“Hey, Geoff!” said Spike hoarsely.

“How I met your brother,” continued Ravenslee, silencing the boy with a look.  “Miss Hermione, I’ll tell you full and freely.”  Here Spike took a gulp of tea and choked, also his brow grew clammy, and he stared with dilating eyes at Ravenslee, who began forthwith: 

“Once upon a time, Miss Hermione, that is to say upon a certain dark night, a man sat alone, physically and mentally alone, and very wretched because his life was empty of all achievement—­because, having been blessed with many opportunities, he had never done anything worth while.  And as he sat there, looking back through the wasted years, this miserable fool was considering, in his wretched folly, the cowardly sin of self-destruction, because he was sick of the world and all things in it—­especially of his own useless self!  But I hope I don’t—­er—­bore you, do I?”

“No,” she answered a little breathlessly, gazing at him with eyes deep and tender; “go on—­please go on!”

“Well,” continued Ravenslee gravely, “Destiny, or Heaven, or the Almighty, taking pity on this sorry fool, sent to him an angel in the shape of—­your brother.”

“Of—­Arthur?” she exclaimed, while Spike’s rigid attitude relaxed, and he drew a sudden, deep breath.

“Of Arthur!” nodded Ravenslee.  “And Arthur lifted him out of the Slough of Despond and taught him that life might be a useful thing after all, if he could but find some object to help him—­one who might inspire him to nobler things.  And so he came here, hoping to find this object.”

“An object?” she enquired softly.

“The Definite Object!” he answered, “with capital letters.  One who might make life truly worth while.  One who, teaching him to forget himself, should lift him to better things.  An object to live for, work for, and if necessary to—­die for!”

Here Spike, finding himself utterly forgotten again, sighed in deep and audible relief, and taking up knife and fork, fell to with renewed appetite, while Hermione, chin rested on folded hands, gazed into Ravenslee’s grave face.

“Do you think he will ever—­find his Object?”

“Oh, yes!”

“You seem very—­confident.”

“I am!  You see, she’s found.”

“She?” exclaimed Hermione, her eyes beginning to waver.

“With a capital S,” said he, leaning nearer.  “The Woman!  And it’s right here that his difficulties begin, because in the first place he is so humble and she is so proud and—­”

“Proud?” said she, glancing up swiftly.

“And so very beautiful!” he continued.

“Oh!” said she, and this time she did not look at him.

“Say,” quoth Spike, “I think I could go another drumstick, Geoff.”

“And in the second place, he is so unworthy and she so—­”

“An’ a bit more stuflin’, Geoff,” sighed Spike.

“Can she—­help him?” enquired Hermione, stirring her tea absently.