ll enough the declaration of war between them. She
remembered, too, that it had meant nothing personal when it was made. At
the time she had had no inkling of the terrible thing it could mean, or
how nearly it could bring them into real, personal conflict.

She had been wholly unprepared for the demand that had been thrust upon
her by the man, Peterman. It had frightened her at first. She had shrunk
from it. Then, finally, she had accepted it as her duty, under pressure.
Peterman had made it appear so trifling. A journey, a trying journey,
perhaps, but one to be made with all the comfort he could provide. And
then to preach to those ignorant forest-men the disaster towards which
their employers were heading. As Peterman had put it, it had almost
seemed a legitimate thing to do. Convinced as she had been of the
disaster about to fall on Sachigo, it had seemed as if she were even
doing them a service.

Had she been able to search Peterman's mind she would never have taken
part in the dastardly thing he had planned. Had she been able to read
him she would have quickly discovered the real motive he had in sending
her. She would have discovered the furious jealousy and wounded vanity
which meant her to be a prime instrument in the wrecking of Bull
Sternford and his mills. She would have realised the devilish ingenuity
with which he intended to wreck her friendship with another man so that
he might the more truly claim her for himself. But she had no suspicion,
and had blindly yielded herself to the duty she believed to be hers.

After Bat's hurried departure Bull cast about in his mind for the thing
to say to her. And somehow, without realising it, the right words sprang
to his lips.

"We won!" he said. And the smile accompanying his words was one of
gentle raillery, and suggested nothing of the real tragedy of the thing
that had happened.

The girl's eyes widened. She strove to understand the dreadful lightness
with which Bull spoke. Victory? Defeat? At that moment they were the two
things furthest from her mind.

Bull drew forward a chair, and gently insisted. And Nancy, accepting it,
realised in a dull sort of way that it was the chair she had occupied at
the time of her first visit, which now seemed so far, far back in her
memory. Bull sat again in his rocker. He leant forward.

"Sure," he went on, "we've won out. Your Skandinavia's beaten. Beaten a
mile. We've won, too, at less cost than I hoped. Does it grieve y