The Summons | Page 7

Luttrell could speak another word, the music crashed and all
that assemblage was on its feet. The orchestra was playing the Swedish
National Anthem; and upon that, one after the other, followed the
hymns of the peoples who had taken part in the Games. In turn the
representatives of each people stood and resumed their seat, the music
underlining their individuality and parking them in sections, even as
rivalry had parked them in the Stadium. The majestic anthem of Russia,
the pæan of the Marseillaise, the livelier march of Italy, the song of
Germany, the Star-Spangled Banner; and long before the band struck
into the solemn rhythm of "God save the King," Stella Croyle at all
events knew that Calypso had lost. For she saw a flame illumine
Luttrell's face and transfigure him. He had slipped out of her reach. The
doubts and perplexities which had so troubled him during the last
months were now resolved. As he listened to the Hymns, he saw as in a
vision the nations advancing abreast over a vast plain like battalions in
line with their intervals for manoeuvring spaced out between them. 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.
He rejoined his friends at the harbour steps and when the launch put off
towards the Dragonfly, he found himself side by side with Stella Croyle.
In the darkness she relaxed her guard. Luttrell saw the great tears
glisten on her dark eyelashes and fall down her cheeks.
"I am sorry, Stella," he whispered, dropping his hand on hers, and she
clutched it and let it go.
"Perhaps I shan't suffer so very much," she repeated and the next
moment the gangway light shone down upon their faces. Stella dropped
her head and furtively dried her cheeks.
"I want to go up last," she said, "and just behind you, so that no one
shall see what a little fool I am making of myself."
But by some subtle understanding already it was felt amongst that

group of people, quick to perceive troubles of the emotions, that
something was amiss between the pair. They were left alone upon the
deck. Stella by chance looking southwards to the starlit gloom, Luttrell
to the north, where still the daylight played in blue and palest green and
the delicate changing fires of the opal.
"What will you do, Stella?" Luttrell asked gently.
"I think I will go and live in the country," she replied.
"It will be lonely, child."
"There will be ghosts, my dear, to keep me company," she answered
with a wan smile. "People like me always have to be a good deal alone,
anyway. I shall be, of course, lonelier, now that I have no one to play
with," and the smile vanished from her lips. She flung up her face
towards the skies, letting her grief have its way upon that empty deck.
"So we shall never be together--just you and I--alone again," she said,
forcing herself to realise that unintelligible thing. Her thoughts ran back
over the year--the year of their alliance--and she saw all of its events
flickering vividly before her, as they say drowning people do. "Oh,
Wub, what a cruel mistake you made when you went out of your way
to be kind," she cried, with the tears streaming down her face; and
Luttrell winced.
"Yes, that's true," he admitted remorsefully. "I never dreamed what
would come of it."
"You should have left me alone."
Amongst