'It is hard to say, because so much depends upon the apathy of the Turks. They will probably allow them to cross the Danube before making an effort to stop them, and the thick of it may be in Bulgaria again. I shall be at the Danube to see the Russians cross—probably at Galatz. There are small towns south of the Danube of which the names will be historical by this time next year, and in all probability there are men who will have immortalized themselves before then, although they are quite unknown now. War is the path by which the world progresses.'

'I suppose the younger Skobeleff will do something wonderful. I know your admiration for him.'

'Yes. If he does not get killed before he is across the Danube. As a leader I admire him, but not as a strategist. There are other men I know of also who will come to the front, but in the Turkish army individuality is more important than in the Russian. The lower the standard of discipline the higher is the power of personal influence over an army. The Turks depend entirely upon the individual capabilities of a few men—Suleiman, Osman, Tefik, and a few others.'

Brenda was not listening with the attention she usually accorded to Theodore Trist, whatever the subject of his discourse might happen to be, and he knew it. She had a strange trick of lapsing into a stony silence at odd moments, and he rarely failed to detect the slight difference. Such fits of absorption were usually followed by the raising of some deep abstract question, or an opinion of personal bearing. It may have been mere chance that caused him to cease somewhat abruptly, and continue walking by her side in silence; or it is possible that he knew her humours as few people knew them. The question of a Russo-Turkish War had suddenly lost all interest, and he might as well have told his opinion to the winds as to this girl, who had, a moment earlier, been a most intelligent listener.

For some time they walked on without speaking. The soft turf of the so-called sea-wall, which was nothing else than an embankment, gave forth no sound beneath their feet. The tide was out, and the day being still, there came to their ears only a soft, murmuring, continuous song from the little waves.

At last Brenda turned a little and looked at him in her thoughtful, analytical way, as if to read on his features an answer to some question which had arisen in her mind.

'Yes,' said Trist, smiling at her gently. 'Go on. You are about to propound one of those very deep theories which invariably suggest themselves to you in the middle of my most interesting observations.'

She laughed rather guiltily as she shook her head in denial.

'No.... I was only ... wondering.'

'Wondering—?' he repeated interrogatively, but she omitted to answer his implied question, and he did not press it.