tion of
individuals, and if nations in order to settle their quarrel go to war,
and murder, not by ones, but by thousands, does it cease to be the
crime of Cain? Does it cease to be murder?"

"Yes, of course it does," replied a young fellow, named Poldhu, who had
arranged to leave for his regiment on the following morning.

"How?"

Poldhu was silent for a moment, then he cried out, "Is a hangman a
murderer, for hanging a devil? Is a judge a murderer for condemning a
fellow like Crippen to death?"

"And you mean to say you are going to funk it?" There was something
ominous in Dick Tresize's voice.

"I am not going to enlist."

"I say, you fellows," said Dick, looking towards the others, "the
climate's not healthy here. What do you say to a stroll?"

Without a word each one walked away, leaving Bob alone. They had gone
only a few steps when there was a sound of many voices at the front
door, and a bevy of girls appeared in their light summer dresses. A
few seconds later the girls and boys were talking eagerly together, and
before long were casting furtive looks towards Bob, who, miserable
beyond words, sat watching them.

"No," he heard one say, "I'm not going to play with him."

"Oh, but there's a mistake somewhere! He's all right."

"Is he? Then what did he mean by----"

Bob got up and walked to the other end of the lawn; he had been playing
the part of an eavesdropper in spite of himself. He knew what they
were talking about--knew that in the future he would be treated as a
pariah. They were good fellows, all of them. Clean-minded, healthy
young Englishmen. Tom Poldhu, Dick and George Tresize, Harry Lorrimer,
and the others were among the best products of English public schools,
and although they had their failings, each had his code of honour which
is generally held sacred by the class to which he belonged. All of
them, too, had been reared in a military atmosphere. Most of them, I
imagine, would, with a certain amount of reservation, drink to the old
toast, "My country. In all her relations with other nations, may she
be in the right. But right or wrong, my country." They did not
trouble about the deeper ethics of international quarrels. It was
enough for them to know that England was in danger; for them, forgetful
of everything else, to offer their lives, if need be, for the land of
their birth.

They could not understand Bob. They simply could not see from his
point of view. Only