mill. In order that big things shall come forth from it, the wheels

must grind exceeding fine. You and I are slated for powder.

"This is my private little hell. I've got to keep the old man from running amuck and the men from breaking out. But what I want to tell you right now--because we are going to be such awfully good friends--is that I am sick of my job, and I'm afraid that I'm going to break out too. I've lost my perspective. They might have let me go out for just a little while. All the time, I'm in insurrection inside. I seem to have slipped some vital moorings--and to be adrift."

"But you wouldn't yield now, after struggling so long?" Julie pleaded. "Oh! I'm so sorry for you!"

He clutched his face in his hands, and looked out through the foliage across the sea. "What is life, anyway? There must be more of existence than what we manage to find. Sometimes I can feel whispers of it. Do you think I'm mad, or just soul-sick of my kind of a world? You see I'm only a poor devil in purgatory, trying--and not succeeding--to fight my way out."

"You have been splendid," she said tremulously. "Does it mean anything to you to know that I think that?"

He straightened quickly. "It means a lot. This hour has put something into my veins."

Suddenly the boat whistled from the harbor. He took her hand, and said with a feeling which he could ill conceal: "The Blessed Virgin did not visit Purgatory for nothing this day." Then he added: "I shall see you. Perhaps they will let me come to Guindulman--Ah, anyway, I shall see you!"

Julie from the boat waved a farewell to the khaki-clad figure standing on the pier, Mr. Purcell watching her intently all the while. "Military gentlemen," he informed the universe in a meditatively resentful way, "are always irresistible to women."