That night Sir Edward Grey made the historic speech, which swung the nation into line like one man, and launched Great Britain on the supreme adventure of her history.

The one bright spot in the situation is Ireland.

Redmond had followed in a speech which filled the Colonel\'s eyes with tears and his heart with gladness as he read it next morning, so generous it was, so chivalrous.

I say to the Government they may withdraw every one of their troops from Ireland. Ireland will be defended by her armed sons from invasion, and for that purpose Catholics in the South will join the Protestants in the North.

The Colonel paced to and fro on his lawns, the paper flapping in his hand.

Not even the spectacle of Carson, sulking in his tent, and answering never a word to his opponent\'s magnanimous appeal, could mar that vision splendid.

All day long the Colonel never left his garden, hovering round the telephone. Anything might happen at any moment.

Then news came through.

The Government had sent Germany an ultimatum. If she failed to give us an assurance before 11 p.m. that she would not violate the neutrality of Belgium, England would go to war.

The Colonel sighed his thankfulness.

All day he quarter-decked up and down the loggia, Zeiss glasses in hand. His telescope he arranged on the tripod on the lawn, and with it swept earth and sky and sea. Towards evening he marked a bevy of men swing round the shoulder of the hill from Meads into the coombe. They were in mufti, and not in military formation; but they marched, he noted, and kept some sort of order, moving rhythmically, restrained as a pack of hounds on the way to the meet, and yet with riot in their hearts. He turned the telescope full on them, marked Ernie among them, and knew them forthwith for the Reservists from Old Town training for IT. A wave of emotion surged through him. He went down to the fence and stood there with folded arms, and high head, his sparse locks grey in the evening light, watching them go by. Then he saluted.

They saw the old soldier standing bare-headed at the fence, recognised him, and shouted a greeting.

"Good-evening, sir."

"That\'s the style!" he cried gruffly. "Getting down to it."

Then Ernie broke away and came across the grass to him at the double, grinning broadly, and gay as a boy.

"Yes, sir. Old Town Troop we call ourselves. Long march to-night. Through Birling Gap to the Haven and home over Windhover about midnight. What I stepped across to say, sir, was I\'m thinkin Ruth\'d better stay where she is for the time being—if it\'s all the same to you, sir; and not move to the garage."

"As you like," replied the Colonel. "Undercliff\'s the most exposed house in Beachbourne—that\'s certain. If there\'s trouble from the sea we shall catch it; or if their Zeppelins bomb the signalling station on the Head some of it may come our way."

Ernie looked shy.

"That little turn-up with Alf in the road yesterday, sir," he said confidentially. "I was glad you was there." He came forward stealthily. "See, I know what you thought, sir. It\'s not Joe after her. It\'s Alf—always has been; from before we married. Joe\'s all right."

The Colonel stared grimly over the sea.

"I think you\'re wrong," he said.

"Then I know I\'m not, sir," Ernie flashed.


The Colonel returned to his watch.

That night he did not go to bed. Instead he sat up in his pyjamas in the corner-room t............