Alas! how could Nina answer?  At this moment, over all the length and breadth of England, innumerable belfries had suddenly awakened from their sleep, and ten thousand bells were clanging their iron tongues, welcoming in the new-found year.  Down in the valleys, where white mists lay along the slumbering rivers; far up on lonely moorlands, under the clear stars; out on the sea-coasts, where the small red points of the windows were face-to-face with the slow-moaning, inarticulate main; everywhere, over all the land, arose this clamor of joy-bells; and how could Nina respond to his appeal?  If she had heard, if she had tried to answer, her piteous cry was swallowed up and lost; heart could not speak to heart, whatever message they might wish to send, through this universal, far-pulsating jangle and tumult.

But perhaps she had not heard at all?  Perhaps there was something more impassable between her and him than even the wide, dark seas and the night?

He turned away from the window.  He went back to the chair; he threw his arms on the table before him—­and hid his face.

CHAPTER XIX.

ENTRAPPED.

There were two young gentlemen standing with their backs to the fire in the supper-room of the Garden Club.  They were rather good-looking young men, very carefully shaven and shorn, gray-eyed, fair-moustached; and, indeed, they were so extremely like each other that it might have been hard to distinguish between them but that one chewed a toothpick and the other a cigarette.  Both were in evening dress, and both still wore the overcoat and crush-hat in which they had come into the club.  They could talk freely, without risk of being overheard; for the members along there at the supper-table were all listening, with much laughter, to a professional entertainer, who, unlike the proverbial clown released from the pantomime, was never so merry and amusing as when diverting a select little circle of friends with his own marvellous adventures.

“It’s about time for Lionel Moore to make his appearance,” said one of the two companions, glancing at the clock.

“I would rather have anybody else, if it comes to that,” said the other, peevishly.  “Moore spoils the game all to bits.  You never know where to have him—­”

“Yes, that’s just where he finds his salvation,” continued he of the toothpick.  “Mind you, that wild play has its advantages.  He gets caught now and again, but he catches you at times.  You make sure he is bluffing, you raise him and raise him, then you call him—­and find he has three aces!  And I will say this for Moore—­he’s a capital loser.  He doesn’t seem to mind losing a bit, so long as you keep on.  You would think he was a millionaire; only a millionaire would have an eye on every chip, I suppose.  What salary do they give him at the New Theatre?”

[Illustration:  “He threw his arms on the table before him, and hid his face”]