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to the manufacturing community, but it would be apt to unsettle and unsteady them. Further, it would kindle in this country the one thing I am anxious to avoid—the military spirit. We do not need it, Duchess. We are a peace-loving nation, civilised out of the crude lust for conquest founded upon bloodshed. I do believe that geographically and from every other point of view, England, with her navy, can afford to fold her arms, and if other nations should at any time be foolish enough to imperil their very existence by fighting for conquest or revenge, then we, who are strong enough to remain aloof, can only grow richer and stronger by the disasters which happen to them.”

      There was a momentary silence. The Duchess leaned back in her chair, and Mr. Hebblethwaite, always the courteous host, talked for a while to the woman on his left. The Duchess, however, reopened the subject a few minutes later.

      “I come, you must remember, Mr. Hebblethwaite,” she observed, “from long generations of soldiers, and you, as you have reminded me, from a long race of yeomen and tradespeople. Therefore, without a doubt, our point of view must be different. That, perhaps, is what makes conversation between us so interesting. To me, a conflict in Europe, sooner or later, appears inevitable. With England preserving a haughty and insular neutrality, which, from her present military condition, would be almost compulsory, the struggle would be between Russia, France, Italy, Germany, and Austria. Russia is an unknown force, but in my mind I see Austria and Italy, with perhaps one German army, holding her back for many months, perhaps indefinitely. On the other hand, I see France overrun by the Germans very much as she was in 1870. I adore the French, and I have little sympathy with the Germans, but as a fighting race I very reluctantly feel that I must admit the superiority of the Germans. Very well, then. With Ostend, Calais, Boulogne, and Havre seized by Germany, as they certainly would be, and turned into naval bases, do you still believe that England’s security would be wholly provided for by her fleet?”

      Mr. Hebblethwaite smiled.

      “Duchess,” he said, “sooner or later I felt quite sure that our conversation would draw near to the German bogey. The picture you draw is menacing enough. I look upon its probability as exactly on the same par as the overrunning of Europe by the yellow races.”

      “You believe in the sincerity of Germany?” she asked.

      “I do,” he admitted firmly. “There is a military element in Germany which is to be regretted, but the Germans themselves are a splendid, cultured, and peace-loving people, who are seeking their future not at the point of the sword but in the counting-houses of the world. If I fear the Germans, it is commercially, and from no other point of view.”

      “I wish I could feel your confidence,” the Duchess sighed.

      “I have myself recently returned from Berlin,” Mr. Hebblethwaite continued. “Busby, as you know, has been many times an honoured guest there at their universities and in their great cities. He has had every opportunity of probing the tendencies of the people. His mind is absolutely and finally made up. Not in all history has there ever existed a race freer from the lust of bloodthirsty conquest than the German people of to-day.”

      Mr. Hebblethwaite concluded his sentence with some emphasis. He felt that his words were carrying conviction. Some of the conversation at their end of the table had been broken off to listen to his pronouncements. At that moment his butler touched him upon the elbow.

      “Mr. Bedells has just come up from the War Office, sir,” he announced. “He is waiting outside. In the meantime, he desired me to give you this.”

      The butler, who had served an archbishop, and resented often his own presence in the establishment of a Radical Cabinet Minister, presented a small silver salver on which reposed a hastily twisted up piece of paper. Mr. Hebblethwaite, with a little nod, unrolled it and glanced towards the Duchess, who bowed complacently. With the smile still upon his lips, a confident light in his eyes, Mr. Hebblethwaite held out the crumpled piece of paper before him and read the hurriedly scrawled pencil lines:

      “Germany has declared war against Russia and presented an ultimatum to France. I have other messages.”

      Mr. Hebblethwaite was a strong man. He was a man of immense self-control. Yet in that moment the arteries of life seemed as though they had ceased to flow. He sat at the head of his table, and his eyes never left those pencilled words. His mind fought with them, discarded them, only to find them still there hammering at his brain, traced in letters of scarlet upon the distant walls. War! The great, unbelievable tragedy, the one thousand-to-one chance in life which he had ever taken! His hand almost fell to his side. There was a queer little silence. No one liked to ask him a question; no one liked to speak. It was the Duchess at last who murmured a few words, when the silence had become intolerable.

      “It is bad news?” she whispered.

      “It is very bad news indeed,” Mr. Hebblethwaite answered, raising his voice a little, so that every one at the table might hear him. “I have just heard from the War Office that Germany has declared war against Russia. You will perhaps, under the circumstances, excuse me.”

      He rose to his feet. There was a queer singing in his ears. The feast seemed to have turned to a sickly debauch. All that pinnacle of success seemed to have fallen away. The faces of his guests, even, as they looked at him, seemed to his conscience to be expressing one thing, and one thing only—that same horrible conviction which was deadening his own senses. He and the others—could it be true?—had they taken up lightly the charge and care of a mighty empire and dared to gamble upon, instead of providing for, its security? He thrust the thought away; and the natural strength of the man began to reassert itself. If they had done ill, they had done it for the people’s sake. The people must rally to them now. He held his head high as he left the room.

      CHAPTER XXXVIII

       Table of Contents

      Norgate found himself in an atmosphere of strange excitement during his two hours’ waiting at the House of Commons on the following day. He was ushered at last into Mr. Hebblethwaite’s private room. Hebblethwaite had just come in from the House and was leaning a little back in his chair, in an attitude of repose. He glanced at Norgate with a faint smile.

      “Well, young fellow,” he remarked, “come to do the usual ‘I told you so’ business, I suppose?”

      “Don’t be an ass!” Norgate most irreverently replied. “There are one or two things I must tell you and tell you at once. I may have hinted at them before, but you weren’t taking things seriously then. First of all, is Mr. Bullen in the House?”

      “Of course!”

      “Could you send for him here just for a minute?” Norgate pleaded. “I am sure it would make what I am going to say sound more convincing to you.”

      Hebblethwaite struck a bell by his side and despatched a messenger.

      “How are things going?” Norgate asked.

      “France is mobilising as fast as she can,” Hebblethwaite announced. “We have reports coming in that Germany has been at it for at least a week, secretly. They say that Austrian troops have crossed into Poland. There isn’t anything definite yet, but it’s war, without a doubt, war just as we’d struck the right note for peace. Russia was firm but splendid. Austria was wavering. Just at the critical moment, like a thunderbolt, came Germany’s declaration of war. Here’s Mr. Bullen. Now go ahead, Norgate.”

      Mr. Bullen came into the room, recognised Norgate, and stopped short.

      “So you’re here again, young man, are you?” he exclaimed. “I don’t know why you’ve sent for me, Hebblethwaite, but if you take my advice, you won’t let that young fellow go until you’ve asked him a few questions.”

      “Mr. Norgate is a friend of mine,” Hebblethwaite said. “I think you will find—”

      “Friend or no friend,” the Irishman interrupted, “he is a traitor, and I tell

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