed, satin cheeks in a tempest of kisses.

'Yes, Elise?' he repeated, clearing his throat.

'Listen, Austin. I can't stay inside any longer. I think my blood is on
fire. Will you come with me to the village?'

'At eleven o'clock?'

'Yes. The news from London will reach the village first, and I want to
be there when it comes. We shall have to hurry if we are to make it in
time.'

'I'm at your service, Elise.'

'Right-o. I'll let the mater know. I'll just run upstairs and put
something easy on, and I'll meet you at the front of the house. You had
better change too.'

A few minutes later she joined him on the lawn. They had just reached
the road which led to the porter's lodge, when, without a word of
warning, she grasped his hand, and, half-running, half-dancing, pulled
him forward at a rapid pace. With a laugh he joined in her mood, and,
running side by side, they sped along the drive, while startled rabbits
leaped across their path, and melancholy owls hooted disapprobation. As
if the fumes of madness had mounted even to the skies, dark flecks of
cloud raced headlong across the starry heavens.

They were mad. The world was mad. He wondered whether his brain might
be playing some prank, and this absurd thing of two young people laughing
and running to discover whether or not a nation was at war would prove a
pointless jest of unsound imagination.

'Come along,' she cried. 'You're dragging.'

Then it wasn't a dream. The sound of her voice whipped the wandering
fantasies of his brain into coherency. With a shout he jumped forward,
and ran as he had not done since that one great game when, as a 'scrub,'
he had his chance against Yale.

'Oh-oh-oh,' she laughed, 'I'm--winded.'

He caught her up in his arms as if her weight were no more than a
child's, and carried her forward a hundred paces. His strength was
limitless. He felt as if his body would never again know the lassitude
of fatigue.

His pulses were throbbing with double fever: that of the world and his
own hot love for her. Yes, it was love. What a fool he had been ever to
doubt it! His last thoughts at night were of her; the last word
whisp