is going to pot," Randal was saying. "I was down in the
Mays and they were actually running with the boats--they seemed quite
keen on going up. The decent men seem to have all gone."

Robin was paying very little attention. He was looking worried, and
Clare watched him a little anxiously. "I hope you will be able to stay
with us some days, Mr. Randal," she said. "There are several new
people in Pendragon whom I should like you to meet."

Randal was charmed. He would love to stop, but he must get back to
London almost immediately. He was going over to Germany next week and
there were many arrangements to be made.

"Germany!" It was Robin who spoke, but the voice was not his usual
one. It was alive, vibrating, startling. "Germany! By Jove!
Randal--are you really going?"

"Why, of course," a little wearily; "I have been before, you know.
Rather a bore, but the Rainers--you remember them, Miss Trojan--are
going over to the Beethoven Festival at Bonn and are keen on my going
with them. I wasn't especially anxious, but one must do these things,
you know."

"Robin was there a year ago--Germany, I mean--and loved it. Didn't
you, Robin?"

"Germany? It was Paradise, Heaven--what you will. Ruegen, the Harz,
Heidelberg, Worms----" He stopped and his voice broke. "I'm a little
absurd about it still," he said, as though in apology for such
unnecessary enthusiasm.

"Oh! you're young, Robin," said Randal, laughing. "When you've seen as
much as I have you'll be blase. Not that one ought to be, but
Germany--well, it hardly lasts, I think. Ruegen--why, it rained and
there were mists round the Studenkammer, and how those people eat at
the Jagdschloss! Heidelberg! picture postcards and shocking
hotels--Oh! No, Robin, you'll see all that later. I wish you were
going instead of me, though."

Harry had looked up at the sound of Robin's voice. It had been a new
note. There had been an eagerness, an enthusiasm, that meant life and
something genuine.

Hope that had been slowly dying revived again. If Robin really cared
for Germany like that, then they had something in common. With that
spark a fire might be kindled. A red-gold haze as of fire burnt in the
night sky, over the town. Stars danced overhead, a little wind,
beating fitfully at the window, seemed to carry the light of the moon
in its tempestuous track, blowing it lightly in silver mists and clouds
over the moor. The Wise Men were there, strong a