In front of each nation rolled a grey vapour, which gradually took shape before Luttrell's eyes; and there was made visible to him a shadowy legion of men marching in the van, the men who had left ease and women and all the grace of life behind them and had gone out to die in the harness of service--one in this, one in that corner of the untravelled world, and now all reunited in a strong fellowship.

The vision remained with him after the last strains of music had died away, and faded slowly.

He waked to the lights and clamour of the restaurant and turned to Stella Croyle.
"Stella," he began, and---- "I know," she interrupted in a small voice.

She was sitting with her head downcast and her hands clenched upon her lap so tightly that the skin was white about the points where the tips of her fingers pressed.
"Perhaps I shan't suffer so very much." She was careful not to lift her head, and when a few moments later their host gave the signal to move, she rose quickly and turned her back on Luttrell.
The party motored back through the Dyurgarden, past the glimmering tents where the Boy-Scouts were encamped to the great hotel by the landing-stage.

There a wait of a few minutes took place whilst Hardiman settled for the cars, and during that wait Luttrell disappeared.