e torn and bleeding with anxiety and the very earth seems to
rock beneath our feet. Often when we are tortured with enforced
inaction and we do nothing--can do nothing--but hope for the best. So
easy to say, but oh, how difficult to do!

Ten minutes later Philippa was standing at the front door where the car
was waiting. She heard Marion's voice giving some hurried instructions
to her maid and turned to meet her. "You are warm enough?" she asked.
"Will you have a fur coat? Take mine."

"No, no," said Marion; "I have everything, thank you, dear." Then she
lifted her face to Philippa and the two friends clung together for a
moment in loving sympathy. Then she released herself. "Where is
Bill?" she asked.

"I am here," he answered from close behind her. "Are you ready?
That's right."

"And you, Philippa!" said Marion suddenly, "Forgive me! I--forgot.
What will you do?"

"I shall be perfectly all right," said Philippa. "The only thing you
can do for me is not to think about me at all."

She stooped to tuck the rug more closely as she spoke. Major Heathcote
was already seated at the wheel. "I will telegraph," he said.

"Please do," replied Philippa, and in another moment the car was
speeding down the drive, a dark shadow behind the radius of light
thrown by its powerful lamps which shone a streak of gold upon the
moonlit gravel.

Philippa watched it out of sight and then re-entered the house.

"Will you return to the dining-room, miss?" inquired the butler.

"No, thank you," she answered. In truth in the hurry and stress of the
last few minutes the interrupted dinner seemed vague and far away.

"Perhaps you will take your coffee in the hall, miss," said the man,
and in response to the suggestion Philippa seated herself in a deep
arm-chair in front of the glowing logs. The two dogs, Spiker and
Darracq, whimpering a little in the sure sympathy of faithful canine
hearts, crept close beside her, and finally, after many restless
turnings, curled themselves into two little balls in the fold of her
gown.

All her thoughts were with her friends. She pictured them speeding
through the clear moonlight, where the dark lines of the banks cut the
silver flood on either side of the road--arriving at the railway
station--God grant nothing occur to delay them--then the train, which
even at express speed must seem to crawl on such an errand--and finally
arriving--to find--what?--Ah! what?

It was easy to see