’From the land of scented mists came the Japanese; from Greece, that once was first in all the arts; from South America and the countries of Europe, men gathered to the League of Nations, hoping, groping for the light—­and we were not there.

’As I write to you, my son, the League is an impotent, powerless thing, at which the men who know only nationality and not humanity sneer and make jest.  The body is there—­America alone could be the heart.

’Bloodless, helpless, it is in semblance a living thing, but all men know it has no life, and already the diplomats who have no other way are using it as a shield for their methods that cannot bear the light.

’My son, in the hush and loneliness of night, ponder over these words.  Because of those things, avoidable and unavoidable, that kept us silent; because so many of us were false to the trusteeship that fell on our generation; because we had not learned that America was greater than Americans, but tried to imprison the spirit of the Republic within the little confines of our souls—­because of these things thousands of men were foully done to death.  How many Miltons, how many Lincolns, were crucified in that army of the young?

’We must repay.  Our destiny is clear, and no people can thwart its destiny without the gravest danger.  Our duty is to restore.  Whatever our resources, in things material or of the spirit, this generation and yours and the generation to follow must give unsparingly.  Our minds and hearts must turn to Europe, for only in service to mankind can America fulfil that for which she was created.

’Across the seas lies England.  She has done much that is unworthy of her in the past; she has much to teach and much to learn; but within the heart of Old England there is majestic grandeur and great mercifulness, and with that heart ours must beat in unison.  The solemn splendour of Britain’s sacrifice must never be forgotten.

’Believe in life, my son.  Believe in men.  Take on my charge and fight the flames of Ignorance, not as I did, but with the power of Reason and of Right.  The universal mind is still alive.  Trust in it as Wagner when he wrote his music, as Shelley when he sang of beauty, as Washington when he founded this great Republic.  Men speak through their nationalities, but in every country of the world there is an aristocracy of thought; and if you have the power, I charge you work towards the end when that great aristocracy will flood the earth with splendour and Ignorance will be no more.

’These words I leave with you, my son, on this silent night in May.  Perhaps you will never read them.  Perhaps you will live only in our two hearts.  But on the borders of life we reach out for you, praying that you may come to stay the hunger of our hearts, to be our living son.’

Selwyn dropped his pen and rose slowly from his chair.  Passing his hand across his brow, he went to the door, and opening it, looked out.