Dividing Waters. I. A. R. Wylie

understand.

      "P.SSSS.—What a lot of postscripts! I am sure I must be very feminine, after all. I quite forgot to tell you that Fräulein Müller called the other day. She was very nervous and flustered, and treats the 'Frau Baronin' as though she were a sort of deity to be propitiated at all costs. She also asked me to tea. I went, but I won't go again if I can help it. I was never so near suffocating in my life. All the windows were double and had not been opened, I should imagine, since August, so that the August air was unpleasantly intermingled with the fumes of a furiously energetic stove, against which I had the honour of sitting for four mortal hours. But she was so friendly and kind that it seems horrid to complain, only—Heaven preserve me from being poor and living in a German flat!"

      Mrs. Ingestre read the letter carefully. She then tore it up and answered the same day:

      "As regards your question—do what your conscience tells you, Nora. You are old enough to judge, and I have perfect confidence in you. Be true and good, and I too think that God will not blame you if you rule your life according to the opinions He has given you rather than the arbitrary laws which we have made. Do what seems honestly right to you and you cannot do wrong—at least, not in His sight."

      This letter was shown to the Rev. John, her husband, but of the scene that followed, where righteous indignation and quiet resolve fought out a bitter struggle, Nora heard nothing. She only knew that the letter had been safely posted, and that once again her mother had forced open the doors of liberty.

      CHAPTER VII

      A DUET

      "Meine Herrn, to the Moltke of the future, the pride of the regiment, er lebe—hoch—hoch—hoch!"

      The little group of officers gathered round the mess-table responded to the toast with an enthusiasm that was half bantering, half sincere. There followed a general clinking of glasses, the pleasant popping of champagne corks, and a chorus of more or less intelligible congratulations, against which the recipient stood his ground with laughing good-nature, his hands spread out before his face as though to hide natural blushes of embarrassment.

      "Spare me, children!" he explained as the tumult gradually subsided. "Do you not know that great men are always modest? Your adulation throws me into the deepest possible confusion, from which I can only sufficiently extricate myself to promise you——"

      "Another bottle!" a forward young ensign suggested.

      "Not at all," with a wave of the hand, "nothing so basely material—but my fatherly patronage when I am head of the Staff, as of course I shall be within a few years. Work hard, my sons, and who knows? One of you may actually become my adjutant!"

      Amidst derisive laughter he drained his glass, and then turned quickly, his attention having been arrested by a slight touch upon the shoulder. Unobserved in the general confusion, a tall, slightly built man, wearing the uniform of an officer in the Red Dragoons, had entered the mess-room and, leaning on his sword-hilt in an attitude of weary impatience, had taken up his place behind the last speaker. He now held out his hand.

      "Congratulate you, Arnim," he said. "I heard the racket outside as I was passing, and came in for enlightenment as to the cause. Seleneck has just told me. Permit me to drink your health." He had taken the glass which a neighbour had proffered him and raised it slightly. "May you continue as you have begun!" he added.

      "Many thanks," was the brief answer.

      There was a moment's silence. The new-comer sipped at his share of the German champagne and then put down the glass with a faint contracting of the features which suggested a smothered grimace.

      "You must let me order up a bottle of Cliquot," he said. "A great occasion should be worthily celebrated."

      Arnim shook his head.

      "Again—many thanks. I have had enough, and it is of no use cultivating expensive tastes. But you perhaps … ?"

      "If you have no objection." The dragoon beckoned an orderly, and, having given his instructions, seated himself at the table and drew out a cigarette-case.

      "This means Berlin for you," he said. "When do your orders date from?"

      "From next summer. I shall still have some months with the regiment."

      "So? That's tiresome. The sooner one gets away from this God-forsaken hole the better. By the way, there will be quite a little party of us with you. Seleneck tells me he is expecting a Kommando at the Turnschule, and I am moving heaven and earth to get ditto. You, lucky dog, are freed for ever from this treadmill existence."

      The young Artillery captain glanced sharply at the speaker's good-looking face, and a close observer would have noticed that his brows had contracted.

      "The way out is open to every one," he observed curtly.

      The other laughed and chose to misunderstand him.

      "Only to the workers, my dear fellow. And I confess that work has no fascination for me. I am not ambitious enough, and on the whole I suppose one form of drudgery is as bad as another. You like that sort of thing, and I envy you, but I fear I have no powers of emulation."

      There was something grim in Arnim's subsequent silence which might have drawn the dragoon's attention had it been allowed to last. At that moment, however, an elderly-looking officer detached himself from the group by the window and came to where the two men were seated.

      "I'm off home," he said. "Are you coming my way, Arnim?"

      Arnim rose with an alacrity which suggested relief.

      "Yes, as far as the Kaiser Strasse. You will excuse me, Bauer? I must tell the good news at home, or I shall never be forgiven."

      The dragoon bowed.

      "Of course. By the way," he added, as Arnim slipped into the overcoat which the orderly had brought him, "that is a pretty little English girl your aunt has picked up. I met her the last time I was at the house. What's her name?"

      "You are probably referring to Miss Ingestre."

      "Ingestre? Well, she's a pretty little piece of goods, anyhow—though not particularly friendly." He threw back his head and laughed, as though at some amusing reminiscence. "Imagine: I had just settled myself down to a comfortable tête-à-tête, when she got up and bolted—straight out of the room like a young fury. I was rather taken aback until I consoled myself with the reflection that all English people are mad—even the pretty ones."

      During his recital a sudden light of comprehension flashed over Arnim's face. He half smiled, but the smile was indefinably sarcastic.

      "No doubt Miss Ingestre had her good reasons for interrupting your comfortable tête-à-tête," he observed. "Though English people may suffer from madness, there is usually method in it."

      "No doubt she had her good reasons for her return five minutes later," was the retort. "There was method in that madness, at any rate."

      The two men looked each other straight in the eyes. Arnim's hand rested on his sword-hilt, and the smile had died away from his lips.

      "Perhaps I ought to remind you that Miss Ingestre is my aunt's guest, and therefore under my protection," he said slowly.

      "The reminder is quite unnecessary," the dragoon returned with perfect sang-froid. "I meant no offence either to you or Miss Ingestre; and poaching is, anyhow, not one of my vices."

      Arnim hesitated an instant, then, with a curt bow, he slipped his arm through that of the officer standing beside him.

      "Come, Seleneck," he said, "I have wasted time enough."

      The two men made their way out of the Casino into the street. A sharp east wind greeted them, and Wolff von Arnim drew a deep breath of relief.

      "I need fresh air," he said. "A man like Bauer stifles me, sickens me. I cannot imagine why he always seeks my society. He must know that I have no liking for him. Does he wish to pick a quarrel?"

      The elder man