summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/66846-h/66846-h.htm
blob: 5657c07c9afd479bef4b0dac883ad24f97d42ed0 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531

<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
  <head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
    <title>
      “1914”, by John Oxenham—A Project Gutenberg eBook
    </title>
    <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
    <style type="text/css">

body {
    margin-left: 2.5em;
    margin-right: 2.5em;
}

h1, h2 {
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
    margin-top: 2.5em;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
}

h1 {line-height: 1;}

h2+p {margin-top: 1.5em;}

.transnote h2 {
    margin-top: .5em;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
}

p {
    text-indent: 1.75em;
    margin-top: .51em;
    margin-bottom: .24em;
    text-align: justify;
}
.caption p, .center p, p.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;}

.p1 {margin-top: 1em;}
.p2 {margin-top: 2em;}
.p4 {margin-top: 4em;}
.vspace {line-height: 1.5;}

.in0 {text-indent: 0;}
.in2 {padding-left: 2em;}
.in4 {padding-left: 4em;}
.in8 {padding-left: 8em;}

.smaller {font-size: 85%;}
.larger  {font-size: 125%;}
.large   {font-size: 150%;}
.xxlarge {font-size: 200%;}

p.drop-cap {text-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 1.1em;}
p.drop-cap:first-letter {
  float: left;
  margin: .03em .2em 0 0;
  font-size: 300%;
  line-height:0.7em;
  text-indent: 0;
  clear: both;
}
p.drop-cap.i .smcap1 {margin-left: -.3em;}
p.drop-cap.r .smcap1 {margin-left: -.85em;}
p.drop-cap.d .smcap1 {margin-left: -.65em;}
p.drop-cap .smcap1 {margin-left: -.55em;}
p.drop-cap.b .smcap1 {margin-left: -.7em;}
p.drop-cap.al .smcap1  {margin-left: -1.2em;}

.smcap1 {text-transform: uppercase;}

.center   {text-align: center;}

.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}

hr {
    width: 33%;
    margin: 4em auto 4em auto;
    clear: both;
}

.tb {
    text-align: center;
    padding-top: .76em;
    padding-bottom: .24em;
    letter-spacing: 1.5em;
    margin-right: -1.5em;
}

.pagenum {
  position: absolute;
  right: .25em;
  text-indent: 0;
  text-align: right;
  font-size: 70%;
  font-weight: normal;
  font-variant: normal;
  font-style: normal;
  letter-spacing: normal;
  line-height: normal;
  color: #acacac;
  border: .0625em solid #acacac;
  background: #ffffff;
  padding: .0625em .125em;
}

p#toc{max-width: 4em; text-align: center; margin: 2em auto 2em auto; padding: 0; text-indent: 0;}

.blockquot {
    margin: 1.5em 5% 1.5em 5%;
    font-size: 95%;
}

.poetry-container {
    margin: 1.5em auto;
    text-align: center;
    font-size: 98%;
}

.poetry {
    display: inline-block;
    text-align: left;
    margin-left: 0;
}

.poetry .stanza {padding: 0.5em 0;}
.poetry .verse  {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;}

.poetry .tb {margin: .3em 0 0 0;}

.poetry .indentqq {text-indent: -3.35em;}
.poetry .indent0  {text-indent: -3em;}

.transnote {
    background-color: #999999;
    border: thin dotted;
    font-family: sans-serif, serif;
    margin-left: 5%;
    margin-right: 5%;
    margin-top: 4em;
    margin-bottom: 2em;
    padding: 1em;
}

.gesperrt {
    letter-spacing: 0.2em;
    margin-right: -0.2em;
}

span.locked {white-space:nowrap;}
.pagenum br {display: none; visibility: hidden;}

@media print, handheld
{
    body {margin: 0;}

    h1, .chapter, .newpage {page-break-before: always;}
    h1.nobreak, h2.nobreak, .nobreak {page-break-before: avoid; padding-top: 0;}

    p {
        margin-top: .5em;
        text-align: justify;
        margin-bottom: .25em;
    }

    p.drop-cap {text-indent: 1.75em; margin-bottom: .24em;}
    p.drop-cap:first-letter {
      float: none;
      font-size: 100%;
      margin-left: 0;
      margin-right: 0;
      text-indent: 1.75em;
  }

  p.drop-cap.i .smcap1, p.drop-cap.r .smcap1, p.drop-cap .smcap1,
      p.drop-cap.d .smcap1,
      p.drop-cap.b .smcap1, p.drop-cap.al .smcap1 {margin-left: 0;}
  p .smcap1 {font-size: 100%;}
  .smcap1 {font-variant: normal;}

    hr {
        margin-top: .1em;
        margin-bottom: .1em;
        visibility: hidden;
        color: white;
        width: .01em;
        display: none;
    }

    .blockquot {margin: 1.5em 3% 1.5em 3%;}
    .poetry-container {text-align: center;}
    .poetry {display: block; text-align: left; margin-left: 1.5em;}
    .poetry .stanza {page-break-inside: avoid;}
    .poetry .tb {text-align: left; padding-left: 2em;}

    .transnote {
        page-break-inside: avoid;
        margin-left: 2%;
        margin-right: 2%;
        margin-top: 1em;
        margin-bottom: 1em;
        padding: .5em;
    }

}

  </style>
  </head>

<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66846 ***</div>

<h1>“1914”</h1>

<hr />

<h2 id="toc0" class="newpage p4">CONTENTS</h2>

<div class="center">
<p id="toc" class="in0 vspace">
<a href="#I">I</a><br />
<a href="#II">II</a><br />
<a href="#III">III</a><br />
<a href="#IV">IV</a><br />
<a href="#V">V</a><br />
<a href="#VI">VI</a><br />
<a href="#VII">VII</a><br />
<a href="#VIII">VIII</a><br />
<a href="#IX">IX</a><br />
<a href="#X">X</a><br />
<a href="#XI">XI</a><br />
<a href="#XII">XII</a><br />
<a href="#XIII">XIII</a><br />
<a href="#XIV">XIV</a><br />
<a href="#XV">XV</a><br />
<a href="#XVI">XVI</a><br />
<a href="#XVII">XVII</a><br />
<a href="#XVIII">XVIII</a><br />
<a href="#XIX">XIX</a><br />
<a href="#XX">XX</a><br />
<a href="#XXI">XXI</a><br />
<a href="#XXII">XXII</a><br />
<a href="#XXIII">XXIII</a><br />
<a href="#XXIV">XXIV</a><br />
<a href="#XXV">XXV</a><br />
<a href="#XXVI">XXVI</a><br />
<a href="#XXVII">XXVII</a><br />
<a href="#XXVIII">XXVIII</a><br />
<a href="#XXIX">XXIX</a><br />
<a href="#XXX">XXX</a><br />
<a href="#XXXI">XXXI</a><br />
<a href="#XXXII">XXXII</a><br />
<a href="#XXXIII">XXXIII</a><br />
<a href="#XXXIV">XXXIV</a><br />
<a href="#XXXV">XXXV</a><br />
<a href="#XXXVI">XXXVI</a><br />
<a href="#XXXVII">XXXVII</a>
</p>
</div>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p class="in0 in4"><span class="larger">JOHN OXENHAM’S NOVELS</span></p>

<p class="p1 in0 in4">
<span class="smcap">God’s Prisoner</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Rising Fortunes</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Our Lady of Deliverance</span><br />
<span class="smcap">A Princess of Vascovy</span><br />
<span class="smcap">John of Gerisau</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Under the Iron Flail</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Bondman Free</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Mr. Joseph Scorer</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Barbe of Grand Bayou</span><br />
<span class="smcap">A Weaver of Webs</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Hearts in Exile</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Gate of the Desert</span><br />
<span class="smcap">White Fire</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Giant Circumstance</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Profit and Loss</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Long Road</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Carette of Sark</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Pearl of Pearl Island</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Song of Hyacinth</span><br />
<span class="smcap">My Lady of Shadows</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Great-heart Gillian</span><br />
<span class="smcap">A Maid of the Silver Sea</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Lauristons</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Coil of Carne</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Their High Adventure</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Queen of the Guarded Mounts</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Mr. Cherry</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Quest of the Golden Rose</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Mary All-Alone</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Red Wrath</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Maid of the Mist</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Broken Shackles</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Flower of the Dust</span><br />
<span class="smcap">My Lady of the Moor</span><br />
“1914”
</p>

<p class="p2 in0 in8"><span class="larger">VERSE</span></p>

<p class="p1 in0 in4">
<span class="smcap">Bees in Amber.</span> <i>105th Thousand</i><br />
“<span class="smcap">All’s Well!</span>” <i>75th Thousand</i><br />
<span class="smcap">The King’s High Way.</span> <i>55th Thousand</i><br />
<span class="smcap">Hymn for the Men at the Front.</span> <i>6th Million</i>
</p>
</div>

<hr />

<div class="newpage p4 center vspace">
<p class="xxlarge gesperrt">
<span class="large">“1914”</span></p>

<p class="p2">BY<br />
<span class="large gesperrt">JOHN OXENHAM</span></p>

<p class="p2 smaller">SECOND EDITION</p>

<p class="p2 gesperrt larger">METHUEN &amp; CO. LTD.<br />
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.<br />
LONDON
</p>

<hr />

<p class="newpage p4 center vspace smaller">
<i>First Published</i> <span class="in2"><i>September 15th 1916</i></span><br />
<i>Second Edition</i>  <span class="in2"><i>September         1916</i></span>
</p>
</div>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak"><span class="larger">“1914”</span></h2>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> early morning of July 25th, 1914, was not at all
such as the date might reasonably have led one to
expect. It was gray and overcast, with heavy dew
lying white on the grass and a quite unseasonable rawness
in the air.</p>

<p>The clock on the mantelpiece of the morning-room in
The Red House, Willstead, was striking six, in the sonorous
Westminster chimes, which were so startlingly inconsistent
with its size, as Mr John Dare drew the bolts of the French
window and stepped out on to his back lawn.</p>

<p>He had shot the bolts heavily and thoughtfully the night
before, long after all the rest had gone up to bed, though he
noticed, when he went up himself, that Noel’s light still
gleamed under his door. His peremptory tap and ‘Get
to bed, boy!’ had produced an instant eclipse, and he
determined to speak to him about it in the morning.</p>

<p>He had never believed in reading in bed himself. Bed was
a place in which to sleep and recuperate. If it had been
a case of midnight oil and the absorption of study now—all
well and good. But Noel’s attitude towards life in
general and towards study in particular permitted no such
illusion.</p>

<p>And it was still heavily and thoughtfully that Mr Dare
drew back the bolts and stepped out into the gray morning.
Not that he knew definitely that this twenty-fifth of July
was a day big with the fate of empires and nations, and of
the world at large,—simply that he had not slept well; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span>
bed, when you cannot sleep, is the least restful place in the
world.</p>

<p>As a rule he slept very soundly and woke refreshed, but
for many nights now his burdened brain had neglected its
chances, and had chased, and been chased by, shadowy
phantoms,—possibilities, doubts, even fears,—which sober
daylight scoffed at, but which, nevertheless, seemed to
lurk in his pillow and swarm out for his undoing the moment
he laid his tired head upon it.</p>

<p>Out here in the fresh of the morning,—which ought by
rights to have been full of sunshine and beauty, the cream
of a summer day,—he could, as a rule, shake off the
shadows and get a fresh grip on realities and himself.</p>

<p>But the very weather was depressing. The year seemed
already on the wane. There were fallen leaves on the lawn.
The summer flowers were despondent. There was a touch of
red in the Virginia creeper which covered the house. The
roses wore a downcast look. The hollyhocks and sweet-peas
showed signs of decrepitude. It seemed already Autumn,
and the chill damp air made one think of coming Winter.</p>

<p>And the unseasonal atmospheric conditions were remarkably
akin to his personal feelings.</p>

<p>For days he had had a sense of impending trouble in
business matters, all the more irritating because so ill-defined
and impalpable. Troubles that one could tackle in
the open one faced as a matter of course, and got the better
of as a matter of business. But this ‘something coming
and no knowing what’ was very upsetting, and his brows
knitted perplexedly as he paced to and fro, from the arch
that led to the kitchen-garden to the arch that led to the
front path, up which in due course Smith’s boy would
come whistling with the world’s news and possibly something
that might cast a light on his shadows.</p>

<p>Mr Dare’s business was that of an import and export
merchant, chiefly with the Continent, and his offices were
in St Mary Axe. He had old connections all over Europe
and was affiliated with the Paris firm of Leroux and Cie,
Charles Leroux having married his sister.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></p>

<p>As a rule his affairs ran full and smooth, with no more
than the to-be-expected little surface ruffles. But for
some weeks past he had been acutely conscious of a disturbance
in the commercial barometer, and so far he had
failed to make out what it portended.</p>

<p>Politically, both at home and abroad, matters seemed
much as usual, always full of menacing possibilities, to
which, however, since nothing came of them, one had
grown somewhat calloused.</p>

<p>The Irish brew indeed looked as if it might possibly
boil over. That gun-running business was not at all to his
mind. But he was inclined to think there was a good deal
of bluff about it all. And the suffragettes were ramping
about and making fools of themselves in their customary
senseless fashion, and doing all the damage they possibly
could to their own cause and to the nation at large.</p>

<p>The only trouble of late on the Continent had been the
murder of the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife about a
month before. And that seemed to be working itself off
in acrimonious snappings and yappings by the Austrian
and Servian papers. Austria would in due course undoubtedly
claim such guarantees of future good behaviour
on the part of her troublesome little neighbour as the
circumstances, when fully investigated, should call for.
The tone of the note she had sent, calling on Servia no
longer to permit the brewing of trouble within her borders,
was somewhat brusque no doubt but not unnaturally so.
And Servia, weary with her late struggles, would, of course,
comply and there the matter would end.</p>

<p>It was unthinkable that the general peace should suffer
from such a cause when it had survived the great flare-up
in the Balkans the year before. Austria would not dare
to go too far since she must first consult Germany, and the
Kaiser, it was well known, desired nothing better than to
maintain the peace which he had kept so resolutely for
five-and-twenty years. If it had been that hot-head, the
Crown Prince, now—— But fortunately for the world the
reins were in cooler hands.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span></p>

<p>Then again the Money Market here showed no more
disturbance than was to be expected under such unsettled
conditions, and the Bank-rate remained at three per cent.
The Berlin and Vienna Bourses were somewhat unsettled.
But there were always adventurous spirits abroad ready
to take advantage of any little disturbance and reap
nefarious harvests.</p>

<p>Anyway he could see no adequate connection between
any of these things and the sudden stoppage of his deliveries
of beet-sugar from Germany and Austria, and the
unusual lapsus in correspondence and remittances from
both those countries,—which matters were causing him
endless worry and anxiety.</p>

<p>His brother-in-law, Leroux, in Paris, had hinted at no
gathering clouds, as he certainly would have done had any
been perceptible. And the sensitive pulse of international
affairs on the Bourse there would have perceived them
instantly if they had existed. The very fact that M.
Poincaré, the President, was away in Russia was proof
positive that the sky was clear.</p>

<p>The only actual hint of anything at all out of the common
was in that last letter from his eldest girl, Lois, who had
been studying at the Conservatorium in Leipsic for the last
two years.</p>

<p>She had written, about a week before,—“What is brewing?
There is a spirit of suppressed excitement abroad
here, but I cannot learn what it means. They tell me it
is the usual preparation for the Autumn manœuvres. It
may be so, but all the time I have been here I have never
seen anything quite like it. If they were preparing for war
I could understand it, but that is of course out of the
question, since the Kaiser’s heart is set on peace, as everyone
knows.”</p>

<p>There was not much in that in itself, though Lois was an
unusually level-headed girl and not likely to lay stress on
imaginary things. But that, and the evasiveness, when it
was not silence, of his German correspondents, and the non-arrival
of his contracted-for supplies of beet-sugar, had set<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>
his mind running on possibilities from which it recoiled but
could not shake itself entirely free.</p>

<p>Presently, as he paced the well-defined track he had by
this time made across the dewy lawn, he heard the rattle
of the kitchen grate as heavy-handed Sarah lit the fire,
and the gush of homely smoke from the chimney had in it
a suggestion of breakfast that put some of his shadows to
flight. Sarah and breakfast were substantial every-day
facts before which the blue devils born of broken sleep
temporarily withdrew.</p>

<p>Then from behind Honor’s wide-open window and
drawn curtains he heard her cheerful humming as she
dressed. And then her curtains were switched aside with
a strenuous rattle, and at sight of him she stuck out her
head with a saucy,</p>

<p>“Hello, Mr Father! Got the hump? What a beast
of a day! I say,—you <em>are</em> wearing a hole in that carpet.
Doesn’t look much of a day for a tennis tournament, does
it? Rotten! I just wish I had the making of this country’s
weather; anyone who wished might make <span class="locked">her——”</span></p>

<p>Smith’s boy’s exuberant whistle sounded in the front
garden, and Honor chimed in, “Good-bye, Piccadilly!”—as
her father hastened to the gate to get his paper.</p>

<p>Smith’s boy was just preparing to fold and hurl it at the
porch—a thing he had been strictly forbidden to do, since
on wet and windy days it resulted in an unreadable rag
retrieved from various corners of the garden instead of a
reputable news-sheet. At the unexpected appearance of
Mr Dare in the archway, his merry pipe broke off short
at the farewell to Leicester Square, and Honor’s clear voice
round the corner carried them triumphantly to the conclusion
that it was “a long long way to Tipperary,”
without obbligato accompaniment. The boy grinned,
and producing a less-folded paper from his sheaf, retired
in good order through the further gate, and piped himself
bravely up the Oakdene path next door, while Mr Dare
shook the paper inside out and stood searching for anything
that might in any way bear upon his puzzle.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span></p>

<p>His anxious eye leaped at once to the summary of
foreign news, and his lips tightened.</p>

<p>“The Austrian Minister has been instructed to leave
Belgrade unless the Servian Government complies with
the Austrian demand by 6 p.m. this evening.”</p>

<p>An ultimatum!... Bad!... Dangerous things, ultimatums!</p>

<p>“It is stated that Russia has decided to intervene on
behalf of Servia.”</p>

<p>“H’m! If Russia,—then France! If France,—then
Germany and Italy!... And how shall we stand? It
is incredible,” and he turned hastily for hope of relief to
the columns of the paper, and read in a leader headed
“<i>Europe and the Crisis</i>,”—“All who have the general peace
at heart must hope that Austria has not spoken her last
word in the note to Servia, to which she requires a reply
to-night. If she has we stand upon the edge of war, and
of a war fraught with dangers that are incalculable to all
the Great Powers.”</p>

<p>Then the front door opened and his wife came out into
the porch.</p>

<p>“Breakfast’s ready, father,” she said briskly. “Any
news?”</p>

<p>She was a very comely woman of fifty or so, without a
gray hair yet and of an unusually pleasing and cheerful
countenance. The girls got their good looks from her, the
boys took more after their father.</p>

<p>“Any light on matters?” asked Mrs Dare hopefully
again, as he came slowly along the path towards her. And
then, at sight of his face, “Whatever is it, John?”</p>

<p>He had made it a rule to leave ordinary business worries
behind him in town where they properly belonged. But
matters of moment he frequently discussed with his wife
and had found her aloof point of view and clear common-sense
of great assistance at times. His late disturbance
of mind had been very patent to her, but, beyond the
simple facts, he had been able to satisfy her no more than
himself.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p>

<p>“Very grave news, I’m afraid,” he said soberly. “Austria
and Servia look like coming to blows.”</p>

<p>“Oh?” said Mrs Dare, in a tone which implied no more
than interested surprise. “I should have thought Servia
had had enough fighting to last her for some time to come.”</p>

<p>“I’ve no doubt she has. It’s Austria driving at her.
Russia will probably step in, and so Germany, Italy, France,
and maybe <span class="locked">ourselves——”</span></p>

<p>“John!”—very much on the alert now.—“It is not
possible.”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid it’s even probable, my dear. And if it comes
it will mean disaster to a great many people.”</p>

<p>“What about Lois? Will she be safe out there?”</p>

<p>“We must consider that. I’ve hardly got round to her
yet. Let us make sure of one more comfortable breakfast
anyway,” he said, with an attempt at lightness which he was
far from feeling, and as they went together to the breakfast-room,
Honor came dancing down the stairs.</p>

<p>“Hello, Dad! Did they give extra prizes for early
rising at your school?” she asked merrily, and ran on
without waiting for an answer,—“And did you choke that
boy who was whistling ‘Tipperary’? I had to finish
without accompaniment and he was doing it fine. He has
a musical soul. It was Jimmy Snaggs. He’s in my class
at Sunday School. You should hear him sing.”</p>

<p>“You tell him again from me that if he can’t deliver
papers properly he’d better find some other walk in life,”
said Mr Dare, as he chipped an egg and proceeded with his
breakfast.</p>

<p>“It looks all right,” said Honor, picking up the paper.
“Let’s see the cricket. Old No’s aching to hear. Hm—hm—hm—Kent
beat Middlesex at Maidstone,—Blythe and
Woolley’s fine bowling,—Surrey leads for championship.
That’s all right. Hello, what’s all this?—‘Servia challenged.
King Peter’s appeal to the Tsar. Grave decisions
impending. The risk to Europe.’ I—<em>say</em>! Is there going
to be another war? How ripping!”</p>

<p>“Honor!” said her mother reprovingly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></p>

<p>“Well, I don’t mean that, of course. But a war does
make lively papers, doesn’t it? I’m sick of Ireland and
suffragettes.”</p>

<p>“If this war comes you’ll be sicker of it than of anything
you ever experienced, before it’s over, my dear,” said Mr
Dare gravely.</p>

<p>“Why?—Austria and Servia?”</p>

<p>“And Russia and Germany and France and Italy and
possibly England.”</p>

<p>“My Goodness! You don’t mean it, Dad?” and she
eyed him keenly. “I believe you’re just—er—pulling my
leg, as old No would say?” and she plunged again into
the paper.</p>

<p>“Bitter fact, I fear, my dear.”</p>

<p>“How about Lois? Will she be in the thick of it?”
she asked, raising her head for a moment to stare meditatively
at him, with the larger part of her mind still busy
with the news.</p>

<p>“We were just thinking of her. I’m inclined to wire her
to come home at once.”</p>

<p>Then Noel strolled in with a nonchalant, “Morning
everybody!... Say, Nor! What about the cricket?
You <span class="locked">promised——”</span></p>

<p>“Cricket’s off, my son,” said Honor, reading on. “It’s
war and a case of fighting for our lives maybe.”</p>

<p>“Oh, come off!”—then, noticing the serious faces of
the elders,—“Not really? Who with?”</p>

<p>“Everybody,” said Honor. “—Armageddon!”</p>

<p>He went round to her and pored eagerly over the paper
with his head alongside hers. They were twins and closely
knit by many little similarities of thought and taste and
feeling.</p>

<p>“Well!... I’ll—be—bowled!” as he gradually assimilated
the news. “Do you really think it’ll come to a
general scrap?”—to his father.</p>

<p>“Those who have better means of judging than I have
evidently fear it, my boy. I shall learn more in the City
no doubt,” and he hurried on with his breakfast.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></p>

<p>The front-door bell shrilled sharply.</p>

<p>“Post!” said Honor. “Must be something big,” and
dashed away to get it. She never could wait for the maid’s
leisurely progress when letters were in question, and she
and the postman were on the best of terms. He always
grinned when she came whirling to the door.</p>

<p>“Why—Colonel!” they heard her surprised greeting.
“And Ray! You <em>are</em> early birds. I thought you were
the post. What worms are you after now? Is it the
War?”—as she ushered them into the drawing-room.</p>

<p>“Bull’s-eye first shot,” said a stentorian voice. “Has
your father gone yet, Honor?”</p>

<p>“Just finishing his breakfast, Colonel. I’ll tell him,”
and as she turned to go, her father came in.</p>

<p>“How are you, Colonel?” said Mr Dare. “Good
morning, Ray! What are our prospects of keeping out of
it, do you think?”</p>

<p>“None,” said the Colonel gravely. “It’s ‘The Day’
they’ve been getting ready for all these years, and that
we’ve been expecting—some of us, and unable to get ready
for because you others thought differently. But we want
a word or two with Mrs Dare too. Will you beg her to
favour us, Honor, my dear?” and Honor sped to summon
her mother to the conference.</p>

<p>“We must apologise for calling at such an hour, Mrs
Dare,” said the Colonel, as they shook hands, “But the
matter admits of no delay. Ray here wants your permission
to go out and bring Lois home. We think she is
in danger out there.”</p>

<p>“You know how things are between us, dear Mrs Dare,”
broke in Ray impulsively. “We have never really said
anything definite, but we understand one another. And
if it’s going to be a general scrap all round, as Uncle Tony
is certain it is, then the sooner she is clear of it the better.
I’ve never been easy in my mind about her since that little
beast von Helse brought her over last year.”</p>

<p>At which a reminiscent smile flickered briefly in the
corners of Mrs Dare’s lips and made Ray think acutely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>
of Lois, who had just that same way of savouring life’s
humours.</p>

<p>“I was thinking of wiring for her to come home, as soon
as I got to town,” said Mr Dare.</p>

<p>“If my views are correct,” said the Colonel weightily,
“and I fear you’ll find them so, travelling, over there, will
be no easy matter. The moment mobilisation is ordered—and
the possibility is that it’s going on now for all they
are worth,—everything will be under martial law,—all the
railways in the hands of the military, all traffic disorganised,—possibly
the frontiers closed. Everything chock-a-block,
in fact. It may be no easy job to get her safely out even
now. But if anyone can do it, in the circumstances,
I’ll back Ray. He’s glib at German and knows his way
about, and where Lois is <span class="locked">concerned——”</span></p>

<p>“It is very good of you, Ray,”—began Mrs Dare,
warmly.</p>

<p>“Not a bit. It’s good of you to trust her to me. I can
start in an hour, and I’ll bring her back safe or know the
reason why. Thank you so much!” and he gripped her
hand and then suddenly bent forward and kissed her on
the cheek. “I’m nearly packed,”—at which Mrs Dare’s
smile flickered again.—“I’ll cut away and finish. I must
catch the ten o’clock from Victoria, and bar accidents I’ll
be in Leipsic to-morrow morning. You might perhaps
give me just a little note for her, saying you approve my
coming,” and he hurried away to finish his preparations.</p>

<p>Honor and Noel heard him going and sped out after him,
all agog to know what it was all about.</p>

<p>“Here! What’s up among all you elderly people?”
cried Noel.</p>

<p>“No time to talk, old man. They’ll tell you all about
it,” Ray called over his shoulder and disappeared through
the front gate.</p>

<p>“Well!—I’m blowed! Old Ray’s got a move on him.
What’s he up to, I wonder.”</p>

<p>“I’ll tell you, No. He’s going after <span class="locked">Lois——”</span></p>

<p>“After Lois? Why—what’s wrong with Lo?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span></p>

<p>“Don’t you see? If there’s going to be war over there
she might get stuck and not be able to get home for
<span class="locked">years——”</span></p>

<p>“Oh—years! It’ll all be over in a month. Wars
now-a-days don’t run into time. It’s too expensive, my
child.”</p>

<p>“Well, anyway, old Lo will be a good deal better safe
at home than in the thick of it. And I guess that’s what
Ray and the Colonel think.”</p>

<p>“I’d no idea they’d got that far. Of course I knew he
was sweet on her. You could see that when that von Helse
chap was here, and old Ray used to look as if he’d like to
chew him up.”</p>

<p>“I knew all about it.”</p>

<p>“Of course. Girls always talk about these things.”</p>

<p>“She never said a word. But I knew all the same.”</p>

<p>“Kind of instinct, I suppose.”</p>

<p>Here the elders came out of the drawing-room, preceded,
as the door opened, by the Colonel’s emphatic pronouncement,</p>

<p>“—Inevitable, my dear sir. We cannot possibly escape
being drawn in. Their plans are certain to be based on
getting in through Belgium and Luxembourg. We’ve
been prepared for that for many years past. And if they
touch Belgium the fat’s in the fire, for we’re bound to stop
it—if we can. If some of us had had our way we’d be in a
better position to do it than we are. Anyhow we’ll have
to do our best. We’d have done better if you others had
had less faith in German bunkum. Noel, my boy,” as Noel
saluted, “We shall probably want you before we’re through.”</p>

<p>“You think it’ll be a tough business, sir?”</p>

<p>“Tough? It’ll be hell, my boy, before the slate’s all
clean again. And that won’t be till the Kaiser and all his
gang are wiped off it for ever.”</p>

<p>“I thought it would be all over in a month or two.”</p>

<p>“A year or two may be more like it. Germany is one
big fighting-machine, and till it’s smashed there’ll be no
peace in the world.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span></p>

<p>“Think they’ll get over here, sir?” chirped Honor
expectantly.</p>

<p>“They’ll try, if we leave them a chance. Thank God,—and
Winston Churchill—we’re ready for them there.
That man’s looked ahead and he’s probably saved England.”</p>

<p>“Good old Winston!”</p>

<p>“If you’re off, Dare, I’ll walk along with you. I must
call at the Bank. It won’t do for Ray to run out of funds
over there. Good-bye, Mrs Dare! Bring you good news
in a day or two. Ta-ta, Honor!”</p>

<p>“You’ll let me stand my share——” began Mr Dare, as
they walked along together.</p>

<p>“Tut, man! You’ll need all your spare cash before
we’re through and I’ve plenty lying idle.”</p>

<p>“You really think it may be a long business?”</p>

<p>“I don’t see how it can be anything else. Have you
had no warnings of its coming from any of your correspondents?”</p>

<p>“We told you of Lois’s letter. We’ve had nothing more
than that—except delay in goods coming through—and in
remittances.”</p>

<p>“Exactly! Railways too busy carrying men and horses;
and business men preferring to keep their money in their
own hands. I tell you they’ve been working up to this
for years, only waiting for the psychological moment.”</p>

<p>“And why is this the psychological moment? The
Servian affair hardly seems worth all the <span class="locked">pother——”</span></p>

<p>“Do you remember a man named Humbert attacking
the French War Minister in the Senate, about a fortnight
ago, on the subject of their army,—no boots, no ammunition,
no guns worth firing, no forts, and so on?”</p>

<p>“I remember something about it. I remember it
struck me as a rather foolish display of joints in the
<span class="locked">armour——”</span></p>

<p>“And Petersburg was all upside down, the other day,
with out-of-work riots. Crowds, one hundred thousand
strong, slaughtering the police, even while Poincaré was
visiting the Tsar. You remember that?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span></p>

<p>“Yes.”</p>

<p>“And at home here, matters in Ireland looked like
coming to a head. In fact it looked like civil war.”</p>

<p>“I never believed it would come to anything of the
kind, as you know.”</p>

<p>“But to that exceedingly clever busy-body, the Kaiser,—at
least, he thinks he’s exceedingly clever. It’s possible
to be too clever.—Well, here were his three principal
enemies all tied up in knots. What better chance would
he ever get?”</p>

<p>“H’m! All the same he seems doing his best to smooth
things over.”</p>

<p>“Bunkum, my boy!—all bunkum! He may try to
save his face to the world at large, but I bet you they’re
quietly mobilising over there as fast as they know how to,
and that’s faster than we dream of. And the moment
they’re ready they’ll burst out like a flood and sweep
everything before them—unless we can dam it, damn ’em!
Perhaps you’ll look in this evening and tell me how the
City feels about it,” and at the door of the Bank they
parted, and Mr Dare went on to his train in anything but
a comfortable frame of mind.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">They</span> had been neighbours now for close on ten
years and close friends for nine and a half of them.</p>

<p>Noel and Honor were mischievous young things
of eight when the Dares took The Red House, and in their
adventurous prowlings they very soon made the acquaintance
of Miss Victoria Luard, aged nine and also of an
adventurous disposition, who lived at Oakdene, the big
white house next door with black oak beams all over its
forehead,—“like Brahmin marks only the other way,”—as
Honor said, which gave it a surprised, wide-awake, lifted-eyebrows
look.</p>

<p>From the youngsters the acquaintance spread to the
elder members of the two families, and grew speedily into
very warm friendship, in spite of the fact that the Dares
were all sturdy Liberals, and the Luards, as a family,
staunch Conservatives.</p>

<p>Colonel Luard, V.C., C.B.—Sir Anthony indeed, but he
always insisted on the Colonel, since, as he said, “That
was my own doing, sir, but the other—da-ash it!—I’d
nothing to do with that. It was in the family and my
turn came.”</p>

<p>He was small made, and of late inclined to stoutness
which he strove manfully to subdue, and he wore a close
little muzzle of a moustache, gray, almost white now, and
slight side-whiskers in the style of the late highly-esteemed
Prince Consort. But though his moustache and whiskers
and hair and eyebrows all showed unmistakable signs of
his seventy-eight years, his little figure—except in front—was
as straight as ever. He was as full of fire and go as a
shrapnel shell, and his voice, on occasion, was as much out of
proportion to his size as was that of the clock with the deep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
Westminster chimes on the breakfast-room mantelpiece at
The Red House.</p>

<p>He looked a bare sixty-five, but as a youngster he had
been through the Crimean campaign and the Indian
Mutiny, and in the latter gained the coveted cross “For
Valour” by exploding a charge at a rebel fort-gate which
had already cost a score of lives and still blocked Britain’s
righteous vengeance.</p>

<p>He had been on the Abyssinian Expedition and in the
Zulu War, and had returned from the latter so punctured
with assegai wounds that he vowed he looked like nothing
but a da-asht pin-cushion. Then he came into the title,
and a very comfortable income, through the death of an
uncle, who had made money in the banking business and
received his baronetcy as reward for party-services; and
after one more campaign—up Nile with Wolseley after
Gordon—the Colonel retired on his honors and left the
field to younger men.</p>

<p>He found his brother, Geoff, just married and vicar of
Iver Magnus, went to stop with him for a time, and stopped
on—a very acceptable addition to the vicar’s household.
When the children came, who so acceptable, and in every
way so adequate, a godfather as the Colonel? And, with
the very comfortable expectations incorporated in him,
how resist his vehement choice of names,—extraordinary
as they seemed to the hopeful father and mother?</p>

<p>And so he had the eldest girl christened Alma, after his
first engagement; and the boy who came next he named
Raglan, after his first esteemed commander; and the next
girl he was actually going to call Balaclava; but there Mrs.
Vicar struck, and nearly wept herself into a fever, until
they compounded on Victoria, after Her Majesty.</p>

<p>When Vic was five, and Ray ten, and Alma twelve, their
father and mother both died in an heroic attempt at combating
an epidemic of typhoid, and Uncle Tony shook off
the dust and smells of Iver Magnus, bought Oakdene at
Willstead, and set up his establishment there, with little
Miss Mitten, the sister of his special chum Major Mitten—who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span>
had been pin-cushioned by the Zulus at the same time
as himself only more so—as vice-reine.</p>

<p>Miss Mitten was sixty-seven if she was a day, but never
admitted it even at census-time. She was an eminently
early-Victorian little lady, had taught in a very select
ladies’ school, and had written several perfectly harmless
little books, which at the time had obtained some slight
vogue but had long since been forgotten by every one
except the ‘eminent authoress’ herself, as some small
newspaper had once unforgettably dubbed her.</p>

<p>She was as small and neat as the Colonel himself, and in
spite of the ample living at Oakdene her slim little figure
never showed any signs of even comfortable rotundity.
She was in fact sparely made, and the later fat years had
never succeeded in making good the deficiencies of the
many preceding lean ones. She wore the neatest of little
gray curls at the side of her head, and, year in year out,
they never varied by so much as one single hair.</p>

<p>She was very gentle, a much better housekeeper than
might have been expected, and was partial to the black
silk dresses and black silk open-work mittens of the days
of long ago. The youngsters called her Auntie Mitt.,
and the Colonel they called Uncle Tony. She alone of
all their world invariably addressed the Colonel as ‘Sir
Anthony,’ and in her case only he raised no objection, since
he saw that she thereby obtained some peculiar little
inward satisfaction.</p>

<p>Alma, the eldest girl, was, in this year of grace 1914,
twenty-six, though you would never have thought it to
look at her. She was a tall handsome girl, dark, as were
all the Luards, and three years before this, had suddenly
shaken off the frivolities of life and gone in for nursing,
with an ardour and steady persistence which had surprised
her family and greatly pleased the Colonel, whose still-keen,
dark eyes twinkled understandingly and approvingly.</p>

<p>Raglan—Ray to all his friends—was twenty-four, two
inches taller than Alma, broad of shoulder and deep of
chest,—he had pulled stroke in his College eight, and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span>
clean-shaven face, with its firm mouth and jaw and level
brows, was good to look upon. He was studying the
honourable profession of the law and intended to reach
the Woolsack or know the reason why. Partly as a sop
to the martial spirit of Uncle Tony, and also because he
had deemed it a duty—though he speedily found it a
pleasure also—he had joined the Territorials and was at
this time a first lieutenant in the London Scottish, and a
very fine figure he made in the kilt and sporran.</p>

<p>Victoria, who so narrowly escaped being Balaclava, was
nineteen and the political heretic of the family. She was
an ardent Home-Ruler, a Suffragist, a Land-Reformer,
played an almost faultless game at tennis, could give the
Colonel 30 at billiards and beat him 100 up with ten to
spare; and held a ten handicap on the links. She was in
fact very advanced, very full of energy and good spirits,
and frankly set on getting out of life every enjoyable thrill
it could be made to yield.</p>

<p>Their close intimacy with the Dares had been of no little
benefit to all three of them. Accustomed from their
earliest years to the atmosphere of an ample income, they
had never experienced any necessity for self-denial, self-restraint,
or any of the little dove-coloured virtues which
add at times an unexpected charm to less luxurious lives.</p>

<p>They found that charm among the Dares and profited
by it. To their surprise, as they grew old enough to
understand it, they found their own easy lives narrower
in many respects than their neighbours’, although obviously
Uncle Tony’s open purse was as much wider and
deeper than Mr Dare’s as Oakdene, with its well-tended
lawns and beds and shrubberies and orchard and kitchen-gardens,
was larger than The Red House and its trifling
acre. And yet, as children, they had always had better
times on the other side of the hedge, when they had made
a hole large enough to crawl through; and Christmas
revels and Halloweens in The Red House were things to
look back upon even yet.</p>

<p>Perhaps it was Mrs Dare that made all the difference.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span>
Auntie Mitt was a little dear and all that, and Uncle Tony
was an old dear and as good as gold. But there was something
about Mrs Dare which gave a different feeling to The
Red House and everything about it; and Alma very soon
arrived at the meaning of it, and expressed it, succinctly
if exaggeratedly, when she said to Lois one day,</p>

<p>“Lo, I’d give Auntie Mitt and Uncle Tony ten times
over for half your mother.”</p>

<p>And Mrs Dare, understanding very clearly, had mothered
them all alike so far as was possible. And her warm heart
was large enough to take in the additional three without
any loss, but rather gain, to her own four, and with benefit
to the three which only the years were to prove.</p>

<p>The Luard youngsters, in short, had lived in circumstances
so wide and easy that they had become somewhat
self-centred, somewhat aloof from life less well-placed,
somewhat careless of others so long as their own enjoyment
of life was full and to their taste.</p>

<p>Auntie Mitt was not blind to it. In her precise little
way she took upon herself—with justifiable misgiving
that nothing would come of it—to point out to them that
they were in danger of falling into the sin of selfishness.
And, as she expected, her gentle remonstrances fell from
them like water off lively little ducks’ backs.</p>

<p>Uncle Tony considered them the finest children in the
world, would not hear a word against them, and spoiled
them to his heart’s content and their distinct detriment.</p>

<p>Their association with the Dares saved them no doubt
from the worst results of Uncle Tony’s mistaken kindness,
but even Mrs Dare could not make angels of them any
more than she could of her own four. She could only do
her best by them all and leave them to work out their own
salvation in their own various ways.</p>

<p>Connal Dare, the eldest of her own tribe, had been in the
medical profession since the age of eight, when the game
of his heart had been to make the other three lie down on
the floor, covered up with tidies and shawls, while he
inspected their tongues, and timed their pulses by a toy-watch<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
which only went when he wound it, which he could
not do while holding a patient’s pulse. As he invariably
prescribed liquorice-water, carefully compounded in a
bottle with much shaking beforehand, and acid drops,
the others suffered his ministrations with equanimity so
long as his medicaments lasted, but grew convalescent
with revolting alacrity the moment the supply failed.</p>

<p>Since then, true to his instinct, he had worked hard, and
forced his way up in spite of all that might have hindered.</p>

<p>His father would have liked him with him in the business
in St Mary Axe, but, perceiving the lad’s bent, raised no
objection, on the understanding that, as far as possible,
he made his own way. And this Connal had succeeded
in doing.</p>

<p>He was a sturdy, fair-haired, blue-eyed fellow, several
inches shorter than Ray Luard but fully his match both
in boxing and wrestling, as proved in many a bout before
an admiring audience of five—and sometimes six, for the
Colonel liked nothing better than to see them at it and
bombard them both impartially with advice and encouragement.</p>

<p>Connal had overcome all obstacles to the attainment of
his chosen career in similar fashion; had taken scholarship
after scholarship; and all the degrees his age permitted,
and had even paid some of his examination fees by joining
the Army Medical Corps, which provided him not only with
cash, but also with a most enjoyable yearly holiday in camp
and a certain amount of practice in his profession.</p>

<p>He had, however, long since decided that general practice
would not satisfy him. He would specialise, and he chose
as his field the still comparatively obscure department of
the brain. There were fewer skilled workers in it than
in most of the others. In fact it was looked somewhat
askance at by the more pushing pioneers in research. It
offered therefore more chances and he was most profoundly
interested in his work in all its mysterious heights and
depths.</p>

<p>At the moment he was the hard-worked Third Medical at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
Birch Grove Asylum, up on the Surrey Downs, and whenever
he could run over to Willstead for half a day his
mother eyed him anxiously for signs of undue depression or
disturbed mentality, and was always completely reassured
by his clear bright eyes, and his merry laugh, and the gusto
with which he spoke of his work and its future possibilities.</p>

<p>With the approval and assistance of his good friend Dr
Rhenius, who had attended to all the mortal ills of the
Dares and Luards since they came to live in Willstead, he
was working with all his heart along certain definite and
well-considered lines, which included prospective courses
of study at Munich and Paris. In preparation for these
he was very busy with French and German, and for health’s
sake had become an ardent golfer. His endless quaint
stories of the idiosyncrasies of his patients showed a well-balanced
humorous outlook on the most depressing phase
of human life, and as a rule satisfied even his mother as to
the health and well-being of his own brain.</p>

<p>It was just about the time that he settled on his own
special course in life, and accepted the junior appointment
at Birch Grove, that Alma Luard surprised her family
by deciding that life ought to mean more than tennis
and picnics and parties, and became a probationer at
St Barnabas’s.</p>

<p>Lois, who came next, had a very genuine talent for
music, and a voice which was a joy to all who heard it.
For the perfecting of these she had now been two years at
the Conservatorium at Leipsic and had lived, during that
time, with Frau von Helse, widow of Major von Helse, who
died in Togoland in 1890. Frau von Helse had two
children,—Luise, who was also studying music, and Ludwig,
lieutenant in the army. It was Ludwig’s obvious admiration
for Lois, the previous summer,—when he had escorted
her and his sister to Willstead for a fortnight’s visit to
London in return for Frau von Helse’s great kindness to
Lois during her stay in Leipsic—that had fanned into
sudden flame the long-glowing spark of Ray Luard’s love
for her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span></p>

<p>Honor was Vic’s great chum and admirer. When Honor
began going to St Paul’s School, Vic insisted on going
also, and the experience had done her a world of good.
Even Alma had been known to express regret that she had
not had her chances. An exceedingly high-class and
expensive boarding-school at Eastbourne had been her lot.
An establishment in every respect after Auntie Mitt’s
precise little heart, but comparison of Vic’s wider, if more
democratic, experiences with her own eminently lady-like
ones always roused in Alma feelings of vain and envious
regret.</p>

<p>Noel had been at St Paul’s also, and on the whole had
managed to have a pretty good time. He was no student,
however. The playing fields and Cadet corps always
appealed to him more strongly than the class-rooms. He
was now having a short holiday before tackling, with such
grace as might be found possible when the time came,
the loathsome mysteries of St Mary Axe.</p>

<p>There was nothing else for it. He had shown absolutely
no inclination or aptitude for any special walk in life. His
father’s hope was that, under his own eye, he might in time
develop into a business-man and relieve him of some
portion of his at times over-taxing work.</p>

<p>By dint of strenuous labours Mr Dare had, in the course
of years, worked up a profitable business in foreign imports
and exports, but, like most businesses, it had its ups and
downs, and it would be a great relief to be able to leave
some of the details to one whom he knew he could trust,
as he could Noel. He had had—or at all events had had
the chance of—a good sound education. His father could
only hope that he had taken more advantage of it than he
had ever permitted to show. And experience would come
with time.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">When</span> the taxi, for which Ray had ’phoned, came
rushing up, they all met again at the front gate
to give him their various God-speeds on his
gallant errand.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare handed him the note she had hastily penned
to Lois, with a warm, “We are very grateful to you, Ray,
for your thought of her. Bring her safe home to us.”</p>

<p>The Colonel handed him a small buff paper bag which
chinked, saying, “If you haven’t enough there, my boy,
you will let me know. God bless you both!”</p>

<p>Vic said enviously, “Just wish I was going! Wouldn’t
it be ripping, Nor, to be stranded out there and have
someone come out from England to rescue you?”</p>

<p>“Ripping! Let’s try it! Where could we get to?”</p>

<p>“Little girls are better at home,” said Noel, with his
golf-clubs slung over his shoulder so that not a moment of
this last precious holiday should be missed. “Good-luck,
old man! If you get into any boggle wire for me and I’ll
come and get you out of the mud. Jawohl! Hein! Nicht
wahr!”</p>

<p>“I shall hope to find you all in the best of health about
Tuesday or Wednesday,” said Ray, with a final wave of
the hand, and the taxi whirled away round the corner.</p>

<p>“See you two later,” cried Noel, as he swung away
towards the links. “I’ll feed up yonder and meet you at
the courts at three.”</p>

<p>The girls sauntered away, arm in arm, up the Oakdene
path, to talk it all over. The Colonel wrung Mrs Dare’s
hand again, and said, with warm feeling that subdued
his voice to some extent, “We will congratulate one
another again, ma’am. Nothing could have pleased me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span>
better. Lois is one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met,
and Ray will do us all credit.”</p>

<p>“He’s a fine boy. I’m sure they will be very happy. I
am thankful it has fallen out so. I was a little afraid, at
times, last <span class="locked">summer——”</span></p>

<p>“You mean that spick-and-span, cut-and-dried, starched
and stuck-up German dandy? Pooh, ma’am! I knew
better than that myself.”</p>

<p>“He was a good-looking lad, you know, and his music
was quite exceptional.”</p>

<p>“Always strikes me as rather namby-pamby in a man.
But—a word in your ear, ma’am!”—in a portentous
whisper induced by the discharge of his feelings,—“D’you
know, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if we came on another
link in the chain before long.”</p>

<p>“Another link?” echoed Mrs Dare, and stared at him
in great surprise.</p>

<p>“Yes,” with a twinkle of beaming eyes. “What do <em>you</em>
suppose made my eldest girl take to that nursing business?
You know she’d no need <span class="locked">to——”</span></p>

<p>“You mean Con?”</p>

<p>“Why, of course! Who else? I’ve a great belief in
Con. He’ll go far before he’s through. And I know Alma.
And it’s only in the light of Con that I can explain her.”</p>

<p>“You’re just an incorrigible old match-maker,” laughed
Mrs Dare, more amused than convinced.</p>

<p>“When you’re out of the game yourself there’s nothing
like watching the young ones at it. If it had been my luck
now to meet yourself before Dare came <span class="locked">along——”</span></p>

<p>“You’d have found me in my cradle,” she laughed again,
as she went up the path towards the front door.</p>

<p>“No,—in short frocks,” said the Colonel emphatically.
“But I’d have waited all right.”</p>

<p>It was a standing joke among them that the Colonel had
fallen in love with his neighbour’s wife, and he confessed
to it like a man, to John Dare’s very face.</p>

<p>“Duty calls,” said Mrs Dare. “I’ve got two rooms
to turn out this morning, because my charlady couldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>
come yesterday. And there she is going in at the back
gate. Good-bye, Colonel! I’m half hoping Con may
come over to-day. It’s three weeks since he was here
and he sometimes manages it on a Saturday. I’ll send
you word if he comes and perhaps you’ll come round for a
cup of tea.”</p>

<p>“I will. And bring Alma with me,” he twinkled.</p>

<p>“Is she to be here? I didn’t know.”</p>

<p>“Neither do I, but they generally manage to hit on the
same day somehow. Curious, isn’t it?” and he lifted
his hat and marched away, chuckling to himself like a
plump little turkey-cock.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Con’s</span> visits were like those of the angels, unexpected,
generally unannounced, and always very
welcome. The one curious thing about them was,
as the Colonel had said, that, as often as not, they coincided
in most extraordinary fashion with the whirling
home-calls of Alma Luard. And whenever it happened so,
the Colonel chuckled himself nearly into a fit in private,
and in public preserved his innocent unconsciousness with
difficulty.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare went off to superintend the operations of her
charlady, whose attention to corners and little details in
general was subject to lapses unless the eye of the mistress
was within easy range. And as Mrs Skirrow worked best
under a sense of personal injury Mrs Dare became of
necessity the recipient of all her conjugal woes and endless
stories of filial ingratitude.</p>

<p>She had a husband,—an old soldier in every sense of the
word,—who was cursed with a constitutional objection to
authority and work of any kind, and two sons who took
after their father. One or the other stumbled into a place
now and again and lost it immediately, and Mrs Skirrow
slaved night and day to keep them from any deeper depths
than half-a-crown a day and her food was able to save
them from.</p>

<p>“Is ut true, mum, that we’ll mebbe be having another
war?” asked Mrs Skirrow as she flopped and scrubbed.</p>

<p>“I hope not, Mrs Skirrow, but there’s said to be the
possibility of it. We must hope we’ll be able to keep out
of it. War is very terrible.”</p>

<p>“’Tes that, mum, but there’s a good side to ut too.
Mebbe ut’d give chance o’ someth’n to do to some as don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>
do much otherwise. If ut took my three off and made
men of ’em or dead uns ut’d be a change anyway.”</p>

<p>“You’d find you’d miss them.”</p>

<p>“I would that,” said Mrs Skirrow emphatically, and
added presently, “And be glad to.... I done my best to
stir ’em up, but ut’s in their bones. Mebbe if they was in
th’ army they’d manage to put some ginger into ’em.”</p>

<p>“It might do them good, as you say. But you might
never see them again, you know.”</p>

<p>“I seen enough of ’em this last two years to last me.
’Taint reasonable for one woman to have to work herself to
the bone for three grown men that can’t get work ’cause
they don’t want to.”</p>

<p>“It is not. I think it absolutely shameful of them.”</p>

<p>“Not that they quarrel at all,” said Mrs Skirrow,
instantly resentful of anyone blaming her inepts but
herself. “I’m bound to say that for ’em. They’re good-tempered
about it, but that don’t keep ’em in clo’es, to say
noth’n of boots. I suppose, mum, you ain’t got an old
pair of ...” and Mrs Skirrow’s lamentations resolved
themselves into the usual formula.</p>

<p>It was close upon tea-time when Con came striding up
the path, with a searching eye on the next-door grounds.</p>

<p>“And what do you think of the war, mother?” he
asked briskly, with his face all alight, as soon as their
greetings were over, and he had satisfied himself as to the
welfare of the rest of the family, and expressed his entire
satisfaction with the news about Lois and Ray.</p>

<p>“You mean this Austrian business? It’s very disturbing
but I hope we won’t be drawn into it, my boy.”</p>

<p>“I expect we shall, you know. Pretty certain, it seems
to me. And if we are I’m pretty sure to get the call....”</p>

<p>“I had not thought of that, Con,” and her hands dropped
into her lap for a moment and she sat gazing at him. “That
brings it close home. I pray it may not come to that.”</p>

<p>“Well, you see, I’ve had the cash, and the goods have
got to be <span class="locked">delivered——”</span></p>

<p>“Of course. <span class="locked">But——”</span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span></p>

<p>“And if it comes to a scrap they’ll need every medical
they can get. What does Rhenius say about it all?”</p>

<p>“He’s away,—in Italy, I think.”</p>

<p>“I remember. He wrote me he was hoping to get off, if
he could find a locum who wouldn’t poison you all in his
absence. Well, anyway, I’m getting my kit <span class="locked">packed——”</span></p>

<p>“That’s business, my boy,” pealed the Colonel’s hearty
voice, as he came in with a telegram in his hand. “I saw
you turn in and I’d already been invited to drink a cup of
tea with you. Alma can’t get off,”—he said, in a matter-of-fact
way, showing the telegram.</p>

<p>“Oh?—did you expect her, sir?” with an assumption
of surprise to cover his disappointment.</p>

<p>“I did, my boy, when I heard from your mother that she
thought you might come to-day. Did you?”</p>

<p>“Medicals and nurses are not their own masters,” said
Con non-committally. “Do you really think we’ll be into
it, sir?”</p>

<p>“I do, Con. I don’t see how we can possibly keep
out. It’s a most da—yes, damnably inevitable sequence, it
seems to me. Austria goes for Servia. Russia won’t
stand it. In that case Germany is bound to help Austria.
France will help Russia. Exactly how we stand pledged
to help France and Russia no one knows, I imagine, except
the Foreign Secretary. But everyone knows that the
German war-plan contemplates getting at France through
Belgium. And if they try that, the fat’s in the fire and
we’ve got to stop them or go under.”</p>

<p>“That’s exactly how they’re looking at it at our place,
and all the R.A.M.C. men are getting their things together
in readiness for the call.”</p>

<p>“It’ll be a tough business,” said the Colonel weightily,
but with the light of battle in his eye. “But we’ve got to
go through with it ... right to the bitter end.”</p>

<p>“Have you any doubts about the end, sir?”</p>

<p>“None, my lad. But the end is a mighty long way off
and it’ll be a hot red road that leads to it, unless I’m very
much mistaken. They’ve been preparing for this for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>
years, you see. It had to come, and some of us saw it.
Da-asht pity we didn’t all see it! We’d have been readier
for it than we are. Lord Roberts was right. Every man
in Great Britain and Ireland ought to have been in training
for it.”</p>

<p>“Conscription again, Colonel!” said Mrs Dare. “And
you still think England would stand it?”</p>

<p>“Not conscription, my dear madam,—Universal Service,—a
very different thing and not liable to the defects of
conscription. France broke down through her faulty
conscription in 1870. Germany won on her universal
service. And, da-ash it! we ought to have had it here
ever since. But you others thought we were all screaming
Jingoes and mad on military matters because that was our
profession. Now, maybe, it’s too late.”</p>

<p>“Still, you say you don’t believe they can beat us, sir?”
said Con earnestly.</p>

<p>“Not in the long run. No, I don’t, my boy. But can
you begin to imagine what a long run will mean in these
times? I’ve seen war and I know what it meant up to
twenty years ago. But—if I know anything about it—that
was child’s-play to what this will be. Those—da-asht
Germans are so infernally clever—and you must remember
they’ve been working for this and nothing but this for the
last twenty years, while we’ve been playing football and
cricket, and squabbling over the House of Lords and Home
Rule. Da-ash it! If our side had kept in I believe we’d
have been readier.”</p>

<p>“I doubt it, sir,” said Con, with the laugh in the corners
of his eyes. “You’d have been fighting for your lives all
the time, whereas we at all events have done something—Old
Age Pensions, and National Insurance, and so on,” at
which the Colonel snorted like a war-horse scenting battle.</p>

<p>“And how is the work going, Con?” asked Mrs Dare,
as a lead to less bellicose subjects.</p>

<p>“Oh, all right. About same as usual. We got a new old
chap in the other day and he’s taken a curious fancy to
my grin. He stops me every time we meet, and says,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>
‘Doctor, do smile for me!’ and he’s such an old comic
that I just roar, and then he roars too, and we’re as happy
as can be.”</p>

<p>“He’s no fool,” said the Colonel. For Con’s grin was
very contagious. The corners of his eyes had a way of
wrinkling up when the humorous aspect of things appealed
to him, his eyes almost disappeared, and then his face
creased up all over and the laugh broke out. And as a rule
it made one laugh just to watch him.</p>

<p>“But we had two rather nasty things, last week,” he
said, sobering up. “Two of the old chaps were set to
clean up an out-house, and one of them came out after a
bit and sat down in the sun with his back against the wall,
humming the ‘Old Hundredth,’ they say. One of the
attendants asked him what he was doing there, and he
said old Jim was tired and was lying down inside. And
when they went in they found old Jim lying down with his
head beaten in and as dead as a door-nail.”</p>

<p>“Good Lord!” said the Colonel. “And what did you
do to the other?”</p>

<p>“What could we do? He was quite unconscious of
having done anything wrong. He’ll be kept under observation
of course. But the other matter was worse still,
in one way. A table-knife disappeared one day from the
scullery and couldn’t be found anywhere. And for a
week we all went with our heads over both shoulders at
once, and the feel of that knife slicing in between our
shoulder-blades at any moment. I tell you, that was jolly
uncomfortable.”</p>

<p>“And did you find it?” asked Mrs Dare anxiously.</p>

<p>“Yes, we hunted and hunted till we discovered it inside
the back of a picture frame, and we were mighty glad to
get it, I can tell you.”</p>

<p>“Gad!” said the Colonel, with extreme energy. “I’d
sooner be at the front any day. It’s a safer job than
yours, my boy.”</p>

<p>“I suppose there are possibilities of getting hurt even
there, sir,” and Con’s creases wrinkled up.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span></p>

<p>“Oh, you can get hurt all right enough, but it’s not
knives between your shoulder-blades.”</p>

<p>“Assegais,” suggested Mrs Dare, who knew his record.</p>

<p>“Assegais are deucedly uncomfortable, but that was fair
<span class="locked">fighting——”</span></p>

<p>Then Mr Dare walked in, very much later than usual
for a Saturday. And, though he greeted them cheerfully,
his face was very grave, to his wife’s anxious eyes.</p>

<p>“I waited a bit to see if any further news came along,”
he said quietly.</p>

<p>“And how are they feeling about things?” asked the
Colonel.</p>

<p>“Nervous. In fact, gloomy. Everybody admits that
it seems incredible, but there’s a general fear that we may
be drawn in, in spite of all Sir Edward Grey’s efforts.”</p>

<p>“We shall,” said the Colonel emphatically. “I feel it
in my bones. Germany is very wide awake. She’s been
crouching for a spring any time this several years, and here
are England, France, and Russia tied up with internal
troubles. It’s her day without a doubt. Take my advice
and make your preparations, my friend. When it comes
it’ll come all in a heap. I only wish we were readier for it,
and I wish to God they’d have the common-sense to put
Kitchener in charge of the Army. He’s the man for the
job, and what earthly use is he in Egypt when Germany
may be at our throats any day? Asquith can’t be expected
to understand all the ins and outs of the machine.”</p>

<p>“Yes, it’s too much to expect of him. And as to
Kitchener, I quite agree. He’s the right man for the
job.”</p>

<p>“Exchange upset? Money tight?”</p>

<p>“Slump all round. Consols down one and a half. Bank
rate three still, but expected to jump any day. In fact
things are about as sick as they can be.”</p>

<p>“We’re in for a very bad time, I’m afraid,” said the
Colonel gravely. And the shadow of the future lay upon
them all.</p>

<p>When, presently, the Colonel got up to go, Mrs Dare<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span>
and Con went with him to the front door, and Con went on
down the path with him.</p>

<p>“May I speak to you about Alma, Colonel?” Con
began, before they reached the gate.</p>

<p>“Yes, my boy, you may. But I know what you want
to say.”</p>

<p>“You’ve seen it, sir? You know how we feel then.
And you don’t object?”</p>

<p>“On the contrary, my boy. I’m very glad you have
both chosen so wisely.”</p>

<p>“That’s mighty good of you, sir. I would have spoken
to you before but I wanted to see my way a little more
clearly. And now I can. Sir James Jamieson of Harley
Street,—he’s the biggest man we have in mental diseases, you
know,—well, he saw some scraps of mine in the ‘Lancet’
and asked me to call on him. He’s a fine man, and he wants
me to go to him as soon as my courses are finished,—Munich
and Paris and the rest. He’s getting on in years, you see,
and he was good enough to say that, from what he had
heard of me, he believed I was the man to carry on his
work when his time came to go. It’s immense, you
know.”</p>

<p>“Capital! I always knew you’d go far, Con. My only
fear was lest the—er—atmosphere of your special line should
in time affect your own mind and spirits. But so far it
seems to have had no ill effect. Your spirits are above
par, and I’ve just had an excellent proof of your judgment,”—at
which Con laughed joyously.</p>

<p>“When you’re really keen on a thing it doesn’t upset
you, no matter how unpleasant it may be. And this work
is anything but unpleasant to me. It’s packed with
interest. There’s so much we don’t know yet. And there’s
heaps of quaint humour in it, if you look out for it.”</p>

<p>“Well, keep yourself fit, my boy, and I don’t think your
brain will suffer. <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Mens sana</i>, you know.”</p>

<p>“I see to that. I get a couple of hours on the links
every day and I never play with a medical,—get quite
outside it all, you know. Then I may speak to Alma,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span>
Colonel? She knows, of course, but we’ve never said very
much.”</p>

<p>“Yes, my lad,—whenever you can catch her. She’s an
elusive creature these days.”</p>

<p>“I’ll catch her all right,” said Con, all abeam.</p>

<p>The other young people had just returned from their
tournament and were discussing points over the tea-cups.</p>

<p>“Hello! Here’s old Con,” shouted Noel, and they all
jumped up and gave him merry welcome. Vic inquired
earnestly after the state of his brain; and satisfied on
that head, they poured out their own latest news.</p>

<p>“Vic and I won,” chortled Honor. “6-5, 6-4, against
No and Gregor McLean.”</p>

<p>“Oh well,” explained Noel. “If you’d been round the
links in the morning you wouldn’t have been half so
nimble on your pins.”</p>

<p>“Bit heavy, I suppose?” said the Colonel.</p>

<p>“Heavy wasn’t the word for it, sir, and a beastly gusty
wind that upset all one’s calculations. However, I licked
old Greg into a cocked hat and he’s no end of a nib with
the sticks; so that’s one to me. Pick up any lunch scores
as you came along, Con?”</p>

<p>“Sorry, old man! I didn’t. I was thinking of other
things,” and the Colonel nodded weightily, and said,</p>

<p>“In a week from now we’ll all have other things to think
about, I’m afraid.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap r"><span class="smcap1">Ray Luard’s</span> quest was one in which the soul of
any man might well rejoice. He was flying, like a
knight of old,—though as to ways and means in
very much better case,—to the rescue of his lady-love
from possibilities of trouble. More than that he did not
look for, and possible difficulties and delays weighed little
with him.</p>

<p>He reached Flushing about seven in the evening after a
gusty passage which did not trouble him, and was at
Cologne in the early hours of the morning. But after
that his progress was slow and subject to constant, exasperating,
and inexplicable delays.</p>

<p>He had secured a berth in the sleeper and took fullest
advantage of it. But all night long, as he slept the
troubled sleep of the sleeping-car, he was dully conscious
of long intervals when the metronomic nimble of the
wheels died away, and the unusual silence was broken
only by the creaking complaints of the carriage-fittings
and the long-drawn snores and sharper snorts and grunts
of his companions in travel.</p>

<p>The train was crowded and every bunk was occupied.
The occupant of the one above him was so violently
stertorous that Ray feared he was in for a fit, and did
his best to save him from it by energetic thumps from
below. But the only result was a momentary pause
of surprise in the strangling solo up above and the immediate
resumption of it with renewed vigour, and Ray gave
it up, and drew the bed clothes over his ears, and left him
to his fate.</p>

<p>In the morning the noisy one turned out to be an
immensely fat German who rolled about the car as if it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>
and the world outside belonged to him,—the repulsively
over-bearing kind of person whose very look seemed to
intimate that no one but himself and his like had any
right to cumber the earth. And just the kind of person
that Ray Luard loathed and abominated beyond words.</p>

<p>Ray’s disgust of him, and all his kind and all their
doings, showed unmistakably in his face, and the fat one
became aware of it and took offence. He dropped ponderously
into the seat alongside Ray so that he filled
three-quarters of it, and proceeded to stare at him in
most offensive fashion. His little yellow pig-like eyes,
almost lost in the greasy fat rolls of his face, travelled
suspiciously over his neighbour from head to foot as though
searching for something to settle on.</p>

<p>Ray knew the look and its meaning. Had he been
back at Heidelberg he would forthwith have demanded
of the starer when and where it was his pleasure they
should meet to fight it out. But this mountain of fat
was long past his Mensur days, and Ray was doubtful
how to tackle him.</p>

<p>He did perhaps the best thing under the circumstances,—turned
his back on him and looked out of the window.</p>

<p>But the fat one was not satisfied to let matters rest so.
He loosed a wheezy laugh and said, “Ach, zo! Ein
Engländer!” with another wheezy little laugh of extremest
scorn.</p>

<p>“And what of that, Fat-Pig?” rapped out Ray, in
German equal to his own, and the shot took the fat one
in the wind.</p>

<p>“Fat-Pig! Fat-Pig! Gott im Himmel, you call me
Fat-Pig?”</p>

<p>He rose, bellowing with fury, and was about to drop
himself bodily on Ray, when others who had watched
the proceedings—a Bavarian whose foot he had trampled
on without apology ten minutes before, and a Saxon
upon whose newspapers he had also plumped down and
pulped into illegibility—jumped up and laid hands on
him and dragged him back.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p>

<p>“So you are! So you are!” they shouted. “The
Englishman has doubtless paid his fare and is entitled
to the whole of a seat without insult or annoyance.”</p>

<p>“They ought to charge you double and then carry you
in the baggage-van,” said the Saxon.</p>

<p>“You should try to remember you’re not yet in Prussia—you!”
growled the Bavarian, jerking the mountainous
one down into an empty seat.</p>

<p>“Ja!—Mein Gott, if I had you all in Prussia I’d show
you who’s who,” and he wagged his dewlaps at them
with menacing malevolence.</p>

<p>“A damned English spy, if I have any eyes,” he wheezed.</p>

<p>“No more a spy than you’re a gentleman,” retorted Ray.</p>

<p>“Enough! Enough, mein Herr! Let him be! He’s
just a Prussian and they’re all like that,—blown out
with their own conceit till they’ve no decent manners
left,” said the Bavarian.</p>

<p>“That is so,” said the Saxon, and they removed themselves
with Ray out of sight and sound of the swollen one.</p>

<p>The other two were quite friendly, and through their
smoke endeavoured to arrive at an understanding of
Ray,—how he came to speak German so well,—what his
business in life was,—where he was going, and why?
And, as he had nothing to conceal and felt resentful still
of the fat man’s insinuations, he told them frankly what
he was there for.</p>

<p>Their reserve and soberness over the political outlook
impressed him greatly. He felt more than justified in
the decision he had taken as to Lois.</p>

<p>He did his best, without being too intrusive, to get at
their view of the future, and they at his. But it was all
too pregnant with awful possibilities, and too obscure
and critically in the balance, for very free speech. From
their manner, however, he gathered that, while they
personally desired no interruption of the present prosperous
state of affairs, they doubted if the dispute between Austria
and Servia could be localised, and feared that if Russia
supported Servia the fat would be in the fire.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span></p>

<p>“For me, I do not like Prussia and her insolent ways,”
said the Bavarian. “Yon stout one is typical of her.
But if she goes, we have to follow—unfortunately, whether
we approve or not. We are all bound up together, you
see, and there you are.”</p>

<p>And all their discursive chats throughout the day went
very little deeper than that.</p>

<p>It was a very wearisome journey. Time after time
they were shunted into sidings while long and heavy
trains rolled past. And when Ray commented on it with
a surprised,</p>

<p>“Well!—for a quick through train this is about as
poor a specimen as I’ve ever tumbled on,”—their only
comment, as they gazed gloomily out of the window,
was, “The traffic is disorganised for the moment.”</p>

<p>The stations they passed through were packed with
people, and the military element seemed more in evidence
even than usual.</p>

<p>It was close on five o’clock in the afternoon before they
arrived in Leipsic. The Bavarian had left them at Cassel.
The Saxon, as he bade Ray adieu, said quietly,</p>

<p>“You may find things more difficult still if you try to
return this way, Herr. If you take my advice you will
strike down South into Tirol and Switzerland, and meanwhile
say as little as possible to anyone,” and with a
meaning nod he was gone.</p>

<p>Ray went along to the Hauffe, secured a room, had a
much-needed bath and dinner, and then set off at once
for Frau Helse’s house in Sebastian Bach Strasse.</p>

<p>The plump Saxon maid informed him that Fräulein
Dare was out, that Frau Helse was out, that Fräulein
Luise was out;—they were in fact all at a concert at the
Conservatorium; and the Herr Lieutenant, he was with
his regiment. So Ray left his card with the name of his
hotel scribbled on it, and Mrs Dare’s letter, and promised
to return in the morning.</p>

<p>Then, after a stroll about the unusually thronged streets,
he returned to his hotel and looked up trains for Switzerland.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Knowing</span> how anxious Lois would be for a fuller
understanding of his coming, Ray set off for Frau
Helse’s house the moment he had finished breakfast
next morning.</p>

<p>Lois had obviously been on tenterhooks till he came.
He was hardly ushered into the stiff, sombre drawing-room,
when the door flew open and she came hastily in.</p>

<p>“Oh, Ray!”—and he caught her in his arms and kissed
her.</p>

<p>“There is nothing wrong at home?—Mother?—Father?—”
she asked quickly, her anxiety accepting the
unusual warmth of his greeting as somehow appropriate to
the circumstances. “Is it only what Mother says, <span class="locked">or——”</span></p>

<p>“Just exactly what Mother says, my child, and quite
enough too. Everybody is perfectly well. Our only
anxiety is on your account.”</p>

<p>“And you really think there is going to be trouble?”</p>

<p>“Uncle Tony is certain we’re in for a general European
war,—in fact for Armageddon foretold of the prophets.
And the mere chance of it is more than enough to make
us want you home.”</p>

<p>She could still hardly quite take it all in. She stood
gazing at him in amazement.</p>

<p>“And you?—you really think it, Ray?”</p>

<p>“Nothing’s impossible in these times, and I’m not going
to run any risks where you’re concerned. How soon can
you be ready?”</p>

<p>“I’ll finish my packing at once. I started early this
morning, though I was not at all sure what it all meant.”</p>

<p>“One moment, Lois,” he said meaningly. “You can
trust these people, I suppose?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p>

<p>“Frau Helse? Oh yes. They’re as nice as can be.”</p>

<p>“Very well then. Pack just your choicest possessions
into a small bag that I can carry, and everything else into
your trunk. We’ll leave the trunk in Frau Helse’s care
and take the other with us.”</p>

<p>“But why not take the trunk also?” she asked in
surprise.</p>

<p>“If matters are as I think, from what I’ve seen, they’re
mobilising here for all they are worth, and the lighter we
travel the better. Our train could hardly get through
coming. Going back will be worse. Indeed I’ve already
had it hinted to me that our safest way will be to strike
right down south into Switzerland.”</p>

<p>“Into Switzerland?”</p>

<p>“Yes, if things develop rapidly, as they probably will,
all the traffic here will go to pieces—all in the hands of
the military, you know. And you know enough of Germany
to know what that means.”</p>

<p>She nodded thoughtfully, and said, “There’s been
something going on below-ground for some time past. I
was sure of it. They said it was manœuvres, but it looks
as if it was a good deal more. I can be all ready in an
hour. Will you see Frau Helse?”</p>

<p>“Perhaps I’d better, so that she may see I’m at all
events respectable to look at. Then I’ll go to the station
and see if the trains are running all right. You’ve told
her, I suppose.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I showed her Mother’s letter. But she was
decidedly shocked at the idea of my going off alone with
any man who wasn’t at least a cousin.”</p>

<p>“Oh—cousin! She’ll be more shocked before she sees
the end of it all, maybe.”</p>

<p>So Lois went away and brought in Frau Helse and
Luise, and introduced Ray to them. They had been
mightily surprised at Fräulein Lois’s news, and Frau
Helse—when the two girls had gone off to finish the packing—let
it be seen that she was distinctly doubtful as to the
perfect propriety of allowing her to go off with this good-looking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>
young Engländer, who was not in any way related
to her. However, in the face of Mrs Dare’s letter she
could scarcely raise any objection, and Ray got away as
soon as he could, promising to be back in an hour.</p>

<p>He had decided to take the friendly Saxon’s advice and
make for Switzerland. He reasoned the matter out thus,—Austria
and Servia were practically at war. Though no
formal declaration had yet been made, the Austrian
Legation had left Belgrade. Russia would almost certainly
help Servia. Germany would help Austria. France
would help Russia. Without doubt Germany would
endeavour to strike at France quickly and heavily. She
could only do that down south. So all the railway lines
leading thither would be taken over by the military, and
ordinary travellers—and still more especially foreigners—would
meet with less consideration even than usual.</p>

<p>So he enquired for trains for Munich, intending to get
from there into Tirol, and so into neutral Switzerland.
Since the first clash of arms would undoubtedly come far
away to the south on the Servian frontier, it was reasonable
to expect that this remote corner of Austria would still
be comparatively free and open to traffic.</p>

<p>There was a train at ten o’clock and another at half-past
twelve. He decided on the earlier one, paid his bill
at the hotel, and drove off to Frau Helse’s to secure his
prize.</p>

<p>Lois was waiting for him, all dressed for the journey,
and the slightness of her travelling equipment evoked his
surprised eulogiums.</p>

<p>As they were making for the station, with just comfortable
time to get their tickets, they passed on the
sidewalk a man of unforgettable proportions.</p>

<p>There was no possibility of mistaking him, but Ray
had no desire for his further acquaintance and permitted
no sign of recognition to escape him. The stout one,
however, turned ponderously and looked after them, and
then said a word or two to a policeman.</p>

<p>Ray had got their tickets, and had despatched a telegram—which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>
never reached him—to Uncle Tony, saying
they were just starting for home via Munich and Switzerland;
and they were waiting impatiently for the doors
of the Wartesaal to be opened to let them through to their
train, when a couple of police-officers came pushing through
the throng to Ray and abruptly requested him to follow
them.</p>

<p>He was taken aback, but knew his Germany and its
unpleasant little ways too well to make trouble.</p>

<p>“Follow you? Certainly! But why?”</p>

<p>But they were not there to answer questions, only to
carry out orders.</p>

<p>“Come!” they gruffly insisted, and Ray gave his arm
to Lois and went.</p>

<p>They were put into a carriage and driven away to Police
Head-Quarters, and after a long wait were ushered into the
presence of a high official, who looked worried and overworked.</p>

<p>“Who and what are you? And what are you doing
here?” he asked brusquely.</p>

<p>Ray supplied him with the desired information.</p>

<p>“Your passport?”</p>

<p>“I have none, Herr Head-of-Police,”—he had no idea
what his questioner’s standing might be, but knew that
in addressing officials in Germany you can hardly aim too
high. “I left London at almost a moment’s notice on
Saturday morning, to bring this lady home to her mother.
I did not know a passport was necessary.”</p>

<p>“We have definite information that you are a spy.”</p>

<p>“From the fat gentleman who insulted me in the train
yesterday, I presume,” said Ray, with a smile. “He tried
to sit on me and then called me names, and I called him
Fat-Pig. He had already annoyed everyone in the carriage,
and they all sided against him and told him what they
thought of him. I am no more a spy than he is, mein
Herr.... Stay—here is my return ticket to London
dated, as you see, Saturday. My fiancée has been studying
in Leipsic here for the last two years. She lived with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span>
Frau Helse, 119 Sebastian Bach Strasse. Have you your
mother’s letter with you, Lois?”—and she got it out and
handed it to the official.</p>

<p>He read it carefully and seemed to weigh each word
and seek between the lines for hidden treason.</p>

<p>“And why is Fräulein Dare leaving so hurriedly?”</p>

<p>“Her mother wished her at home and we judged there
might possibly be difficulties for a girl travelling alone.”</p>

<p>“Why?”</p>

<p>“When there are rumours of war in the air, mein Herr,
one’s best place is in one’s own country. That was how
we looked at it.”</p>

<p>“But the war—if it comes to anything—is far enough
from here,” and he eyed Ray keenly, as though to penetrate
his whole mind on the matter.</p>

<p>“May it remain so!” said Ray earnestly. “But
when a fire starts one never knows for certain how far
it will spread.”</p>

<p>“And you were going to Munich,—towards the danger
in fact.”</p>

<p>“Yes, we were going by Innsbruck and Tirol into
Switzerland and so home. The traffic on the direct lines
seems disorganised. The booking-clerk refused me a
ticket via Cologne.”</p>

<p>“I shall have to keep you awhile till I have made some
further enquiries. If they are satisfactory you will be
allowed to proceed. If <span class="locked">not——”</span></p>

<p>“Herr Head-of-Police,” pleaded Lois, in her best German,
which was very good indeed, and in her prettiest manner,
which was irresistible, “It is too ridiculous. Herr Luard
is a student of law in London. He is the nephew of Sir
Anthony Luard, who lives next door to us at home, and
we are fiancés. That is why he came for me. He is no
more a spy than I am. And Frau Helse will tell you all
about me. Fräulein Luise and Ludwig were across at our
home in London last year.”</p>

<p>He nodded somewhat less officially. “I know Frau
Helse, and doubtless it is all as you say, Fräulein. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>
we have to be careful in these days. I trust your detention
will not be prolonged.”</p>

<p>He touched a bell and they were ushered into an adjoining
room and left alone.</p>

<p>“Looks as if my assistance was not of much use to you,
my dear,” laughed Ray. “I wish I’d smashed Fat-Pig’s
ugly old head in. It would at all events have put him
hors-de-combat for a day or two and would have been a
great satisfaction to my feelings as well.”</p>

<p>“Then I should never have seen you at all,” said Lois.
“It will be all right, I’m sure. Frau Helse will satisfy
him. I’m glad he knows her.”</p>

<p>And an hour later they were released without a word of
apology. But it was enough for them to be free, and they
made their way back to the station in good enough spirits.</p>

<p>The delay, however, had lost them both the earlier and
the later trains, and the time-tables showed that the next
one for the south would land them at a place called
Schwandorf at four o’clock in the morning, with the remote
possibility of reaching Munich six hours later. There
was a fast through train a little after midnight, which,
barring accidents or delays, would get them there a couple
of hours earlier, but after their late experience, and with
the chance of running across their fat friend again, and
perhaps becoming further victims to his pig-headed venom,
Ray thought it best to get out of Leipsic as early as
possible, even at cost of a weary night journey in a train
that stopped at every station. Every station would at
all events be that much between them and Pig-Head.</p>

<p>So they had their mid-day meal in the Station restaurant,
and dallied over it as long as possible, and spent the rest
of their time in the waiting-room, so that the authorities
should have no possible pretext for suspicion.</p>

<p>They were perfectly happy, however, in one another’s
company and the new relationship which Ray’s coming
had jewelled into accepted family fact. Ray told her all
he could think of about home-doings, and was keen to
learn the smallest details of her life in Leipsic, and so there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>
was no lack of talk between them and the time did not seem
long.</p>

<p>Streams of people passed through the station, mostly
men, and mostly in uniform. Ray saw without seeming
to notice, and was confirmed in the view that great and
grave events were brewing.</p>

<p>Their train was an hour late in starting, and, by reason
of many stoppages and much side-tracking to allow other
heavily-laden trains to pass, was more than two hours late
in reaching Schwandorf.</p>

<p>It was a deadly wearisome journey,—the carriages
packed beyond reason, everyone somewhat on edge with
anxiety and excitement, senseless disputations and bickerings,
jokes that lacked humour but led to noisy quarrelling,
no rest for mind or body. They were glad to turn out
into the chill morning air at Schwandorf, only to find the
express already gone and none but slow trains till the
1 p.m. express which would, if it kept faith, land them
in Munich about four in the afternoon.</p>

<p>They had breakfast and then propped themselves into
corners in the waiting-room and endeavoured to make up
for the loss of their night’s rest.</p>

<p>The express was not quite so crowded, but even it was
frequent captive to the sidings, and as their fellow-travellers
regarded them with polite but unmistakable suspicion
they deemed it wise to keep silence, and so found the
journey very monotonous. And everywhere, from such
glimpses of the country and stations as their middle seats
afforded them, they got the impression of unusual activities
and endless uniforms.</p>

<p>“Is it always like this?” whispered Ray into Lois’s
ear one time, and she shook her head.</p>

<p>It was after five o’clock when they at last drew into
Munich, and as they stood in the carriage to let other eager
travellers descend, Lois plucked Ray warningly by the
arm, and he saw, rolling along the platform, the Ponderous
One who had already got them into trouble in Leipsic.</p>

<p>“Hang the Fat-Pig!” he murmured. “Is there no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>
getting away from him? What a Thing to be haunted
by!”</p>

<p>They peered out of the window till they saw him roll
through the barrier, and only then ventured to descend
and make for the restaurant. For to be delivered over
to the police as suspects here, where they knew no one,
might involve them in endless trouble and delay. The one
thing they desired now, above food or even sleep, was to
set foot in a country where English folk were not looked
upon as suspicious outcasts.</p>

<p>“Can you go on?” asked Ray. “I’m sure you’re dead
tired, <span class="locked">but——”</span></p>

<p>“Oh, let us get on,” she replied, with a touch of the all-prevailing
anxious strain in her voice. “Anything to
get out of this horrid country. They make me feel like a
leper.”</p>

<p>There was a train marked to leave at 5.30 which had not
yet started, and without waiting to get anything to eat,
though their last meal had been early breakfast at Schwandorf,
they climbed into a carriage, thankful at all events
at thought of leaving their gross bête-noir behind in Munich.</p>

<p>It was close on 11 p.m. when they reached Innsbruck,
and Ray led her straight across to the Tirolerhof, engaged
two rooms, boldly registered their names as Raglan and
Lois Luard, and ordered supper,—anything they had ready,
and they fell upon it with a sixteen-hours’ appetite.</p>

<p>“For the time being,” said Ray, with reference to the
name he had conferred upon her, when the sharpest edge
of their hunger was blunted, “We are brother and sister
to the obnoxious outside public. If you don’t want to be a
sister to me you shall tell me so in private. It strikes me,
my dear, that we may possibly not get home quite as
quickly as they will be expecting over there.”</p>

<p>“If you hadn’t come it looks as though I would never
have got home at all. Oh, I <em>am</em> so glad you came, Ray.
What does it all mean, do you think?”</p>

<p>“Mighty trouble all round, I fear. They are evidently
mobilising here at top pressure. That means an attack<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>
on France. And what that may mean to us I can’t quite
foresee.... We may have to get home through Italy....
But—Heavens and Earth!—Italy will be into it too.
She’s bound to go in with Germany and Austria....
Do you know what <em>I</em> think, my child?”</p>

<p>“No, what? Anything to the point?”</p>

<p>“Seems to me we may be bottled up here—that is in
Switzerland, if we ever succeed in getting there—for the
rest of our lives. What do you say to getting married as
soon as we do get there—if ever, Miss—er—Luard,—and
so regularising the position?” and he looked whimsically
at her.</p>

<p>“We’ll wait and see, as Mr. Asquith says,” she smiled.
“If we really do get bottled up it may have to come to
that.”</p>

<p>“H’m! And I was hoping you’d jump at the chance!”</p>

<p>“It’s rather sudden, you see, and a bit overwhelming.
We’ve only been really engaged since yesterday morning....”</p>

<p>“Oh ho! That so? But you knew all about it. Now
didn’t you?”</p>

<p>“A girl can never really know quite all about it, you
know, until she is asked. She may know her own side
of the <span class="locked">matter——”</span></p>

<p>“As you did.”</p>

<p>“And she may have every confidence in—er—the other
<span class="locked">side——”</span></p>

<p>“As you had.”</p>

<p><span class="locked">“But——”</span></p>

<p>“But me no buts, my child! I consider my idea an
eminently sensible one. You think it over.... And
consider all the advantages!—no fuss, no wedding-breakfast,
no hideous publicity. Just a quiet wedding and
right into the blissfullest honeymoon that ever was.
Heavenly!”</p>

<p>“Well, I’ll think it over, and we’ll see how we go on.
What time do we start in the morning?”</p>

<p>“There’s a train at 9.45, but it only goes as far as Feldkirch.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>
And there’s a fast train at 1.15 which should land
us in Zurich some time after 8.”</p>

<p>“Let us take the 1.15, then we can have a good rest.
I’m awfully tired.”</p>

<p>“One-fifteen it is. And you don’t need to get up till
ten,—eleven, if you like,” and he escorted her upstairs to
her room.</p>

<p>“Do brothers and sisters kiss at your house?” he
whispered at the door. “They don’t at ours.”</p>

<p>“Nor at ours,” and she put up her face to be kissed.</p>

<p>Innsbruck was as yet fairly quiet. The garrison had
gone and had been replaced by men of the reserve; most
of the visitors had taken fright and fled; a few bewildered—or
phlegmatic—English and Americans were left, but
the empty streets and the anxious and preoccupied looks
of the women gave the pleasant little town an unusual
and dreary aspect, and our travellers were glad to be en
route for a land less likely to be disturbed by alarms and
excursions and all the fears of war.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">When</span> Lois came down next morning she found
Ray on the front doorstep, deep in conversation
with an elderly gentleman of most impressive
appearance. He was tall and straight, and had white
hair and beard and moustache, a very kindly face, and
extremely polished manners. When he spoke, an occasional
very slight nasal intonation, which none but a
well-trained ear would have detected, suggested the United
States—most likely Boston, she thought, since it reminded
her of a Boston girl with whom she had been friendly
at the Conservatorium.</p>

<p>Ray unblushingly introduced her as his sister, and
said,</p>

<p>“Our friend here is advising me to change our route,
Lois.”</p>

<p>“Oh—why?” she asked, looking up a little anxiously
into the pleasant, interested face.</p>

<p>“Because, my dear young lady, I got through from
Bâle myself only late last night, and not without difficulty.
The situation is becoming worse every hour. Austria
declared war against Servia yesterday. What that may
lead to no man knows,—unless, perhaps, the Kaiser and
his advisers. And even they are not absolutely omniscient.
It may all peter out as it has done before, but I am bound
to say that this time I fear Germany means business, and
if she does it will mean very grim and ghastly business
indeed. Mobilisation is going on quietly and quickly,
everywhere, even in Switzerland. The clash will come
on the French frontier if it comes at all, and I believe it to
be inevitable. The Swiss fear for their neutrality, and
their fears are justifiable. If it suits Germany’s book she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span>
will trample across Swiss or any other territory that happens
to be in her way.”</p>

<p>“But—it is too amazing. Why should Germany break
out like this?”</p>

<p>“Simply because she thinks her time is ripe. Some of
us have been expecting this war for years past. Now it
is upon us.”</p>

<p>“And how do you think we ought to go?”</p>

<p>“I was just telling your brother that any attempt to
get through on any of the direct routes is quite out of
the question. Every carriage and truck on every line is
packed with soldiers. Your best way, I think, will be to
get across country. Make for the Rhone Valley and get
down to Montreux or Geneva, and wait there till things
settle down somewhat, when you will be able no doubt to
get across France and so home.”</p>

<p>“It means footing it, Lois. How does it strike you?”
said Ray.</p>

<p>She knitted her brows prettily while she considered the
matter. It was certainly all very disturbing.</p>

<p>“And are you going across country also?” she asked
the American gentleman.</p>

<p>“No. I’m going back to my home in Meran. I have
lived there for the last five years, and my wife is there.
I had to run over to London on some business, and I’m
glad to have got back in time. Another day and it might
have been impossible.”</p>

<p>“And how long will it take to walk from here to the
Rhone Valley?”</p>

<p>“You can still get a train to Landeck. Then strike
right up the Lower Engadine Valley,— Stay! I’ll
show you on the map,” and he turned to the one on the
wall. “Now,—see!—you go first to Landeck. Then
follow up the Inn to Süss. Then strike across by the
Flüela Pass to Davos, and then by the Strela Pass to
Chur. Then by Ilanz and Disentis to the Gothard. There
are no difficulties. The roads are good. It will be an
exceedingly fine walk.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span></p>

<p>“What about our bags?” asked Lois.</p>

<p>“Get a couple of rucksacs. Pack in as much as you can
carry, and the rest.... You could have them forwarded
from here. But I should be very doubtful if they’d ever
reach you in the present state of matters.... Would
you care to leave them in my charge? I will take them
to my house and send them on as soon as things settle
down.”</p>

<p>And he pulled out his pocket-book and handed Ray
his card—Charles D. Lockhart. Schloss Rothstein.
Meran.</p>

<p>“I came across a very fine book on Tirol by a Mr
Lockhart not long since——” began Ray.</p>

<p>“Quite right! I have written much on Tirol. Since I
made my home here I have grown very fond of both
the country and the people. I fervently hope we shall
have no more than back-wash of the war here. But
there’s no telling. Once the spark is in the stubble the
flames may spread wide.”</p>

<p>“We are greatly indebted to you, Mr Lockhart,” said
Ray, “and since you are so good we will take advantage
of your very kind offer. That is—if you can get all you
will want till we get to Montreux into a rucksac, Lois.”</p>

<p>“I’ll manage all right.”</p>

<p>So they all had breakfast together, and much talk of
the gigantic possibilities the near future might hold if it
came to a universal war. Then, under their new friend’s
experienced guidance, they made a quick round of the
shops, bought rucksacs, alpenstocks, a Loden cloak each,
and had their boots nailed in Swiss fashion.</p>

<p>By the time they had packed their rucksacs and repacked
their bags it was time for Mr Lockhart to catch
his train for Botzen and Meran, and they accompanied
him to the station and said good-bye to him and their
property.</p>

<p>And when the train had disappeared they looked at one
another and burst out laughing.</p>

<p>“I’m sure it’s quite all right,” laughed Lois, “But it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>
does feel odd to send off all one’s belongings like that with
a man one never set eyes on till an hour ago.”</p>

<p>“It’s quite all right, my dear. I’d trust that old fellow
with all I have—even with you. He’s a fine old boy,
and we’ve got to thank him for putting us on to a gorgeous
trip. Nothing like padding it for seeing the country!”</p>

<p>And an hour later they had turned their backs on
Landeck and the snow peaks of the Lechtaler Alps, and
were footing it gaily up the right bank of the roaring Inn,
with the northern spurs of the Oetztaler towering up in
front of them beyond the dark mouth of the Kaunser-Tal.</p>

<p>It was a gray day and none too warm, but excellent
weather for walking, and there was in them an exuberant
spirit of relief at having shaken off the trammels of ordinary
life and left behind, for the time being at all events, the
gathering war-clouds and ominous preparations. If it had
rained in torrents they would still have been perfectly
happy, for that which was within them was proof against
outside assault of any kind whatsoever.</p>

<p>It was a lonely walk, and so the more delightful to them.
They desired no company but their own. Beyond an
occasional man of the hills hastening towards Landeck,
with sober face, coat slung by its arms at his back, and
jaunty cock-feathered hat on the back of his head, they
did not meet a soul till they came to Ladis.</p>

<p>As a rule these hurrying ones passed them with a preoccupied
‘Grüss Gott!’ and a hungry look which craved
news but grudged the time.</p>

<p>One stopped for a moment and asked anxiously, “Is it
true, then, Herr? Is it war?”</p>

<p>And Ray answered him, “With Servia, yes! How
much more no man knows.”</p>

<p>“War is the devil,” said the man soberly, and hurried on.</p>

<p>They talked cheerfully,—of the folks at home and all
the recent happenings there,—dived into happy reminiscence
of their own feelings towards one another, and
how and when and where these had begun to crystallise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span>
into the radiant certainty of mutual love,—and more than
once, in the solitude of the little mountain sanctuaries
where they stopped at times for a rest, Ray caught her
to him and kissed her passionately in the overflowing
fulness of his heart.</p>

<p>It was the most entrancing walk Lois had ever had, and
the glow in her face and the star-shine in her eyes told
their own tale.</p>

<p>They crossed the river where the road wound away into
Kaunser-Tal, and again by the bridge at Prutz, and six
o’clock found them within sight of the castle of Siegmundsried,
with the pretty little village of Ried below.</p>

<p>“We’ll stop the night there,” said Ray. “We’ve done
about ten miles and all uphill, and that’s quite enough for
a first day. How are the feet?”</p>

<p>“First rate. I feel as if I could go on for ever.”</p>

<p>“If you went on for ever you’d wish you hadn’t next
day. We’ve got a long way to go and there’s no great
hurry,—unless you feel as if you’d like to get it over and
done with.”</p>

<p>“Oh, but I don’t. I’d like it to last for ever and
ever.”</p>

<p>“Mr and Mrs Wandering Jew,” laughed Ray. “What
would your mother say?”</p>

<p>“She would say, ‘She’ll be all right since she’s with
Ray.’”</p>

<p>“See what it is to have a good character,” and they
turned into the ‘Post’ and demanded rooms and supper.</p>

<p>Next day they walked on, first on one side of the river,
then on the other, loitering on every bridge to watch the
gray water roaring among the worn gray rocks below.</p>

<p>They ate their lunch on the terrace of the little inn at
Stuben, looking across at Pfunds lying in the mouth of
the valley opposite. And when they came to the Cajetan
Bridge, instead of crossing it with the high-road, Ray
kept to the old path along the left bank, through the
narrow Finstermünz Pass, and made straight for Martinsbruck,
and so avoided the long bends and steep zig-zags<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span>
leading to and from Nauders in the mouth of the Stillebach
Valley.</p>

<p>It was rough walking, but he explained,</p>

<p>“It cuts off a lot, you see, and when we cross that
bridge at Martinsbruck we’re in Switzerland.”</p>

<p>“That sounds like getting near home,” said Lois.</p>

<p>“It’s a neutral country anyway, and maybe we’ll get
news there of what’s really happening. But it’s a good
long way from home. I believe you’re tired of tramping
already.”</p>

<p>“Am I? Do I look it?”</p>

<p>“You do not. But you look as though a kiss would
encourage you—to say nothing of me.”...</p>

<p>The tops and sides of the mountains had been wreathed
with smoke-coloured clouds all day. It was only as they
drew near to Martinsbruck that the evening sun struggled
out, and they saw a peak here and there soaring up above
the clouds and all aglow with crimson fire,—a wonderful
and uplifting vision.</p>

<p>“The Delectable Mountains,” murmured Lois, at this
her first sight of the alpen-glüh.</p>

<p>“Our Promised Land lies the other way,” said Ray,
“But we’ll carry our own glory-fire with us.”</p>

<p>They stood watching till the red glow faded swiftly up
the summits of the cloud-borne peaks and left them chill
and ghostly, and Lois heaved a sigh of regret.</p>

<p>“Wait!” said Ray, with his hand on her arm; and in
a minute or two the cold white mountain-tops flushed all
soft rose-pink, so exquisitely sweet and tender that Lois
caught her breath and laid her hand in his, as though she
must fain share so exquisite a joy with him.</p>

<p>“How lovely!” she whispered, profoundly moved by
the sight and the warm grip of his hand, through which his
heart seemed to beat up into hers. “The sun’s last warm
good-night kiss! Oh, if they could only be like that
always!”</p>

<p>“Then we would not enjoy them half as much. Don’t
watch it fade,” and they turned and went. “We will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>
always remember it at its best.... Life is to be like
that with you and me, right on and on and on for ever.
It is a good omen. And here,”—as they crossed the
bridge—“we are in Switzerland, and this little Post Hotel
will serve us excellently.”</p>

<p>Those solitary suppers in the common-rooms of the little
wayside inns were things to remember. Not so much for
the quality of the viands and the wine, though they never
had a fault to find with either, but because of the cheerful
goodfellowship and delightful camaraderie they engendered.
And there was without doubt a subtle crown of joy to it all,
in the feeling that here they were doing something out of
the common, something that would possibly administer
some slight shock to the nerves of Mrs Grundy if she had
been aware of it.</p>

<p>Their procedure, however, was not so unusual as they in
their innocence imagined.</p>

<p>As they sat over their meal that night in the Post at
Martinsbruck, there came in two later arrivals who presently
joined them at table,—a strapping young fellow of five-and-twenty
and a very pretty girl of a year or two less,
with large blue eyes and abundant fair hair coiled in great
plaits round her head, and they were soon all chatting
together on the friendliest of terms.</p>

<p>These two were tramping also and had come up that
day from Süss.</p>

<p>“A good walk that, mein Herr, for little feet!” said the
young man, looking proudly at his companion. “Thirty-eight
kilomètres, I make it, perhaps a trifle more.”</p>

<p>“Twenty-four miles!” said Ray. “Yes, that’s a good
long stretch. Twenty miles,—say thirty, thirty-two kilomètres—is
our longest. But then we’re only just
beginning.”</p>

<p>“And we are just ending,” sighed the girl. “He has to
go to the army. Do you think it will be a bad war, mein
Herr?” she asked anxiously.</p>

<p>“All war is bad, mein Frau,” began Ray.</p>

<p>“Fräulein,” she corrected him with a little smile. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span>
am Anna Santner. He is Karl Stecher. We are of Innsbruck.”</p>

<p>“And in another month—in September—she is to be
Frau Stecher,” said Karl with a broader smile. “We are
taking a portion of our honeymoon in advance. To see
how we get on together, you understand. It is not unusual
with <span class="locked">us——”</span></p>

<p>“And I am sure you have got on very well together,”
said Lois, with her prettiest smile.</p>

<p>“Oh, yes. You see, we love one another very much,”
said Anna. “But now—! What do you think of it,
mein Herr?”</p>

<p>“We can all only hope it will not be as bad as some
people fear, Fräulein. But, at best, it is bad.”</p>

<p>“Yes, war is bad,” said the young fellow, with gloomy
vehemence. “It is devil’s play from beginning to end.
Still, those Serbs had no right to shoot our Archduke, you
know, and they deserve a whipping.”</p>

<p>“Possibly. But the danger is that it may spread. If
Russia takes umbrage, then Germany will join in, and
Italy and France.”</p>

<p>“And your country? What will you do?” asked
Stecher.</p>

<p>“I do not know. We certainly don’t want war, but if it
comes to a general struggle we may be in it too. It is
horrible to think of. In these days—all Europe at one
another’s throats! It is almost inconceivable.”</p>

<p>“Du meine Güte!” said Anna, clasping her hands tightly
together. “It is too terrible. What will happen to me if
you get killed, my Karl?” and she could hardly see him
for the tears that filled her large blue eyes.</p>

<p>“I don’t feel a bit like getting killed, my little one, I
assure you.”</p>

<p>“That won’t stop those horrid bullets, all the
same.”</p>

<p>“Ach, my Nanna, don’t weep for me before it begins
anyway! Let us talk of something else.... And you,
Herr and Frau?—Fräulein?—you are married?—yes?—no?—or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span>
have you this same pleasant custom with
you?”</p>

<p>“Like you,” said Ray, “we are to be married very
soon, and we are having our honeymoon in advance. You
see, the Fräulein was in Leipsic, studying, when we heard
this ill rumour of war. And her mother gave me permission
to go and bring her home. And as they are
mobilising in <span class="locked">Germany——”</span></p>

<p>“Ah—they are mobilising?” jerked Stecher with a
nod.</p>

<p>“We were advised to get back through Switzerland,
and here we are.”</p>

<p>“We also were in Switzerland,” sighed Anna, reminiscently.</p>

<p>“You came over Flüela?” asked Ray. “How’s the
walking there? That’s how we are going.”</p>

<p>“It is a good enough road,” said Stecher, “but you will
need a full day from this end. It is all up hill, you see,
and pretty stiff. You must get as far as Süss to-morrow
night and start early next day. We stayed at the Flüela.
It is quite good and not dear. And you can rest and eat
at the Hospice under the Weisshorn. Oh, it is all quite
easy. I wish we were going that way too.”</p>

<p>“Ach Gott—yes!” sighed Fräulein Anna. And Lois’s
heart was sore for her, for her future and Karl’s was bound
to contain possibilities of sorrow and misfortune, and she
would have liked everyone to be as happy as she was herself.</p>

<p>And next morning, in the strong fellow-feeling of somewhat
similar circumstances, they shook hands and parted
almost like old friends,—none of them knowing to what
they were going.</p>

<p>The four-and-twenty uphill miles from Martinsbruck to
Süss were somewhat of a tax on Lois. They were on the
road soon after seven, however, as Karl and Anna also had
to be off early, and with occasional halts they made Schuls
before mid-day, had a good dinner there and a long rest
on the terrace of the hotel, with all the noble peaks, from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span>
Piz Lad opposite Martinsbruck to Piz Nuna opposite
Süss, spread wide before them. They were at Ardetz in
time for an early cup of tea and another rest, and reached
Süss before sunset.</p>

<p>But long as the way was they enjoyed every rough step
of it. For one thing it was a brighter day of mixed cloud
and sunshine, which wrought most wonderful atmospheric
effects on the soaring peaks and sweeping mountain-sides.
Their road wound along the flanks of the Silvretta. Below
them the Inn foamed white among its gray boulders.
Innumerable valleys, each with its thread of rushing white
water, debouched on either side and gave them wonderful
peeps at the monarchs behind—the Oetztalers, the Ortlers,
and the Silvrettas. Running water was everywhere—gray
glacier streams and sparkling falls, and every here
and there, on spurs of hills and vantage points, were the
grim ruins of castles that had played their parts in the days
of the Grey Leaguers and the Ten Droitures.</p>

<p>But all this delectable outward circumstance was no
more than exquisite setting for that which was within
them, and each of these reacted on the other. Never had
they found such charm in their surroundings before. Never
before had surroundings so charming had such effect upon
their spirits and feelings.</p>

<p>They went along hand in hand at times like country
lovers, and more than once their hearts broke into song as
spontaneous as the lark’s, from simple joy of living.</p>

<p>Lois’s voice, in the full rounded beauty of its two years’
careful cultivation at the Conservatorium, was a revelation
to Ray and thrilled him to the depths.</p>

<p>“My dear,” he said deeply, one time, “You have a gift
of the gods. It would be a sin against humanity to deprive
the world of it.”</p>

<p>“Oh, you will let me sing even after we are married.”</p>

<p>“Let you!... Am I a traitor to my kind? Let you,
indeed! You will lift men’s souls with that voice. The
world has need of you, my child, and what am I to say
it nay?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p>

<p>“You’re the world to me. I’m glad it pleases you.”</p>

<p>And maybe the menacing war-cloud, which could not be
entirely excluded from their minds, but served to brighten
their radiant enjoyment of that perfect day. Stars shine
brightest in a winter-black sky.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">They</span> took the road very early again next morning,
and turning their backs on the ruined castle of
Süss and the triple peaks of Piz Mezdi, climbed
steadily up past the long snow-galleries till they came to
the mouth of the dreary Grialetsch Valley, with ragged
Piz Vadret at its head; and there, with their backs against
the road-mender’s hut, they sat for a long half-hour’s
rest and the chance of passing a few words, for the road
had claimed their breath as they climbed.</p>

<p>It was all so lonely, so peaceful, so aloof from the storm
and stress of life, and so altogether delightful, that it was
only now and again that the appalling reason for their
being there obtruded itself upon them. And whenever it
did so it came with something of a shock.</p>

<p>They had in themselves endless gardens of delight to
ramble through, and it was, “—Do you remember that
day at ——, Ray?” and “—I tell you, old girl, you gave
me some rotten quarters-of-an-hour while that stuck-up
little ramrod of a lieutenant was buzzing about you!”—and
so on and so on,—every recollection rosy now with the
joy of complete understanding, though at the time one
and another had been anything but joyful.</p>

<p>The old road-mender came trudging up from his work
while they still sat there. He nodded benevolently with
something of a twinkle in his eye, as though he could still
recall similar times of his own, and gave them a cordial
“Grüss Gott!”</p>

<p>“We’re doing our best to hold your house up for you,”
said Ray.</p>

<p>“So I see, Herr and Fräulein, and it is quite at your
service. Everybody puts their backs against it after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>
climbing from below. You are from Süss this morning?”</p>

<p>“From Süss this morning, and yesterday from Martinsbruck,
and the day before that from Ried, and the day
before that from Innsbruck,” said Ray.</p>

<p>“It is a long walk. But when one is young—— I
also have been to Innsbruck. It is a great city. But
there are too many people. They fall over one another
in the streets. I like my mountains better and just one or
two people a day. Thanks, Herr!”—at Ray’s offer of a
cigar—“With permission I will smoke it later. I am
going to eat now,” and he put it carefully away into his
waistcoat pocket and got out bread and cheese from his
little house, and sat and ate and talked.</p>

<p>“I had a Herr and a Fräulein here, yesterday,” he said
reminiscently. “No, it was the day <span class="locked">before——”</span></p>

<p>“We met them at Martinsbruck.”</p>

<p>“They were hastening home in fear of some war. But I
did not clearly make out what it was all about. Is there
going to be war, Herr?”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid it looks rather like it. That is why we are
hastening home also.”</p>

<p>“But what is it all about, Herr? And why, in the
name of God, do men want to fight in these times?”</p>

<p>“Ah! Now that is a big question, my friend, and it
would take a lot of answering. But, so far as we know at
present, it is only Austria that wants to fight. You
heard of the Archduke and his wife being shot, down in
Bosnia?”</p>

<p>“I heard of that. I was sorry. I have had them here.
They sat with their backs against the house just as you are
doing. They seemed nice enough people. He gave me
five kroner for sitting against my <span class="locked">house——”</span></p>

<p>“Ah!—he was an archduke and rolling in money.”</p>

<p>“I did not mean it that way, Herr. I do not want anything
for people sitting against my house. It is a pleasure
to me to have a word with them. There are not too many,
you see.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p>

<p>“It is not like Innsbruck where they fall over one another
in the streets,” smiled Lois.</p>

<p>“No, it is not like Innsbruck, Fräulein, and I am glad of
that. But why should their being shot make the rest
want to fight?”</p>

<p>“That is only the pretext,” said Ray. “Austria wants
to stretch herself down south. In fact, I suppose, what
she really wants is to get to the sea, and Servia lies in her
way.”</p>

<p>“If all men lived among the mountains they would
learn a great many things you never learn down below
there. I think one is nearer God up here, Herr and
Fräulein.”</p>

<p>“I’m sure of it,” said Lois.</p>

<p>“But even the mountains have heard the sound of
fighting,” said Ray, to draw him on.</p>

<p>“If the men from below wanted to take our rights from
us we would fight again of course. But they are not likely
to come up here, are they, Herr?”</p>

<p>“Not up here, I should say. The trouble is, you see,
that if Austria attacks Servia, Russia will probably intervene,
and then Germany will come in, and so France, and
possibly Great Britain. We hope not, but one can never
tell.”</p>

<p>“Herrgott! That sounds bad,” and the rough hand and
big clasp-knife, which had been mechanically feeding the
slow-munching jaws, stopped in mid-air and he sat staring
at them. “Servians I do not know,” he said presently.
“Russians I have had here, and Frenchmen, and Austrians,
and many English, and all those I have found good. But
Germans, of whom I have had still more, I do not like....
And yet I hardly know why,” he mused. “Their manners
are not good, it is true; but it is something more than
that. Well, I don’t know—it is just that I do not like
them and perhaps they perceive it.”</p>

<p>“It is a very general feeling,” said Ray.</p>

<p>“Is it now? Well, that is strange, but it shows it is
they who are somehow in the wrong.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span></p>

<p>“They don’t think so,” laughed Ray, as he drew Lois
to her feet by both hands. “We must be jogging on or
we won’t reach Davos to-night.”</p>

<p>The old man firmly but politely declined Ray’s offer
of a mark, saying, “I thank you, Herr, but there is no
need. It has been a great pleasure to talk with you and
the Fräulein,” and, not to tarnish so bright and unusual
a trait, Ray did not press the matter, but offered him
instead another cigar which was accepted at once as
between man and man, and they all shook hands and
parted.</p>

<p>They crossed the river and threaded their way through
a rock-strewn valley, and up and on, with the Weisshorn
towering white on the right and the Schwarzhorn on the
left. Then they passed two little lakes, the one on the
right clear as crystal, the one on the left greenish-white
and opaque, which Ray told her was glacier-water while
the other was probably fed by hidden springs.</p>

<p>They had lunch and another long rest at the Hospice,
and then began the easy ten-mile stretch to Davos, through
long stretches of pine-woods, dropping with the stream
till it joined the Landwasser at Davos-Dorf, where they
took the omnibus for Davos-Platz.</p>

<p>“We’ll go to the Grand,” said Ray,—“clothes or no
clothes. We’re sure to find English people there and
we’ll learn what’s going on in the world outside.”</p>

<p>So to the Grand, and sumptuous rooms and meals,
though the very trim young gentleman in the office and
the pompous head-waiter did look somewhat superciliously
at their lack in the matter of wedding-garments.</p>

<p>But breeding tells where uttermost perfection in attire
without it makes no headway at all, and by the time
dinner was over they were on the best of terms with their
nearest neighbours, who were delighted to find someone who
had had no news of the world’s doings for several days and
were therefore eager and receptive listeners. And afterwards
they sat in the lounge while a Canon, and a Doctor,
and a Barrister, and a Colonel on the retired list,—who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>
knew Uncle Tony very well by repute and asked Ray
at once if he were related to Sir Anthony Luard as soon
as he heard his name,—and several of their wives and
daughters, fed them volubly with fairy-tales and fictions,
some of which had some small substratum of fact, but
mostly they were snowball legends which had grown out
of all knowledge as they passed from mouth to mouth.</p>

<p>Their latest English papers were three days old. Swiss
and German papers they had as late as July 30, but the
news in them was for the most part vague and unsatisfying
to souls that craved simple actual fact as to what was
going on behind the veiled frontiers. Local letters were
arriving, but none from England since July 28.</p>

<p>Lois and Ray sat and listened but got little from all the
talk that went on. The general opinion—to which the
Colonel stoutly refused to conform—was that things
looked decidedly unpleasant but that, somehow or other,
Great Britain would manage not to be drawn into any
such awful mess as a European war. Sir Edward Grey
had handled the Balkan affair admirably, and though
they were all on the opposite side in politics, they one
and all,—not excepting even the Colonel—acknowledged
that he was the very best possible man for his difficult
and delicate post.</p>

<p>The Colonel however dogmatically prophesied war all
round.</p>

<p>“We can no more get out of it,” he said warmly, “than
we can any of us get home for some months to come.”</p>

<p>“Do you really think we can’t get home?” asked
Lois anxiously.</p>

<p>“Think—my dear young lady?—I’m as sure of it as I
am that I’m sitting here and expect to be still sitting
here, or somewhere in this neighbourhood, two months
hence. You see,”—and he proceeded to prove, beyond
any possibility of doubt, that—granted the general war
he was so certain of—every outlet—north, east, west,
and south,—would be already blocked by the urgencies
of mobilisation, and that until all the troops of the various<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>
nations were massed along the frontiers traffic across the
denuded countries behind would be out of the question.</p>

<p>“Martial law everywhere,” said he, “and thank God
we’re not in Germany!”</p>

<p>“There won’t be any difficulty in getting about in
Switzerland, I suppose,” said Ray.</p>

<p>“Not on your own two feet. The diligences may stop
any day. They’ll want every horse they can lay hands
on. They’re sure to mobilise at once, just as they did
in 1870. Every man they have will be on the frontiers
yonder, from Schaffhausen to Basel, and round the corner
towards Pontarlier, and again in all the passes leading
from Italy. It’s curious how they fear and detest the
Italians. I met a young fellow the other day who went
across to Tripoli solely to get a whack at the Italians,
and got a bullet through the calf which he insisted on
showing me. You see,” he said to Ray, “we can’t
possibly keep out of it, for the simple reason that Germany
will certainly try to get at France through <span class="locked">Belgium——”</span></p>

<p>“That’s just what Uncle Tony says.”</p>

<p>“Of course. Every military man who has studied the
question knows that is their game. Russia is slow, and
Germany’s plan is to smash France into little bits right
away, then go for Russia, and then of course for us. Oh,
it’s all been mapped out to the last haystack for years, I
warrant you, while we’ve been swallowing their bunkum
and persuading ourselves they are really very decent
quiet people something like ourselves, who only want
to be let alone to go their own gentle way.”</p>

<p>“And what’s your idea of the prospects all round,
Colonel?”</p>

<p>But at that the Colonel shook his head. “Germany
is the principal factor in the case and I don’t know her
well enough to express an opinion. If she’s really as
strong and well-organised as she thinks she is, and as
most people believe, it will be a red-hot business. Austria
I don’t think much of from what I’ve seen. Italy I do
not know well. But I’m sure they’re not hankering for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>
the expense of a big war. France is better than some
folks think. Adversity has taught her something.”</p>

<p>“And England?” asked Ray, as the oracle lapsed into
silence.</p>

<p>“England is, as usual, not ready. And besides she is
not anxious for continental adventure. If England had
hearkened to some of us old croakers—Jingoes and firebrands
and scaremongers, we’ve been called,—she would
be a decisive factor in the game. As it <span class="locked">is——”</span></p>

<p>“Oh come! What about our fleet, Colonel?” said the
Canon, whose eldest boy was second lieutenant on the
“Audacious,” and his youngest a middy on the “Queen
Mary.”</p>

<p>“Our fleet’s all right, thanks to Churchill. But you
can’t utilise a fleet, say at Belfort or Nancy or on the
borders of Belgium.”</p>

<p>“What about Belgium?” asked Ray. “Has she any
fight in her?”</p>

<p>“I have never imagined so. If old Leopold were alive
the Germans would have a walk-over and the old boy’s
coffers would be fuller than ever. This new man—of
whom I know very little—may be of a different kidney.
But what can he do against Germany? She would simply
roll over him if he tried to stand up for his rights. It
would be sheer madness on his part.”</p>

<p>“Divine madness!” said the Canon musingly. “Such
things at times effect wonders beyond the understanding
of man.”</p>

<p>“And with England and France to back her up, and
Russia piling in on the other side——” said Ray.</p>

<p>“There you are,” said the Colonel, “—practically a
European war.”</p>

<p>Mrs Canon had meanwhile been quietly and unobtrusively,
but none the less pertinaciously, affording Lois opportunities
of explaining the exact nature of her relationship
to Ray. And two vivacious Misses Canon, with their
sympathies already openly given to the victim, eagerly
awaited developments.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span></p>

<p>But Lois saw no reason for any beating about the bush.
She explained the matter in full, acknowledging somewhat
of irregularity in their proceedings but smilingly suggesting
that if the war gave no one grounds for greater complaint
they would all be very well off.</p>

<p>“How ripping!” said the younger girl, with dancing
eyes.</p>

<p>“Katharine, my <em>dear</em>!” said her mother reprovingly.</p>

<p>“Absolutely and perfectly delectable!” asserted her
sister, quite unabashed by the maternal disapproval. “I
just <span class="locked">wish——”</span></p>

<p>“Madeleine!”</p>

<p>And Madeleine’s envious desires remained locked in the
secrecy of her maiden heart until she and Katharine went
upstairs to bed that night. But she and her sister could
not make enough of Lois for the rest of the evening, and
their eyes rested on her caressingly and longingly as though
by much looking they might possibly absorb some of her
obvious happiness.</p>

<p>“It must be delightful beyond words,” whispered
Katharine.</p>

<p>“It is,” beamed Lois.</p>

<p>“Just like a honeymoon, only more so,” sighed Madeleine
rapturously.</p>

<p>“Just all that.”</p>

<p>“And you were at the Conservatorium at Leipsic!”
said Katharine.</p>

<p>“I had nearly completed my two years there. It was
a very jolly time. I enjoyed it every bit.”</p>

<p>“Do come and sing something for us. There’s a music-room
over there and quite a decent piano.”</p>

<p>“I don’t mind. I love singing,” and they slipped
quietly away to the music-room and shut themselves in.</p>

<p>But no doors made by man could contain the full rounded
sweetness of that fresh young voice, and presently the
handle was quietly turned from the outside and the door
pushed noiselessly open so that the multitude beyond
might share in the enjoyment of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span></p>

<p>She had no music with her, of course, and what lay
about—the jetsam of the years—did not appeal to her.
So she played and sang some of the old Scotch songs dear
to her mother, and they went right home to the hearts
of some of her listeners as perhaps the more stately productions
of the greater masters would not have done.</p>

<p>Between times, on the expectant silence of the hall,
there would trickle from the inner sanctuary a subdued
murmur of talk and now and again a ripple of laughter,
and then the chords would sound again and the full sweet
voice would peal out gloriously, and hearts swelled large
in sympathy with it.</p>

<p>She wound up with “Home, Sweet Home!” and before
some of her listeners had finished using their handkerchiefs
in various furtive and surreptitious ways, she was pealing
out “God save the King!” like a trumpet-call, and “By
Gad, sir! It went!”—as the Colonel said afterwards.</p>

<p>“My dear!” said the Canon, as he thanked her very
warmly for the pleasure she had given them. “You have
a God-given gift. You can touch the hearts of men and
lift them to higher things. That is a wonderful power for
good.”</p>

<p>“I love singing,” said Lois simply.</p>

<p>“Or you could not sing like that,” said the Canon.
“Your joyous young heart is in your voice.”</p>

<p>As the following day was Sunday, and their next march
would take them once more into the wilds—over the
Strela and by Schanfiggthal to Chur and then up Rheinthal
to Andermatt,—they decided to take a rest-day where
they were, in the hope that further news from the outside
world might arrive before Monday morning.</p>

<p>Nothing came, however, except the Berne newspapers,
which hinted at mobilisation in Russia, and told of the
murder of M. Jaurès in Paris. Even these scraps of news,
however, afforded the Colonel ground for ample comment,
and that of the gloomiest character, on the general outlook.</p>

<p>“Jaurès,” he said, “was a great leader and he worked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>
hard for a better understanding between France and
Germany. His removal, at this crisis and in this fashion,
seems to point to a fanatical revulsion of feeling against
his ideas. That means that the tinder is ready for the
match. If Russia is mobilising, Germany will follow suit,
if she has not done so already. The fat may be in the
fire at any moment. For all we know the fire may have
broken out now, even while we sit here discussing it.”
Which made them all unusually thoughtful.</p>

<p>And as a matter of fact, with good reason. For Germany
had declared war on Russia at 7.30 the previous night.</p>

<p>“Which way were you thinking of going?” the Colonel
asked Ray, over their cigars in the lounge that night.</p>

<p>“First to Chur. Then up the valley to Andermatt,
over the Furka, and down the Rhone Valley to Montreux.”</p>

<p>“That’s your best way. The East and North of France
will certainly be closed. You may eventually get through
by the Midi. But you’ll probably have to wait even for
that. It’ll be a terrible upsetting all round. And I wish
to God we could keep out of it, because we’re not ready.
But we can’t. I’m as certain of that as that I’m sitting
here.”</p>

<p>“It’ll be an awful business if it comes to a general scrap,”
said Ray.</p>

<p>“Yes. I’ve seen fighting in several parts of the world
and it’s grim business at best, but this will beat anything
we’ve ever imagined, if I know anything about it. Germany
is just a huge fighting-machine, and she’ll fight like
the devil. If Russia is in, France is in, and that almost
certainly means we’re in too. How do you stand yourself,
Mr. Luard?”</p>

<p>“I’m in the London Scottish,—lieutenant. Do you
think they’ll want us?”</p>

<p>“Pretty sure to,—sooner or later,—every man that’s
available. How long have you had?”</p>

<p>“Four years.”</p>

<p>“You should know your business fairly well. I think
you’ll have to reckon on a call. You’ll go if needed?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span></p>

<p>“Of course.”</p>

<p>Which brought the possibilities very close home and
made Ray Luard a very thoughtful man that night.</p>

<p>Next day they bade their friends good-bye, such of them
as were up at so early an hour. And the Colonel and
Katharine and Madeleine walked with them through the
freshness of the morning by the winding forest-paths up
Schatzalp, and were loth to part with them even on the
top.</p>

<p>The Colonel, indeed,—whose youth lay away back amid
the mists of antiquity, and whose years had discovered to
him the existence of a heart that pumped on up-gradients,
and a certain stiffness in the legs which filled him with
wrath,—called them to many a halt to view the scenery.
His hearty good-will was so obvious, however, that they
complied with his necessities and accommodated their pace
to his without regret; and the girls buzzed about Lois
with outspoken envy of her happy lot, and vehemently
regretted that they could not go and do likewise in every
particular.</p>

<p>At the restaurant on top they drank a parting cup of
coffee together, and then Ray and Lois set their faces
towards the long ascent of the Strela, and the others stood
and waved to them till they were out of sight.</p>

<p>“Do you know what the old boy was saying, Lois?”
Ray broke out as soon as they were quite alone.</p>

<p>“No. What?”</p>

<p>“He’s quite certain that England will have to go into
the scrap, and that she’ll need every man she can put into
the fighting-line. And I’m one of them, you see.”</p>

<p>“Oh!—Ray!” and she stopped in her tracks, and stood
gazing at him with sudden woe in her face.</p>

<p>“It brings it close home to one, doesn’t it, dear?” he
said quietly, pressing her arm tight to his heart. “I’ve
been thinking about it all night. It will be hard on us, but
if the call comes I must go.”</p>

<p>“Yes ...” she said, slowly and reluctantly; sense
of duty prevailing, with obvious difficulty, over her heart’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>
desire. “You must go.... But, oh,—it will be hard
to let you go ... just when we’ve come to know one
another, and life is at its brightest.... Oh, my dear!
Suppose....”</p>

<p>“We won’t suppose anything of the kind,” he said
cheerfully. “Life is not long enough at its longest to
waste one minute of it on forebodings. But I named this,
dear, because it seems to me that it settles for us the question
I raised the other day. Unless you say no, we’ll
get married as soon as we get to Montreux.”</p>

<p>“Yes!” she said simply, and the matter was settled.</p>

<p>And, in the feeling of still warmer and closer companionship
that thereby came upon them, they climbed on up the
Strela, and down the steep zig-zags on the other side to the
Haupter Alp, and down and down past Schmitten and
Dörfli, first this side of the river, then the other, till
they came to the Schanfiggthal and Langwies, where they
stopped for lunch and a long rest.</p>

<p>It was as they were coming down the hillside to Castiel
that Lois had a quaint experience which Ray laughingly
hoped would teach her a lesson.</p>

<p>They came suddenly on an immense herd of goats, whose
bells they had heard tinkling far away below them for half
an hour or more. Captivated by the graceful activities of
a black and white kid, which sprang up a high rock at the
side of the road and posed there like a little Rodin, with
its glassy eyes fixed vaguely on them, Lois produced a
biscuit from her pocket and proffered it to the youngster.
He sniffed doubtfully, nibbled eagerly, and leaped down
for more. And in an instant she was the centre of a writhing
mass of goats, who pushed and reared themselves against
her and would take no denial.</p>

<p>At first she laughed and pushed them off with her hands.
Then it got beyond a joke. She gave them all she had,
but they wanted more. Like the Danes and Ethelred,
payment to go only drew them in larger numbers. Ray
did his best to drag them back and get her clear, but they
pushed and struggled and reared, with weirdest determination<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span>
in their strange eyes and curving horns, till Lois
grew somewhat startled.</p>

<p>“Stupid beasts! Don’t you understand? You’ve
had it all,” and she shook her empty hands in their stolid
straining faces. They pushed all the harder. She grew
frightened, especially when she saw the futility of Ray’s
efforts.</p>

<p>It was his angry shouts, as he laid about on their bony
ribs and backs with his alpenstock, that at last drew a small
boy in velveteens and a slouch hat round the corner, and
at a shrill whistle from him the beasts came to their senses
and left their victim hot and dishevelled and very much
put out.</p>

<p>“Why don’t you keep your ugly beasts in order?”
shouted Ray.</p>

<p>“Grüss Gott!” said the small boy with a vacant grin,
and with stones and blows sent his flock jangling down into
the lower woods.</p>

<p>“That’s the most forcible argument I’ve ever come
across against promiscuous charity,” laughed Ray, as
Lois shook herself clear of the sense and smell of them
and did up her hair.</p>

<p>“The hideous beasts! Their stony eyes and stupid
faces were awful,—a perfect nightmare! I shall dream
of them for ages.”</p>

<p>They stopped that night at Chur, and Lois duly dreamed
of a never-ending struggle with multitudinous stony-eyed
goats, and had a fairly bad night of it.</p>

<p>She seemed, indeed, so unrefreshed in the morning that
Ray decided to make an easy day’s work by taking train
to Ilanz, and the diligence, if it was still running, for such
further distance as it would take them.</p>

<p>And so it was half-past six in the evening when they
reached Ruēras, where the diligence stopped for the night
and they perforce stopped also. The accommodation
was somewhat primitive, but the freedom of the simple
life condoned everything. They ate well and slept well,
and started off next morning in the best of spirits, with no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span>
cloud upon their horizon but the nebulous possibilities of
the unknown future; and quite unconscious of the fact
that, at eleven o’clock the night before, the mightiest die
in the world’s history had been cast. Great Britain had
declared war on Germany.</p>

<p>They crossed a brook and a torrent, and in a deep ravine
below the fragment of a ruined castle, Ray pointed out to
her the little stream which he told her was the Baby Rhine
in its cradle.</p>

<p>“It’s always interesting to get back right to the beginning
of a thing which in the end becomes a very big thing.
We know what the Rhine is at its best and there’s where
it begins.”</p>

<p>“I shall never forget it,” said Lois, hanging on to his
arm.</p>

<p>“And if the old Colonel is right, away over yonder it will
soon be running red,” said Ray thoughtfully.</p>

<p>“We’ll try and not think about it till we have to....
But whatever comes, Ray, life has been very good to us.”</p>

<p>“Yes, thank God! We have tasted the joy of it, whatever
follows.”</p>

<p>And away over yonder, the German hordes had, days
ago, surged over the Rhine, and now they had burst into
Belgium and were hammering at Liége, and the Meuse
was running red and pouring its flood into the Rhine on
its way to the sea.</p>

<p>They climbed steadily, with wonderful views over
Rheintal and up into Vorder Rheintal, crossed the summit
of Pass da Tiarms, and came down again to the old high-road
at the eastern end of the gloomy little Oberalp-See.</p>

<p>“There lies the highway to happiness,” said Ray,
pointing away in front where, in the dim distance, a white
thread of a road wound along a lofty mountain-side.
“That’s the Furka. Once we’re over that we’re in the
Rhone Valley and almost at Montreux,” and he pressed
her arm tight again as a reminder of all that Montreux
would mean for them.</p>

<p>They took the short cut down to Andermatt, got shaken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>
almost to pieces with its stony steepness, and went to the
Bellevue to recuperate with a well-earned lunch, and in
hopes of getting some recent news from the outside world.
But the Berne papers had not yet arrived and the foreign
ones were many days old, and a chat with the manager
furnished only disquieting war-like rumours, gathered by
him from the officers of the big artillery-camp who sometimes
came into the hotel for a meal or a smoke.</p>

<p>Ray was obviously restless under this lack of news, and
Lois was quick to perceive and understand it.</p>

<p>“Let us get on,” she said.</p>

<p>“Can you? Sure you’re not done up?”</p>

<p>“Not a bit of it. It is delightful rambling along like
this, but I’ve always the feeling that dreadful things may
be going on outside, and if they are, the sooner we know
the better.”</p>

<p>“Yes. It’s the not knowing that’s so worrying. It’s
like wandering about in a fog with collisions and smashes
going on all about one and no chance of seeing what’s up.
I’d sooner know the worst than nothing at all. I wanted
to stop at the jolly little Golden Lion at Hospenthal. I
stopped three days there once and I’ve always wanted to
go back. But if we can get as far as Realp it will shorten
to-morrow’s walk over the Furka. The hotels at Gletsch
are only for millionaires, not for tramps like us.”</p>

<p>So they started off, determined to push along to Realp,
or even to Tiefenbach if they could manage it, but Fate
had arranged for them to stop at Hospenthal after all.</p>

<p>While they sat at lunch the sky darkened. The rain
began before they had gone half a mile, and it came down
in such sheets that Ray considered the advisability of
turning back. But Lois would not hear of it, so with their
Loden cloaks outside their rucksacs, they plodded on up
the stony road which very soon became a river, while the
mountain tops all round took on new white coats of
snow.</p>

<p>“We’ll have a rough time on the Furka to-morrow,”
said Ray. “I know what it’s like in snow.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span></p>

<p>“I think I’d sooner have snow than cataracts like this.
Will these cloaks keep the wet out?”</p>

<p>“They will, my child. The wetter they get outside,
the less gets through.”</p>

<p>“Then it’s all right. We’ll stop at your little hotel as
soon as we come to it and get dry stockings on.”</p>

<p>“And a jolly big fire and a first-rate supper. We’ll be
as cosy as cats.”</p>

<p>“Who are all these men in front?”</p>

<p>“Weary ploughmen plodding their homeward way.
But they look to me like Italian navvies—about the unpleasantest
class of person you can meet in Switzerland.
The rain’s too much for them, I suppose, so they’re knocking
off for the day.”</p>

<p>“Here’s another lot coming the other way.”</p>

<p>“Switzers these, by the look of them.”</p>

<p>The two bands of about a score each passed one another
some distance ahead of them, just about where the road
forked, and one part struck up to the left towards the stony
desolations and frowning peaks of the Gothard.</p>

<p>“Hello!” cried Ray. “What on earth are they up to?”</p>

<p>For the dark clump of men now nearest them, the
Switzers,—halted suddenly, and turned, and then, as though
moved by one spring, these made a dash at the others and
flung themselves on them with shouts and blows till they
broke and fled up the stony way.</p>

<p>“Well, well!” said Ray, watching keenly. “That’s a
little bit of racial feeling right under our noses, unless
I’m mistaken. Symptomatic of the times. The Colonel
said there was no love lost between them, and here’s the
proof of it. War’s in the air, my child.”</p>

<p>The Switzers having chased their opponents well up the
stony road came swinging along now with cheerful faces
and martial tread.</p>

<p>“What was it?” asked Ray as they came up.</p>

<p>“Just a swarm of Italian rats, Herr,” said one jovially,
while the rest gathered round grinning delightedly, and
one or two wiped away smears of blood from their faces.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p>

<p>“They’re mobilising for the war, over there, you see,
and we’re mobilising for the war, over here; and one of
them showed his teeth at us as he passed, so we gave
them a lesson in manners.”</p>

<p>“But you will have no war here.”</p>

<p>“Please God, no, Herr! But we’ve got to be ready,
and if anyone sets foot on Swiss soil so much the worse
for him. Those rascals would like to try it, we know,
but if they do we’ll treat them as we did this little lot
and kick them back into their own country. We do not
like them,” and he spat disdainfully and all the others did
the same.</p>

<p>“You are not thinking of going up Gothard way, Herr?”
asked another meaningly.</p>

<p>“No, we stop at Hospenthal for the night, since it’s
raining so, and cross the Furka to-morrow.”</p>

<p>“I wouldn’t like to cross the Gothard within arm’s
length of that lot all by myself,” said a third. “They
may be good men but they don’t look it. Have you any
news of the war, Herr? Is France in it?”</p>

<p>“We’ve no news for days past. We’re hoping to get
some over yonder. But I’m afraid there’s little hope of
France keeping out.”</p>

<p>“It’ll be a big blaze,” said the leader. “What about
you, Herr, in England? Will you be in it too?”</p>

<p>“I’m very much afraid so. We’re hurrying home as
quick as we can.”</p>

<p>“Well, for me, I hope Germany will get her head broken.
Frenchmen I like, and Englishmen and Americans still
better. But Italians I do not like, and Germans still
less. They are too big for their clothes, and they are
pigs to have any dealings with,” and the others said
“So!” and “Jawohl!”</p>

<p>“Well—grüss Gott, Herr and Frau! And may we
all live to see better times!” and with a rumble of
“grüss Gotts!” they went on their way, and Ray
and Lois plodded on towards Hospenthal and a big
fire and dry stockings and such defiance of the rigours<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>
of the road and the weather as a warm welcome could
supply.</p>

<p>It was with a sigh of relief that Lois hastily felt over
her rucksac, as the smiling maid drew off her dripping
cloak, and found it sound and dry; and in spite of her
soddened feet and streaming face and draggled hair the
sight of a roaring fire in a room on the right induced a
sense of coming comfort.</p>

<p>“You are wet, madame?—no?—not inside? That is
goot. You will change your feet, and then hot tea, and
all will be well,”—she had the cheerfullest face Lois had
seen for months and she spoke English charmingly.</p>

<p>“That’s the ticket, Freda,” said Ray joyously. “The
hottest tea you can make and a dash of cognac in it, and
poke up that fire still more if you can do it without setting
the place ablaze.”</p>

<p>“Ach!”—and then, running at him with outstretched
hands. “Why it is the Herr who stopped with us two
years ago, and I did not for the moment know him. And
this is madame? And you will stop the night? Yes?—in
such weather?”</p>

<p>“Oh, we’ll stop the night all right. Wild horses could
not drag us away from that fire such a day as this.”</p>

<p>“I will show you to your room and the tea will be ready
by the time you come down. This way, madame—iff you
please!”</p>

<p>“Steady on, Freda! Two rooms—iff you please.”</p>

<p>“So?” in a tone of vast surprise, with a touch of
disappointment in it.</p>

<p>“Mademoiselle is to become my wife as soon as we
reach Montreux. I have been to deliver her from the
hands of the Philistines—the Germans, I mean. She
was in <span class="locked">Leipsic——”</span></p>

<p>“Ach—those verdomte Germans! They are always
making trouble. Then two rooms. This way, mademoiselle,
iff you please!”</p>

<p>Hail and rain thrashed wildly on the window-panes as
Lois refitted herself, but a quarter of an hour later, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>
they came down the stair together, and entered the cosy
room whose dark wood panelling reflected the dancing
flames all round, there was their tea-table drawn up close
to the blazing hearth with two easy chairs alongside, and
she felt a sense of home-iness greater than she had enjoyed
during the last two years.</p>

<p>At a table not far away a burly, broad-backed man
was busily writing letters with a big cigar in his
mouth.</p>

<p>At sight of them he jumped up in vast surprise and
came at them.</p>

<p>“Why—Ray Luard!—and Miss Lois?... Now what
in the name of—what is it?—Mrs Ghrundy—are you two
wandering round here for?”</p>

<p>“Hello? Why!—if it isn’t Dr Rhenius! How are
you, sir? We’re as right as trivets—whatever they are,
though we <em>have</em> walked from Ruēras to-day.”</p>

<p>“Ah—you come from Ruēras? And before that?”</p>

<p>“Lois was in Leipsic, as you know. Mrs Dare sent
me to fetch her home. We couldn’t get direct so we came
round. What news have you? We’ve heard nothing
but rumours for days. Let’s have tea, Lois. I’m sure
you’re only half warmed yet. Have a cup of tea,
Doctor?”</p>

<p>“I thank you, no. But I will smoke—if I may,”
with an appealing look at Lois.</p>

<p>“Oh do, please! I like it.”</p>

<p>“Well now—where are <em>you</em> from, Doctor, and what’s
the latest facts?” asked Ray, as he laced his hot tea
with cognac and insisted on doing the same with Lois’s
in spite of her protesting hand. “It’s good for her under
these circumstances. Now isn’t it, Doctor?”</p>

<p>“I do not prescribe stimulants as a rule, as you know,”
said Dr Rhenius weightily. “But to anyone who has
been out in that”—as the hail dashed against the windows
again—“a moderate dose is undoubtedly indicated.”</p>

<p>“That’s better,” said Ray, passing up his cup again.
“Now, sir,—where are we?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p>

<p>“At war,” said the Doctor gravely. “Great Britain
declared war against Germany last night.”</p>

<p>“That’s bad,” said Ray, and he and Lois both sat staring
aghast at the massive face lit up by the dancing flames.</p>

<p>They had known Dr Rhenius for ten years or more.
He was established in Willstead before any of them came
there. He had a good practice and private means of his
own, and was generally esteemed and trusted. He was a
bachelor, of five-and-forty or so, and in spite of his German-sounding
name claimed Polish descent. His father,
Casimir Rienkiwicz, had, he had told them, fled from
Russian domination in Warsaw to the freedom of London,
where his son was born. The father had adopted the less
cumbrous name of Rhenius, and prospered in business.
The son studied medicine in Edinburgh, in London, in
Munich and in Paris, spoke German, French, and English
with equal fluency, kept in close touch with the most
advanced medical thought of all three countries, and
employed their latest curative discoveries while his English
confrères were still sniffing suspiciously at their outer
wrappers.</p>

<p>The one thing that ever disturbed his equanimity was
to be referred to as a German. At times the younger folk
with humorous malice would drop an innocent, “Of
course, you Germans,” etc. etc., when the Doctor would
lose his placidity and repudiate the innuendo with scorn
and indignation. Victoria Luard was especially good at
baiting him and enjoyed his outbursts to the full.</p>

<p>Such spare time as his patients allowed him he devoted
to research into the subject of mental diseases. Whereby
he and Connal Dare had become great friends. He had
encouraged Con in the choice of his special line, and had
helped him freely out of his own well-filled stores of knowledge
and experience. When they met, which was rarely
now, they went at it hammer and tongs, and in the intervals
corresponded vigorously concerning any unusual cases
Con came across, and the newest methods of treating them,
and the results.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span></p>

<p>“Yes,” said Dr Rhenius soberly. “It looks like being a
general flare up, and that will mean—it will mean more
than any of us can imagine.”</p>

<p>“Where did you hear it?” asked Ray. “We have
been aching for some definite word of what was going on,
but no one seemed to know anything and no letters or
papers were coming through.”</p>

<p>“I was at Piora, near Airolo. The news came there this
morning, and I packed up and started at once for home.
I came through the tunnel to Göschenen, booked a seat in
the diligence for to-morrow morning, and walked on here,
because I know this little place of old and always enjoy
it. It may be the last time some of us will enjoy it for a
long time to come.”</p>

<p>“You think it will be a long business, Doctor?” asked
Lois anxiously.</p>

<p>He shook his big head discouragingly. “War is full of
surprises, my dear. It is the very last thing I would care
to prophesy about.”</p>

<p>“Italy will go in with Germany and Austria, of course,”
said Ray.</p>

<p>The Doctor’s big moustache crinkled up as he compressed
his lips. “Eventually, one would suppose so.
But, truly, I could discover no enthusiasm, or even inclination,
for warlike adventure in the few with whom I
had the opportunity of conversing. They are still suffering
from Tripoli, down there, you see.... Where are you
making for?”</p>

<p>“Two big M’s, Doctor. Montreux and Marriage.
We’re going to get married as soon as we get there.”</p>

<p>“So!”</p>

<p>“You see it’s hardly right and proper—as you suggested
just now—to be gadding about in this fashion together.
So we’re going to regularise the situation at the first
possible moment.”</p>

<p>“I will chaperone you with pleasure.”</p>

<p>“Thanks awfully! But we’d sooner get married. We
wouldn’t like to be a burden on anyone.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span></p>

<p>“And how do you go?”</p>

<p>“We’ve walked mostly so far—all the way from
Landeck, except one spell from Chur to Ruēras. We
like it.”</p>

<p>“If you take my advice you will get them to telephone
for seats in the diligence and come along with me. It
will not be walking weather for some days now. And the
Furka in snow is a tough job. We get to Brigue to-morrow
evening and to Montreux next day. They are mobilising
here but the trains are still running. I wired to ask.”</p>

<p>“I think we will. Lois is a splendid walker, but if it’s
going to be like this the sooner we’re at Montreux the
better,” and he went at once and got Freda to telephone
to Göschenen for seats in the diligence for the following
morning.</p>

<p>She came in presently with the information that every
seat was booked both for the morning and afternoon
service.</p>

<p>“And for the following day?” he asked.</p>

<p>“Two coupé-seats only are left, Herr.”</p>

<p>“Book them for us at once, Freda, and we will either
stop here or walk on up the Furka and take our places when
the diligence catches us up.”</p>

<p>“Jawohl, Herr!”</p>

<p>“I must get on,” said the Doctor, “or I would joyfully
wait with you here.”</p>

<p>“Oh, we wouldn’t think of it. How about getting on
from Montreux?”</p>

<p>The Doctor nodded musingly. “There one will have to
be guided by circumstances. I shall go on to Geneva and
endeavour to make my way through France. But it
may not be an easy matter. Everything will be under
military law and mere civilians will not be of much account
just now. You may have to wait there for a time till
the first rush to the frontiers is over.”</p>

<p>“We expected that. That’s why we’re going to get
married as soon as we get there.”</p>

<p>“I will tell them all about it at home, if I succeed in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>
getting there. They will be very suspicious of foreigners
in France. They may lock me up. You have no passports,
I suppose.”</p>

<p>“Not a scrap between us. I’ve never carried one in my
life.”</p>

<p>“This has taken us all unawares. But I always carry
one. It is useful at times, in procuring one’s registered
letters and so on.... And money?—you have plenty?”</p>

<p>“Enough to go on with. If we don’t turn up you might
ask Uncle Tony to send us some more—to Poste Restante,
Montreux,” and the Doctor methodically made a note of it.</p>

<p>They talked much of matters connected with the coming
war, all through supper and afterwards. They had the
hotel to themselves. Freda told them that up to three days
ago they were full; then, at once, everyone fled at news
of the possibility of war.</p>

<p>But, except as to the broad facts of the case, the Doctor
was very non-committal, and thinking over all their discursive
talk afterwards, Ray found himself very little the
wiser for it all. His own opinions he could remember
expressing very fully and freely. But, though the Doctor
had discoursed weightily at times on various points, Ray
could not recall anything of any great importance that he
had said or any new light that he had cast upon the complex
situation. The matter visibly weighed upon him and
even cast its shadow on him.</p>

<p>They saw him for a few minutes next morning, and then
the diligence rolled up and he was gone.</p>

<p>It was a bleak day, cold slush under foot and a wind
that held in it the chill of the snow-peaks. They delighted
Freda by deciding to wait there for the diligence next
morning, and enjoyed the warmth within the more for the
cold without.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">At</span> home, meanwhile, they were living in a whirl of
conflicting rumours, fears, hopes, which changed
their faces with every edition of the papers, but
possessed one lowest common denominator in an intense
and ever-increasing anxiety.</p>

<p>Mr Dare wore a very grave face in these days; and as
his wife understood—to some extent at all events—the
difficulties he had to wrestle with in consequence of the
total cessation of business with the Continent, she found it
no easy matter to keep as cheerful a heart as she would
have wished, but bravely did her best that way.</p>

<p>One quick glance at her husband’s face, when he came
in of a night, told her more than all the papers, and the
news was never encouraging.</p>

<p>Every evening, the Colonel, possessed of a firm belief in
the efficacy of the commercial barometer as an index of
the political outlook, came in to gather John Dare’s latest
observations of it. And he too could tell with one glance
at John Dare’s face how things were going.</p>

<p>When Mr Dare was late, as often happened, he generally
found the Colonel sitting there waiting for him and doing
his best meanwhile to cheer Mrs Dare. But, try as they
all might, their cheerfulness was of a gray autumnal character
which foresaw wintry weather before any hope of
Spring.</p>

<p>From the mere business point of view the fact of Great
Britain being dragged into the mêlée could not make
matters very much worse for Mr Dare than they were.
But that dreadful possibility entailed others of so intimate
a character that it was impossible to close one’s eyes to
them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span></p>

<p>“I wish those two were safely home,” said Mrs Dare,
busy with her sewing one evening, as the Colonel, in Mr
Dare’s easy chair, sat waiting with her for its proper occupant’s
arrival.</p>

<p>“I’m sure you needn’t worry about them, dear Mrs
Dare,” said the Colonel emphatically. “Ray knows his
way about and they’ll be perfectly all right. We may get
a wire from them at any moment saying they’ll be here in
an hour.”</p>

<p>“I’m surprised we’ve had no word of any kind since
Ray left.”</p>

<p>“I expect things are all upside down all over the Continent.
We’ll hear from them all right in time.”</p>

<p>Then Mr Dare came in and they saw by his face that
the City barometer was still at stormy.</p>

<p>“Rumours galore,” was his report, “and mostly disturbing.
Sir Edward Grey is doing everything in his power
for peace, but the general feeling is that the Kaiser means
war, and the City is preparing for it. Bank-rate is up to 4.
It may be 8 to-morrow. Consols down to 70. Everything
is in suspense. No business doing.”</p>

<p>“And what do they say as to our being dragged in?”
asked the Colonel anxiously.</p>

<p>“General idea is that only a miracle can keep us out,
and that miracles aren’t common.”</p>

<p>“Any talk of mobilising?—fleet and army?”</p>

<p>“No orders yet, as far as one can learn, but there is little
doubt word has been sent round to be ready. I saw Guards
marching through this morning. In fact there is an undoubted
sense of war in the air.”</p>

<p>“And how do they feel as to our preparedness, if it comes
to that?”</p>

<p>At which Mr Dare shook his head. “Not a doubt
as to our readiness at sea. But on land——” he shrugged
discomfortingly, “Well, the general feeling is that what
we have is good, but so small as to be of very little account
among the huge masses that may be engaged over there.
They say there may be ten million men <span class="locked">fighting——”</span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span></p>

<p>“How awful!” said Mrs Dare. “Ten millions! And
all with relatives of one kind or another! Just think of the
aftermath—the suffering and misery! I am not a violent
person, but, truly, there is no ill I could not wish for the
men who bring such a horror about.”</p>

<p>“They’ll suffer!” said the Colonel.</p>

<p>“We too,” said Mr Dare soberly. “And here is how it
comes home to us. If we’re drawn in there will be an
urgent call for more <span class="locked">men——”</span></p>

<p>“Quite right!” said the Colonel. “If you’d listened to
advice we’d have had ’em ready. Now we shall have to do
the best we can with what we can get.”</p>

<p>“The Territorials will be <span class="locked">mobilised——”</span></p>

<p>“But they are surely for home defence,” said Mrs
Dare.</p>

<p>“They will be needed at the front. Presumably the
choice will be given them.”</p>

<p>“And they’ll go,” said the Colonel. “They’re not half
as bad as some folks have been trying to make out, and
this will buck them up to top notch.”</p>

<p>“That means your Ray will be in it.”</p>

<p>“He wouldn’t be my Ray unless he was, sir.”</p>

<p>“And our Noel. He’s been at us for days past for permission
to join,” said Mrs Dare without enthusiasm.</p>

<p>“He’ll go London Scottish with Ray of course. Good
lad!”</p>

<p>“He was up seeing about it to-day,” said Mr Dare.
“And he’s hoping he can get into the Second Battalion if
they form one. He’s put down his name for it anyway and
I suppose he’ll have to go. I never knew him so keen on
anything in his life before.”</p>

<p>“Good lad!—The right sort! Does honour to his
parents.”</p>

<p>“And Con is expecting to be called up,” said Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“And I bet you Alma will want to be in it. Our two
families are doing their duty. Da-ash it! If all the
others would come up to the scratch as well there’d be no
lack of fighting-men.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span></p>

<p>“And suppose they none of them come back,” said Mrs
Dare forebodingly.</p>

<p>“One never supposes such things, ma’am. If they
go, they go to the duty God has called them to. And if
they never come back they’ll have done their best for
their King and their country, and that is the noblest
thing any man or woman can do.”</p>

<p>“I know, Colonel, but ... all the same, it would be
very sore to lose them.”</p>

<p>“It would be sorer still for Germany to ride rough-shod
over England. They’re great fighters, and if it comes
it’ll be hot work. Thank God, they’re not barbarians,
however, and they’ll fight decently and respect the rules
of the game.”</p>

<p>But even in that thought Mrs Dare found but little
comfort, and try as she might she could not attain to the
Colonel’s altruistic heights of patriotism.</p>

<p>“It is different,” she said to herself. “After all, his
two are not bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh, and
that makes all the difference in the world.”</p>

<p>“Where are they all to-night?” asked Mr Dare. For
the thought that before very long partings might come
unconsciously distilled within him a curious little desire to
know they were still within reach. “Noel came up to
have lunch with me and to tell me about the London
Scottish. I understood he was coming straight home.”</p>

<p>“He came and told me about it,” said Mrs Dare. “It
has given him a new zest in life. He was on the links
all afternoon, and then he insisted on taking the girls into
town to ‘When Knights were Bold.’”</p>

<p>“H’m!” said Mr Dare. “I must be out of touch
with eighteen and a half. I can’t say I feel like the
theatre myself.”</p>

<p>“Young blood runs red,” said the Colonel. “The
jump in it that makes him want to go to the theatre will
help him through tight places later on.”</p>

<p>“Do you think it will be a long business, Colonel?”
asked Mrs Dare, in pursuance of her own thoughts.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span></p>

<p>“Hard to say, ma’am. Personally I should be inclined
to say not. The expense of all those men in the field will
be so enormous,—to say nothing of the upsetting of business
and life generally. One or two tremendous battles and it
may be over. War is full of surprises. One side or the
other may crumple up unexpectedly and cry ‘enough.’
On the other hand it is not easy to think of Germany
doing that, after all her bumptiousness. And I’d hate
to think of France and Russia giving in. Auntie Mitt is
hard at work knitting winter socks and comforters, and
Balaclava helmets.”</p>

<p>“Goodness me! Does she think it will last as long as
that?”</p>

<p>“She says she remembers hearing they were badly
wanted in the Crimea,—which was a fact. I’ve been
hinting to her that she probably remembers making
them at that time, and, being a good Conservative, instinct
impels her to do as she did then.”</p>

<p>“Too bad!” smiled Mrs Dare. “She could hardly
have knitted for the Crimea.”</p>

<p>“I’m not so sure of that. She’s frightfully close
and touchy about her age. She’s wonderfully well-preserved,
and she’s a good little soul, but I do enjoy
chaffing her. It’s a pleasure to see the prim and extremely
lady-like way in which she takes it. She always makes
me feel like a little boy at school again. You’ve no
definite word from Con yet?”</p>

<p>“He’s all ready packed to start at a moment’s notice,
and is quite sure he will have to go. Nothing more
than that. It’s all very disturbing to one’s peace of
mind.”</p>

<p>“Not half as disturbing, ma’am, as if the Germans got
across here. Let us be thankful that if there is to be
fighting it’ll be on the other side of the water. Business
is quite at a standstill, I suppose, Dare?”</p>

<p>“Mine is, and most other people’s. If the mere threat
of war curdles things up like this it’s hard to imagine what
they’ll be like if it actually comes.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span></p>

<p>“It’ll be a case of everybody helping everybody else,”
said the Colonel, gallantly and meaningly, and on that
note jumped up to go. “I must run along and see how
Auntie Mitt’s getting on with those Balaclava helmets!”
he said, and shook hands with them warmly, and went.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> unsettled state of international politics affected
the younger folk much as it did their elders, only
in a different way and to a less extent.</p>

<p>It produced in them an excitement and effervescence
of spirits which left no room for broodings or forebodings.
They closed their eyes to the grimmer possibilities and
saw only the picturesque and dramatic and thrilling.</p>

<p>They were all most keenly interested in every move
in the mighty game, and somewhat impatient of the slow
development of the intricate situation. The number of
evening papers that found their way into both houses
was astonishing, and extremely wasteful.</p>

<p>Their local weekly paper arranged for a telephonic
news-service with a London paper, and posted in its
windows irregular bulletins, the more startling the better.
Whoever went into the village was expected to bring
back the latest rumours. Mrs Dare, when she went, was
content to carry the items of any importance in her mind.
The Colonel, and Noel, and Honor, and Victoria Luard
invariably bought latest editions as well, sometimes of
half-a-dozen different papers, in the hope that one or
other would contain something illuminating which had
escaped the rest. And in the anxious search for that
illuminating item they read the same news over and over
again in all the papers, till, as Noel said, they “got fairly
fed up with chewing the same bit till there was no taste
in it.” Yet the exercise seemed only to leave them the
hungrier for more startling later editions. They all, in
fact, had a pretty severe attack of news-fever, and it
grew worse with every day that passed and with all the
thin and unsatisfying pabulum it fed upon.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span></p>

<p>Noel and the girls and young Gregor MacLean spent
much time on the links. There was no talk of going away
for holidays this year, not at all events while things were
in their present unsettled condition.</p>

<p>The Luards had planned to spend September in Switzerland,
at Saas-Fée and Zermatt. Noel and Honor were
to have gone with them, and Mr and Mrs Dare had intended
making a round of visits in Scotland.</p>

<p>Connal Dare and Alma Luard, if they could get off at
the same time, had been going to friends on Dartmoor not
far from Postbridge. As for Miss Mitten, she never would
hear a word about going away. No place was as comfortable
as home, she averred,—she had everything there
that she wanted, so why should she make a change which
could only be for the worse?</p>

<p>But all plans had had to be given up, and the younger
folk consoled themselves with much golf and tennis, and
flung themselves into these things with the gusto of players
whose time might be short.</p>

<p>But, among them all, bad as things looked, there was
still—except in the mind of the Colonel, and perhaps also
of Mr Dare,—a strong undercurrent of feeling that so
incredible a catastrophe as a general European war, in
this year of grace 1914, was impossible. Things had
looked threatening before, time and again, and the clouds
had rolled by without breaking. The men at the head
of affairs, Mr Asquith and Sir Edward Grey, were eminently
safe and experienced, and pre-eminently set on peace. It
was all mighty interesting, thrilling indeed at times,
though the thrills of the evening were not seldom found
to have been wasted when they eagerly scanned the more
sedate morning papers. But it would—they could not
but believe—all end in smoke, as it had so often done
before.</p>

<p>And so the younger folk got all the thrills the papers
could afford them, and all the enjoyment out of life that
was to be had under the circumstances; and no one, from
their merry talk and laughter, would have imagined that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span>
just across the water issues so tremendous for the future
of the world were surely and quickly coming to grips.</p>

<p>Gregor MacLean lived with his widowed mother at
White Lodge, on the other side of Willstead Common. He
was an only son, but, through the good Scotch common-sense
of his parents, had escaped the usual penalty of only
sons. He was in fact a genuinely good fellow, somewhat
reserved and unexpressive of his feelings, and in no way
spoiled either by his mother’s delight in him or the good-sized
shoes he had stepped into at his father’s death.</p>

<p>He was on the Stock Exchange, in his late father’s firm,
Dymoke and MacLean, of Draper’s Gardens. But the
Stock Exchange was for the time being dead, and as
Gregor said he saved in every way,—money, gray matter,
and nervous energy—by stopping at home, he stopped at
home and enjoyed himself,—gauging the pulse of affairs
by the price of Consols and the Bank-rate in the evening
and morning papers, and laying in stores of health on the
links, while yet there was time, against the demands the
future might make upon him.</p>

<p>The firm of Dymoke and MacLean was of long-standing
and high repute. It had a solid old connection which at
the best of times did little in the way of speculation, and
never dreamed of realising when things were at their worst.
It did, occasionally, when the bottom had fallen out of
things generally, confer ponderously with the heads of the
firm and empower them to buy for it good old reliable
stock which the less fortunate had had to jettison, and
sometimes it invested on a large scale, as provision for
younger sons and unmarried daughters. And so the
business was an eminently safe one and satisfactorily
profitable, and old John Dymoke could sit comfortably
in his big swing-chair in his office in Draper’s Gardens, no
matter what wild storms swept the Street outside, and
young Gregor could spend his days on the links with
perfect equanimity, though the virus of possible war had
thrown the Exchanges of the world into convulsions such
as they had not known for generations.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p>

<p>Mr Dymoke played neither golf nor tennis. He loved
Draper’s Gardens and the society of his old cronies of the
Exchange. Gregor MacLean took great interest both in
golf and tennis and in the play of Miss Honor Dare, and
looked upon Draper’s Gardens as one of the necessities
of a comfortable existence but not as a place to spend more
time in than was absolutely imperative.</p>

<p>And that is how he came to be spending profitable days
on the links while his less-pleasantly-situated fellows were
worrying themselves gray over the slowly unfolding developments
of international politics.</p>

<p>Between him and Honor there existed an entente cordiale
which Gregor hoped in time to consolidate into a more
comprehensive alliance. Honor understood him very well,—far
better than he understood her, and she was not
averse to an eventual acquiescence with his hopes and
views as to her future. But in the meantime—partly
no doubt as the result of her close intimacy with Victoria
Luard—she was in no hurry to surrender her entire freedom
of action even for what most girls would have considered
the higher estate of an affiance with Gregor MacLean.</p>

<p>She liked him better than any of the other young men
to whom her pretty face and comradely ways proved so
great an attraction. He was, as she not infrequently told
him, if anything too well endowed with this world’s goods.
So well that no incentive to arduous work was left him.</p>

<p>To which he would reply that you couldn’t judge of a
fellow entirely by his form at tennis or his handicap on
the links. She should see him on ’Change, wrestling with
beasts at Ephesus, and carrying fortunes on his bare
head.</p>

<p>At which Honor’s merry laugh would ring out and set
him to soul-searching for means of approving himself to
her in larger and loftier ways.</p>

<p>Between Noel Dare and Vic also there existed a distinct
feeling of something more than friendliness, which was not
without its humorous aspects both to themselves and their
families.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p>

<p>They had known one another intimately for ten years.
At the beginning, when they were both about of an age—between
eight and nine—Noel had genially bullied her
and Honor to his heart’s content, ordered them about,
pulled their pig-tails when he pleased, and called them
kids, and they had accepted his masterfulness as quite in
the natural order of things.</p>

<p>By the time they reached fourteen they were on a level,
and Noel found his powers of command over them gone.
He might order, but they only laughed and went their
own way.</p>

<p>And now, at nineteen, their positions were reversed.
Victoria had developed into a young woman of advanced
and very decided views, with aims in life and immense
energy in carrying them out. And Noel felt himself little
more than a schoolboy in her presence.</p>

<p>As to touching her hair!—it would have been a desecration!
He never dreamed of it,—not of actually doing it
anyway. It was something even to touch her hand. And
he sombrely said to himself at times that she was getting
beyond him. And he doubted within himself, whether
even the most assiduous devotion to St Mary Axe could
ever place him in the position he aspired to regarding her.</p>

<p>They all four came clattering into the hall at Oakdene
one afternoon, after a splodgy round of the links, damp
and bedraggled and thirsting for tea. Auntie Mitt had it
served in next to no time, and between little sips at her own
cup sat busily knitting and listening to their wonderful
flow of spirits, which found vent in a jargon that was still
utterly unintelligible to her, in spite of the amount of it to
which in her time she had listened.</p>

<p>But by the time they had finished their third cups they
had fought the battle all through again, had explained
away all their failures to the entire satisfaction of those
chiefly concerned, had replumed themselves on their
more outstanding successes, and then, as the boys lit their
cigarettes with sighs of satisfaction, their minds came down
again to mundane affairs.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span></p>

<p>“Where’s Uncle Tony, Auntie Mitt?” asked Victoria.</p>

<p>“Sir Anthony is just coming up the drive, my dear,”
said Auntie Mitt, with a glance out of the window. “He
went down to the village to see if there was any news,”
and Uncle Tony came in, paper in hand.</p>

<p>“Ah-ha!” said he, “Mudlarks!...”</p>

<p>“And as merry, sir,” said Gregor. “Damp but undaunted”....</p>

<p>“Dirty but not dispirited,” said Honor briskly.</p>

<p>“Defeated but defiant,” said Vic. “Your turn, No.”</p>

<p>“Oh, dash!” said Noel, who was not over-good at that
kind of mental gymnastics.</p>

<p>“My copyright!—since Victoria-who-should-by-rights-have-been-Balaclava
won’t allow me to say damn,” said
the Colonel.</p>

<p>“Of course I won’t,—with Auntie Mitt, sitting there
listening with all her <span class="locked">ears——”</span></p>

<p>“I heard it not infrequently before you were thought
of, my dear,” said Auntie Mitt, with her little bird-like
uplook and smile. “It was, I think, much more commonly
used even in the best society than it is now. I
believe even the Duke himself”....</p>

<p>“Ah—he needed me to keep him in order. I wonder
you didn’t do it yourself, Auntie Mitt.”</p>

<p>“Oh,—my dear!”</p>

<p>“Any news, sir?” asked Gregor.</p>

<p>“Bank-rate 8 per <span class="locked">cent——”</span></p>

<p>“Deuter-on-omy!”</p>

<p>“And the Stock Exchange closed till further notice.”</p>

<p>“Gee-willikins! Things are shaping badly then,
sir!”</p>

<p>“Very badly, I fear. Russia and Germany are practically
at war, though no formal declaration has yet been
made, I believe.”</p>

<p>“And how do we stand now, sir?” asked Noel eagerly.</p>

<p>“On the brink, my boy. Sir Edward Grey is still
working his hardest for peace. But, personally, I should
say the chances are of the smallest.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p>

<p>“I wonder where Lois and Ray have managed to get
to,” said Honor anxiously.</p>

<p>“You trust Ray, my dear. They’ll be all right. I just
called in to reassure your mother. I knew her first thought
would be for them when she heard the news.”</p>

<p>“But surely we ought to have heard from them before
<span class="locked">this——”</span></p>

<p>“Not under the circumstances. Nothing would pass
into or out of Germany the moment they began to mobilise,—no
letters, no telegrams, certainly no foreigners. But
they would start at the latest on Monday. This is Friday.
They ought certainly to be well on their way by this time.
But, you see, they may have had to take some roundabout
route,—perhaps off the beaten track. We shall
hear from them all right in time. They don’t cause me
the slightest anxiety.”</p>

<p>“Think of closing the Exchange! ... and eight per
cent! That shows what the big pots think of things anyway,”
said Gregor, beating a soft tattoo on the floor with
his heels in his amazement. “Shows I was right in stopping
away too! Sight better here than mouching about
down there! I wonder when they’ll open shop again.”</p>

<p>“If we’re right into it—as we shall be,” said the Colonel,
with conviction, “it’s impossible to say how things will
go on. We’ve never had such a crisis before, you see, and I
don’t suppose any living man can foresee just how things
will work out. Money will be very tight, I expect. Provisions
may go up beyond anything we’ve ever known.
That will depend on the fleet. If we can hold the <span class="locked">seas——”</span></p>

<p>“Why, of course we can, sir. What’s our fleet for?”
said Gregor.</p>

<p>“They have some ships too, I believe.”</p>

<p>“They have, and we’ll give them beans if they’ll give us
half a chance,” said Noel.</p>

<p>“It might be wise to lay in a stock of provisions,” suggested
Miss Mitten. “I remember during the—I mean,
hearing—that food went to extraordinary prices during
the Crimean War.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span></p>

<p>“Go it, Auntie Mitt! We’ll go up to the Army and
Navy to-morrow and clear them out,” laughed Vic. “This
really sounds like war times.”</p>

<p>“You’d better load us up too, while you’re at it, Vic,”
said Honor, “or maybe we’ll be sitting by the roadside
crying for a crust.”</p>

<p>“Wait a moment, you giddy young people,” said Uncle
Tony, nodding his gray head sagely at them. “Let us
look at this matter for a moment. Suppose everybody
acts on that idea. What is going to be the result?”</p>

<p>“The bulls will clear the market and outsiders will go
short,” said Gregor.</p>

<p>“Exactly! And the outsiders would be in the proportion
of a hundred—perhaps a thousand—to one. I’ve
no doubt some—perhaps even many—will do as Auntie
Mitt proposes. It will naturally suggest itself to the
provident housekeeper,”—with a conciliatory little bow
to the already conscience-stricken little lady,—“but the
effect will be bad all round. It will drive up prices unnecessarily.
It will deplete stocks. It will emphasise
the gap between the rich and the poor. Carried to extremes
it might well lead to riot and revolution, for starving
men stick at nothing.”—Miss Mitten clasped her thin little
black-mittened hands as though she saw them coming
and begged for mercy, and her face was woe-begone. “Indeed,
in such a case, I would hold a man justified in
storming any house which had provisioned itself in such a
<span class="locked">way——”</span></p>

<p>Miss Mitten unclasped her hands and waved them at
him in gentle deprecation, saying almost with a sob, “I
am sorry, Sir Anthony. I stand rebuked. The matter
had not presented itself to me in that light. But I assure
you I was thinking of you all rather than of myself, or
indeed of anybody else. I was in the wrong. I see it.”</p>

<p>“You never thought of yourself before anybody else in
all your life, my dear,” said the Colonel gallantly. “We
know you were thinking only of us. But all the same, as
you see, it would be an unpatriotic thing to do and we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>
will set our faces against it. If prices go up—as they
will—we’ll pay ’em. If supplies run short we’ll do the
best we can. We can always fall back on porridge,”—which
was Miss Mitten’s particular detestation.</p>

<p>“It is said to be very sustaining,” she said meekly, at
which he choked violently through politely endeavouring
to swallow a chuckle.</p>

<p>“How’ll we be off for men, sir?” asked Noel.</p>

<p>“Short as the dev—the deuce, my boy. Have you
heard from your London Scottish yet?”</p>

<p>“Not yet, sir. There’s hopes of a Second Battalion,
but it’s not decided yet. I shall go up again <span class="locked">to-morrow——”</span></p>

<p>“I’ll go with you,” said Gregor, with sudden decision.</p>

<p>“And we’ll sit on their door-step till they make up
their minds and take us on. Golf and tennis are off, my
children,”—with a nod at the girls. “It’s pipes and
sporrans and skean-dhus now, and ‘Up with the Bonnets
of Bonnie Dundee!’”</p>

<p>“Good lads! When the need is known they’ll all come
flocking up. The trouble is that you can’t make even
volunteers into fighting-men without training. We ought
to have had you all at it years ago. Then we’d be ready
now.”</p>

<p>“We’ll do our best, and pick it all up as fast as we can.
It’ll be better business than footling about the links anyway,”
said Noel.</p>

<p>“Rather!” said Gregor.</p>

<p>And the girls took no umbrage at that, but they seemed
a trifle quieter than usual.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap d"><span class="smcap1">Dr Connal Dare</span> was striding along the passage
leading to the general room when he met old
Jackson.</p>

<p>He and old Jackson met in that passage every morning,
and always the same thing occurred.</p>

<p>Old Jackson, with the fatigues of another night of
hideous dreams still heavy upon him, awaited Con’s
coming with anxious face. As soon as he saw him in the
distance his dull face lightened with a look of expectancy.
And at sight of him Con’s face began to crinkle up amusedly
at the corners of the eyes.</p>

<p>“Doctor! Won’t you smile for me?” the old man
asked, as they drew near one another, and Con set his
broad shoulders to the wall and laughed out in spite of
himself and the regularity of the proceeding.</p>

<p>The weary old eyes gazed up at him intently, and the
woe-begone old face lost some of its over-carefulness. A
twisted grin flickered over it, as if in spite of itself, and
then he said, “Thank you, Doctor! Sight o’ you does
me a sight o’ good,” and shambled off re-inspirited, while
Con, with the crinkles still in the corners of his eyes, continued
his rounds.</p>

<p>But, though he had laughed as usual for old Jackson’s
benefit, and though the remains of the laugh lingered in
the corners of his eyes, he was feeling graver than he ever
remembered feeling in his life before. For he had just
been reading, over his breakfast, the momentous news that
Great Britain, having received no reply to her ultimatum
respecting the neutrality of Belgium, had declared war on
Germany. And that was enough to make any man grave
indeed.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p>

<p>He was on his way back from the women’s hospital
wards, where he had two or three cases which were causing
him some anxiety, when one of the attendants caught
sight of him and came hurrying up.</p>

<p>“I’ve just taken a letter to your room, sir. Special, I
think. I didn’t know where you were.”</p>

<p>“Thank you, Barton! I’ll go along and get it,” and
he knew what that letter was likely to be.</p>

<p>And it was. A long official envelope with O.H.M.S. in
peremptorily solid black letters above the address ‘Dr
Connal Dare, R.A.M.C.’</p>

<p>He ripped it open and found himself no more Dr Dare
of Birch Grove Asylum but Dr and Lieutenant Dare of
the Royal Army Medical Corps, under orders to report
himself within twenty-four hours at Medical Head-Quarters
in London.</p>

<p>He read the orders quietly, and stood for a moment
considering them and himself, and the whole matter
aloofly. His eyes wandered thoughtfully round the room—over
his books, his few pictures and photographs of the
home-folks. It was quite within the possibilities that he
might never see any of these things again. War was full
of mischances, even in the non-combatant arm.</p>

<p>He was all ready, kit packed, notes of his cases carefully
written out. He added a word or two to these and swung
away to see the Chief, his mind hard at work on another
matter.</p>

<p>Two hours later, all very spick and span in his uniform,
he had deposited his baggage in the Luggage-Office at
London Bridge, had invaded St. Barnabas’s and interviewed
the Matron, and had masterfully talked her into
breaking the rules, or at all events straining them to
such a point that the desire of his heart could creep
through.</p>

<p>He had been one of her favoured boys when he was
there and they were on very friendly terms, and, as he
explained to her with extreme earnestness, it was, after
all, only a technical breach and—it was war-time. He<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>
tried to prove that they were all under martial law but
she only smiled at him. He might be. She was not.</p>

<p>Still, she was willing to admit that circumstances—such
as a general European War—altered cases. She
had been young herself and she understood fully how he
felt. As a matter of duty she put it to him to consider
whether it was the best thing to do, and he proved to her,
with his most irresistible smile, that it was. And finally
she sent an attendant to find Nurse Luard.</p>

<p>Alma came in in a few minutes and became a radiant
illumination at sight of Con in his uniform—a radiance of
sparkling eyes and tell-tale cheeks.</p>

<p>“I was expecting you,” she said happily.</p>

<p>“You are to arrange your work on somebody else’s
shoulders and come out with me for the afternoon, Alma.
Matron is not quite sure if it is wisdom or <span class="locked">foolishness——”</span></p>

<p>“We will prove it to be wisdom. I’ll be ready in ten
minutes. Will you wait?”—as she sailed away.</p>

<p>“I’ll wait ten minutes,” grinned Con.</p>

<p>“When do you expect to go?” asked the Matron.</p>

<p>“As soon as the men go. And the sooner they get
across the better. We ought to be in Belgium now.
The Germans are hammering away at Liége, and I doubt
if the Belgians singlehanded can do much. They never
struck one as particularly martial.”</p>

<p>“Well, I hope you’ll come through it safely. It would
be a terrible thing for you both if ...” and she nodded
gravely.</p>

<p>“No good forecasting troubles. The worst ones don’t
come as a rule, and it’s no good thinking about them.
We’re under the Red Cross, and they fight straight and
respect it.”</p>

<p>“Shells and bullets are no respecters of persons, and in
war one never knows what may happen.”</p>

<p>“Anyway it will be a mighty satisfaction to know that
we belong to one another.”</p>

<p>“We must hope you are doing the right thing. It’s a
very natural thing, I acknowledge.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span></p>

<p>“And the natural thing is the right thing as a rule,
now isn’t it?”</p>

<p>“Sometimes,”—and Alma came in, her dark eyes
dancing and her face still flushed with the thought of the
great adventure on which they were bound.</p>

<p>The Matron shook hands with them both very warmly,
and wished them ‘God-speed!’ very heartily, and then
they were gliding away in a taxi to Doctors’ Commons,
and from there to the nearest Registrar’s Office, and they
came out of it a few minutes later man and wife.</p>

<p>“We’ll have a little wedding-feast at the Savoy under
the guise of lunch,” said Con gaily. “I had breakfast
at eight. And then we’ll taxi all the way home. I can’t
possibly permit you to mingle with ordinary people in
ordinary trains yet. Besides, I want to kiss you all the
way down, and there’s nothing like a closed <span class="locked">taxi——”</span></p>

<p>“Dear, dear! What experience you seem to have
had!”</p>

<p>“Not a quarter enough, as you’ll see, Mrs Dare. Here
we are! Now we’ll get a table in the balcony and watch
old Father Thames rolling down to the sea.”</p>

<p>“The tide is coming in,” said Alma, as she drew off her
gloves.</p>

<p>“Good omen! The rising tide!—and here’s the sun
to add his blessing,”—as the watery gray clouds up above
parted and let a gleam of sunshine through.</p>

<p>They had the most memorable little lunch of their lives
there,—with the turgid yellow-gray flood brimming below
them, dotted here and there with a great creeping water-beetle
of a black barge;—and the gray and black spans
of the bridges, up-stream and down, looming in and out
of the picture in the wavering sunlight;—and the yellow
trams spinning to and fro like shuttles through the gray
web of life;—and the tall chimneys and the shot tower
on the opposite bank, with the ragged wharves at their feet;—and
the Embankment gardens and trees and sauntering
mid-day crowds, all just as usual and manifesting no undue
concern about anything.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span></p>

<p>“And we’re actually at war with Germany at last,”
said Con, as they sat looking down on it all.</p>

<p>“I’m glad we’re taking it so quietly,” said Alma. “We
mean business.”</p>

<p>Their very polite waiter attended punctiliously to all
their wants, acknowledging all orders with a grave inclination
of the head and never once opening his mouth.
He might have been dumb for any evidence they had to
the contrary. Between courses he hovered about watchfully,
seemed interested in Con’s uniform, and distinctly
appreciative of Alma’s nurse’s costume and general
appearance. Even Con’s very generous tip he only
acknowledged with a final silent bow.</p>

<p>When Alma commented on such refinement of taciturnity,
Con suggested that he was possibly a German
looking forward without enjoyment to a change of occupation
which would be less to his taste.</p>

<p>They had a delightful run out to Willstead, and Con
made best use of his opportunities, having taken care
to seat his wife directly behind the driver.</p>

<p>All too quickly they were there, taking Mrs Dare Senior’s
breath away by the magnitude of their announcement.</p>

<p>“Mother—my wife!” was Con’s little way of breaking
the news. “I have to leave to-morrow morning so we
decided to get married to-day.”</p>

<p>“Well!” gasped his mother, and then took Alma to her
heart and kissed her warmly.</p>

<p>“He never could have made a better choice, dear,”
she said. “But it is very sudden.... I hope it is wisely
done.”</p>

<p>“We think it is, mother,” said Alma joyously. “Whatever
happens we have this, and it has made us very happy.”</p>

<p>“Have you seen the Colonel?”</p>

<p>“Not yet,” said Con. “Mothers come before Uncles.
We’ll go along presently and make him jump. Auntie
Mitt will probably have a fit.”</p>

<p>“Have you had any lunch,—or did this great business
make you forget it?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span></p>

<p>“We had our wedding breakfast at one o’clock in the
balcony of the Savoy,” said Alma. “It was delightful.”</p>

<p>“Then you’re ready for a cup of tea,” and she rang the
bell and ordered it in as quickly as it could be got ready.</p>

<p>“But won’t this mean your giving up your post, Alma?”
asked Mrs Dare thoughtfully, as soon as she had time to
look at the matter all round.</p>

<p>“Not at present. Matron had to be told of course.
But Con is one of her old favourites, and she is to say
nothing about it for a time. You see, if the war amounts
to anything and goes on long, they are sure to be called
on for nurses to go to the front and they’ll be <span class="locked">short-handed——”</span></p>

<p>“And they couldn’t afford to dispense with the best
nurse they’ve got, on a mere technicality,” said Con.
“And as soon as it’s all over I’m to join old Jamieson in
Harley Street, and we’ll set up housekeeping—probably
with him. He’s got room enough for four families in that
big house of his.”</p>

<p>“Well, well!” said Mrs Dare, and said no more, but her
mother’s heart prayed fervently that no whiff of the war-cloud
might dim the bright and hopeful outlook of these
eager young lives.</p>

<p>They chatted quietly over their tea, of Lois and Ray, and
of Noel and young MacLean and their war-like cravings,
and of Vic and Honor, and all the other little family matters
in which they were all interested.</p>

<p>“I’d love to see those boys in kilts,” said Alma.</p>

<p>“They don’t know yet if there will be a Second Battalion,”
said Mrs Dare. “But if they don’t get into the
London Scottish they’ll join something else. They are
quite set on going.”</p>

<p>“It’s only natural,” said Con.</p>

<p>“All the same I can’t help hoping they may not have to
go to the front.”</p>

<p>At which Con shook his head. “I’m afraid you must not
count on that, mother dear. One never knows what may
happen in war, of course. But everyone who knows says<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span>
the Germans are mighty fighters, and they’ve been preparing
for this for many years. In fact some folks seem
to think their big war-machine may even be too perfect,—so
very perfect that if anything goes wrong with any part
of it it will all tumble to pieces.”</p>

<p>“I wish it would and smother that wretched Kaiser in
the ruins,” said Alma heartily.</p>

<p>“I don’t think it likely. They are very wonderful folks.
In organization, and scientific attainment generally, they
have made us all sit up and they beat us still. There is
just one thing in this matter in which we have the advantage
over them.”</p>

<p>“Ships? Guns?” queried Alma.</p>

<p>“No,—greater than either,—the simple fact that we’re
in the right and they are utterly in the wrong. And that,
you’ll find, will tell in the long run. They are forcing on
this war to serve their own selfish ends; and we, thank
God, have no axe of our own to grind in the matter. We’re
out to make an end of wars, if that is possible.”</p>

<p>“That is worth fighting for,” said his mother heartily.</p>

<p>“Ay! Worth dying for if necessary.... It will be
very hot work, I expect.... But we’ve got to win,—or
go under. And that is unthinkable. But the cost may
be heavy.”</p>

<p>“Our thoughts ... and our prayers will be with you
all the time, my boy.... May God grant us all a safe
deliverance!” said Mrs Dare fervently.</p>

<p>“And that will help to buck us all up,” said Con cheerfully.
“But we mustn’t get morbid. Suppose we go
over and break the good news to the Colonel and Auntie
Mitt, Mrs Connal Dare!”</p>

<p>“I’m ready. Do it gently, Con. Remember they are
older than we are.”</p>

<p>“Good news never hurts. Come on!”</p>

<p>Noel and Gregor MacLean, while anxiously awaiting
news from Headquarters as to the possible formation of
a Reserve Battalion, were preparing themselves for the
chance by developing their skill in musketry at the private<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>
shooting-school on the heath not far away. They went
up every day and spent many pounds at the targets and
then at clay pigeons, and in addition set themselves
rigorous route-marches of ten and fifteen miles to get themselves
and their feet into good condition. And each
night they came home thick with mud and hungry as
hunters, and well-satisfied that they were doing everything
in their power to fit themselves for the real thing when the
hoped-for call should come.</p>

<p>So Vic and Honor were thrown more than ever upon their
own congenial companionship.</p>

<p>They were inseparable, and the days not being long
enough for adequate expression of their feelings, they
generally spent the nights together also. And Mrs Dare
and Auntie Mitt were growing accustomed to the sudden
announcements,—“Vic’s sleeping with me to-night,
Mother,” and,—“Auntie Mitt, Honor’s going to sleep here
to-night,”—and the older folk made no objection, since
it pleased the girls and alternately brightened each house
in turn. The times were somewhat out of joint and anything
that tended towards mitigation of circumstances was
to be made the most of.</p>

<p>And so, when Con and Alma walked into Oakdene,
they found the family party still lingering over their tea-cups
in the hall;—Miss Mitten’s knitting-needles going
like clock-work, the Colonel expatiating on the monstrous
perfidy of Germany in attacking Belgium, the girls nibbling
their final cakes and listening somewhat abstractedly,
wondering no doubt what those boys were doing to-day,
and feeling that life—and certainly golf—without them
was distinctly thin and flavourless.</p>

<p>“Ah—ha!” said Con magniloquently, “Here are the
tribes assembled together. Colonel!”—with a punctilious
military salute,—“Auntie Mitt!—and you two little
girls!—we have come to gather your views on the subject
of marriage. A worthy subject! Don’t all speak at
once.”</p>

<p>“It is usually accounted an honourable estate,” said the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span>
Colonel, beaming on them, while Miss Mitten peered up,
bird-like, but knitted on for dear life, and the girls looked
anticipative.</p>

<p>“We thank you!” said Con with a comprehensive bow.
“Then you will permit me to introduce to you—Mrs
Connal Dare,”—at which, as he swung Alma gracefully
forward by the hand, they all sprang to fullest life as though
pricked by an electric shock.</p>

<p>“Well—I’m da-asht!”</p>

<p>“Alma! My <em>dear</em>!”</p>

<p>“Con!—Is it true?”</p>

<p>“Oh, you dear, horribly mean <span class="locked">things!”—</span></p>

<p>“To do us out of it all like that!”</p>

<p>“Horrid of them, but awfully jolly all the same!”</p>

<p>“You see,” said Con,—when Alma had kissed them all
round, and he had insisted on one also, to the immense
gratification of the girls,—“This is war-time, and I am off
to-morrow, and from my earliest youth I have been taught
never to put off till to-morrow what I could do to-day. And
so,—well!”—with a wave of the hand towards Alma,—“There
it is!... We knew we had your approval, sir.
We knew Auntie Mitt would graciously accept the fait
accompli. And we hoped from the bottom of our hearts
that Vic and Honor would in time forgive us and receive
us back into their favour. And—we’re very happy over
it.”</p>

<p>There was no possible doubt about that, and the Colonel,
who was the only one who had any right to take exception
to the matter, was far too good a sportsman to cast any
shadow of a shadow upon their happiness. He had witnessed
very many similar cases, and most of them had
turned out very happily—when they had had the chance.
It was that possibility only that added a touch of solemnity
to his <span class="locked">benediction,—</span></p>

<p>“Well, well! You’ve certainly given us a most delightful
surprise, you two. War, as I know by experience, is a
mighty crystalliser of the emotions, and essentially a promoter
of prompt decisions. God grant you all happiness,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>
my dears!” and he kissed Alma as if she had been his very
daughter, and wrung Con’s hand warmly.</p>

<p>“You look well in khaki, my boy,” he said, with his eyes
still glistening.</p>

<p>“And feel well, sir. I am, I think, a man of peace,
but the uniform makes one feel distinctly soldierly, and if I
find it absolutely necessary to knock out a German or two
I believe I could do it.”</p>

<p>“What with?” asked Vic, fingering his empty
scabbard.</p>

<p>“Oh, with my fists if needs be. But I’m for binding
not for wounding. It would only be under a sense of the
sternest necessity that I should give that German a daud
on the neb.”</p>

<p>“I think I shall be a nurse,” said Honor. “You do look
spiffing, Alma.”</p>

<p>“Too late for this war, my child. ‘It’s a long long way
to Tipperary,’ and this is to be the last war. Still there’s
always plenty to do even in peace-times.”</p>

<p>“Will you be going out too, Al?” asked Vic.</p>

<p>“I don’t know yet. There’s sure to be a call for nurses.
Wouldn’t it be delightful to go out and meet Con there?”
and her face was radiant at the thought.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare had made them promise to come back for
dinner, so that Mr Dare might have the chance of seeing
them also. When, in due course, they went across
they found him just in from the City, and Con was
struck with the change these last ten days had made in
him.</p>

<p>He made, indeed, for their benefit a brave assumption of
cheerfulness and gave them very hearty greeting, but pretended
to be scandalised at their escapade, and expressed
the hope that the Colonel had done his duty and told them
what he thought about them.</p>

<p>They reassured him on that point and enquired for the
latest news.</p>

<p>“Things are moving fast,” he said soberly. “John
Burns and Lord Morley leave the Cabinet. Government<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span>
takes over all the railways. Jellicoe is to command the
Fleet, French the Army, and Kitchener is to be Minister
of War.”</p>

<p>“That’s good. He’ll stand no nonsense anyway.”</p>

<p>“The Germans are attacking Liége furiously. Everyone
is amazed that the Belgians can stand up against them for a
day. But every hour they can hold them is gain to us and
France. We are both taken unawares, you see. And the
fact of their tremendous onslaught shows that they were
all ready,—more than ready. What the upshot of it all
will be it’s hard to say. Germany is a very big nut to
crack.”</p>

<p>“And how are business matters, father?” asked Con
quietly, between themselves.</p>

<p>“Bad, Con. And likely to be worse. There is to be a
big issue of paper,—ten-shilling and one-pound notes,
and Lloyd George appeals very earnestly to people not
to draw gold from the banks. He is doing all he can.
But business is at a standstill, and as to getting in
any money from the Continent—! That’s all gone, I’m
afraid.”</p>

<p>“I’ve got a few hundreds saved. Would that be any
use, sir?”</p>

<p>“You’re a married man now and your wife must be your
first consideration,” said his father with a grave smile,
which, however, conveyed to Con his appreciation of his
desire to help. “And your uncle-in-law has very generously
offered me assistance if I need it. At present
I don’t. If things come to the worst I may perhaps
make some arrangement with him. You see it’s a
case of the devil and the deep sea. On the one
hand contracts made which I’m expected to fill, and,
on the other, total stoppage of the wherewithal to fill
them. And again goods I’ve paid for here and shipped,
and no payment forthcoming for them from Germany
and Austria.”</p>

<p>“There must be many in the same position. Won’t a
state of war bar all unpleasantness?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p>

<p>“It’s hard to say. We’ve had no experience of such a
state of things, you see. No doubt there will have to be
give and take all round and some working arrangement
come to. I think there’s a general disposition that way.
But it’s very trying business,” he said wearily.</p>

<p>“I’m sure it is, sir. I wish I could be of some
help.”</p>

<p>“You have your own work cut out for you, my boy, and
fine work. It will be a trial to you to leave now. But I
suppose you considered all that.”</p>

<p>“We did, sir. It is trying to have to part so soon, but
it will be a help to us both to feel that we belong to one
another whatever comes.”</p>

<p>“I hope to God you’ll come through all right, Con.
For all our sakes take every care you can, and don’t run
into any unnecessary dangers.”</p>

<p>“Trust me for that, sir.”</p>

<p>Then the Colonel and the girls came across “for coffee
and smokes, and to see how Mrs Con was bearing up,”
as Vic said, and they all fell to talk about the war and the
future, and on the Colonel’s part to the extraction of the
latest news from the City.</p>

<p>“I hope you are not upset by these young people’s precipitancy,”
said Mrs Dare quietly to the Colonel, under
cover of the general talk beyond.</p>

<p>“On the contrary, my dear—, let me see, what <em>is</em> the
exact relationship between us now? My niece, who is my
daughter as it were, is now your daughter also. And your
boy is my nephew-in-law. What does that make me to
you?”</p>

<p>“I give it up,” smiled Mrs Dare. “We will remain
the best of friends.”</p>

<p>“This makes us even closer than that. However, as I
was saying, I’m entirely and absolutely pleased with them.
They’ve done the natural thing under the circumstances.
I’ve seen the same thing happen many times before, and
it generally turns out well. There are always risks in war,
of <span class="locked">course——”</span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span></p>

<p>“And as to that we can only leave them in God’s hands,
and hope for the best.”</p>

<p>“Amen to that, best of friends! My girl has at all
events shown wisdom in her choice of a mother. We will
hope ... and—er—pray”—he added, with a touch of
the naïve shyness of a man who was in the habit of keeping
his inmost feelings very strictly to himself,—“for their
welfare and happiness.”</p>

<p>“Yes.... The times are very trying and will probably
be more so, but I’m inclined to think they may be the
means of bringing out all that is best in us all.”</p>

<p>“War does that ... as something of a set-off for the
darker side of it. For it also brings out the worst unfortunately.”</p>

<p>“Here are the boys,” said Mrs Dare, jumping up at
the sound of heavy boots on the path outside. “They
generally come in together and they’re always hungry.
I’m the commissariat,” and she hastened away to see to
their provisioning.</p>

<p>“Hel-lo!” cried Noel, in a pair of old riding-breeches
and puttees, at sight of the assembly, while Gregor,
similarly apparelled, looked eagerly over his shoulder in
hopes of an approving spark in Honor’s eye. “Quick,
Mac!—salute, ye spalpeen, or ye’ll be shot at dawn.
Here’s a blooming little Horficer!” and they both drew
themselves up and saluted Con in smartest possible military
style.</p>

<p>“Why,” prattled Noel. “I’m blowed if it isn’t just old
Con,—and Alma! So you two have managed to hit the
same day this time.”</p>

<p>“Yes, we’ve managed it for once, No,” said Con.
“How are you, Mac? Allow me to introduce you to
my wife,” with a proprietorial wave towards Alma.</p>

<p>“No!—really?” jerked Noel.</p>

<p>“Really and truly,” laughed Alma. “I hope it isn’t
objectionable to you in any way.”</p>

<p>“Lord, no! Quite the other way. If there’s two
things I admire about old Con they’re his uniform and his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span>
jolly old cheek. Think of him going and getting you to
marry him right away like that.”</p>

<p>“He’s off to-morrow morning, you see, so I thought it
best to make sure of him.”</p>

<p>“He’s really going? I wish we were.”</p>

<p>“How do things stand with you now, Mac?” asked
Con. “Any nearer bull’s-eye?”</p>

<p>“There’s rumours of a possible Second Battalion being
formed, but nothing definite. We’ve put our names down,
and meanwhile we’re getting ourselves into good shape.
If they don’t buck up and do something soon we shall
try elsewhere. But we’d sooner be London Scottish than
anything else.”</p>

<p>“You see, the girls there think we’d look so well in
kilts,” broke in Noel.</p>

<p>“What on earth gave you any such impression as that,
my child?” asked Honor.</p>

<p>“Oh, we can see it in your eyes.”</p>

<p>“Ah,—little boys see what they want to see sometimes.”</p>

<p>“When we can. Can’t always, can we, Mac?”</p>

<p>“Come along, you hungry ones,” called Mrs Dare from
the doorway, and they sped away for a very necessary
wash before eating.</p>

<p>Alma’s short leave expired at ten o’clock, and as Con
had promised to return her safely to the hospital by that
hour, they had to set off in such time as would allow a
margin for contingencies.</p>

<p>Their good-byes were outwardly cheerful enough, and as
exuberant as high and hopeful spirits could make them.
But, below all the surface confidence and fortitude, not
one of their hearts but was saying to itself—“This is the
beginning of partings,” and was asking itself—“Shall we
ever all meet again?” And the necessity for smothering,
as far as might be, the chill possibilities evoked
by these importunate voices, made the younger folk
but the more outwardly determined on most valiant
gaiety.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span></p>

<p>“Meet you across there, maybe, old man,” said Noel.</p>

<p>“I’ll be on the look-out for you. Do my best for you
in case of need.”</p>

<p>“Do be careful not to lose one another on the way
home,” begged Vic, with an assumption of anxiety. “You
are very young, you see, and naturally somewhat entêtés
at the moment.”</p>

<p>“I’m inclined to think we really ought to go with them,”
said Honor. “They may wander away hand-in-hand, and
never be heard of again. Get your hat, Vic, and we’ll
go.”</p>

<p>“Right-o!” said Noel. “We’re on. We’ll go along too
to take care of you.”</p>

<p>“Then we’ll stop at home,” said Honor resignedly.
“We couldn’t think of taking you out again after your
hard day’s play.”</p>

<p>“To say nothing of the fact that your southern extremities
are inches thick with mud,” said Vic. “Everybody
we met would think we’d taken to walking out with
the gardener’s <span class="locked">boys——”</span></p>

<p>“Or the young butcherlings. Yes, we’re sorry, dears,”—to
Con and Alma, “but under the circumstances I’m
afraid you’ll have to find your way by yourselves.”</p>

<p>“We’ll manage somehow,” said Con, and in their good-byes
to the older folk there were suspiciously shining eyes
and lingering hand-grips and convulsive kissings which
told their own tales.</p>

<p>“The beginning of partings!”... “Shall we ever all
meet again?” ... and hearts were heavy though faces
smiled.</p>

<p>“God bless you both and keep you from all harm!”
was Mrs. Dare’s last word, and with that in their hearts
they ran across to say good-bye to Auntie Mitt, who said
exactly the same words and made no assumption of anything
but gloomiest forebodings as to the future.</p>

<p>As to the Colonel, when they had actually gone, he
blew his nose like a trumpet-blast, till his moustache
bristled white against the dark-redness of his face, and he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>
turned back into the room with a fervent,—“Damn the
Kaiser and all his works!... I trust you will excuse
me, best of friends!”</p>

<p>“I will excuse you,” said Mrs Dare. “It is terrible
for one man to have such power for ill in his hands.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">At</span> the station Con got another taxi.</p>

<p>“We could not stand the train to-night,” he said,
as they swept down into the high-road, and he
slipped an arm round her and drew her close and kissed
her. “This will be our last little spell together for some
time probably.... You’ve not felt any qualms or
regrets yet?”</p>

<p>“Do I feel as if I had?” and she nestled the closer
inside his protecting arm. “I shall never feel anything
but glad, Con, ... whatever comes. We belong to one
another and nothing can take that from us.... But
you will be very careful, dear, for my sake, won’t you?”</p>

<p>“I will, dear. Be sure of that.... For the rest, we
are in God’s hands and we must just leave it at that.”</p>

<p>They did not talk very much. It was enough to feel
one another so close in body and closer still in heart,—enough
to lie back in the shadow, with arms and hands
interwoven, while the taxi whirled in and out of the
lamp-lights, and Alma’s face, sweet and strong in the
restraint she was imposing on herself, swam up out of
the darkness like a beautiful cameo growing under the
unseen touch of a master-hand,—dim ... clear ...
perfect, to his hungry eyes, as the face of an angel in
its confident hope and trust ... then in a moment it
was gone, and all he had was the feel of her as he watched
for the first glimmer of her face again in the darkness.</p>

<p>They did not talk much, because there was so much to
say—so little need to say it—so much that could never
be put into words. Silence and nearness sufficed them,—the
silence of overfull hearts, the nearness of souls about
to part,—perhaps, as each well knew, for ever.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p>

<p>“Wife!” said Con one time, drawing her still closer,
though that had seemed impossible.</p>

<p>“My husband!” murmured Alma, and drew his head
down with her arm and kissed him passionately.</p>

<p>An unforgettable ride, and all too soon at an end.</p>

<p>Con stopped the cab a hundred yards this side of the
hospital, and they walked slowly on towards the great
gateway.</p>

<p>It was still one minute to ten as they stopped there in
its shadow. There was little traffic at that time of night
and few passers-by.</p>

<p>He took her face gently between his hands and held it
before him. He could not see it but he knew the pure
sweet eyes were looking straight up into his.</p>

<p>A big clock in the distance boomed the first stroke of
ten. Their time was up. He kissed her fervently, a
kiss for each stroke, and she kissed him back.</p>

<p>“May God in His great mercy have us both in His
keeping!” he said, hoarse with the depth of his feeling.</p>

<p>“Dear ... He will!”</p>

<p>He turned and pressed the button of the bell. The
door opened and, with one more look, full of confident
hope, she was gone—and in tears before the door closed,
but that he did not know.</p>

<p>With that last sweet sight of her—to him the fairest
vision of Faith and Hope and Love Incarnate that ever
was or could be—he turned and walked away along the
dark empty street, slowly and heavily, and felt his life
for the moment as dark and empty as the street.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">When</span> Lois Dare and Ray Luard came downstairs
on the morning of August 7, they found the dark-panelled
little salon of the ‘Golden Lion’ as cheerfully
bright as a blazing fire and a pale sunbeam could
make it; and outside, the upper alps of Urseren Thal
were swathed with long wreaths of mist, above which
the white tops of the Spitzberge shone like silver in the
sunshine.</p>

<p>Freda came hastening in with the coffee and milk and a
distressed face on their account.</p>

<p>“But it is too bad for you,” she burst out. “They
have just sent us word on the telephone that there will
be no diligence to-day, nor any more at all. All the horses
are wanted for the war,—ach!—the cursed war! It will
be the ruin of us all.”</p>

<p>“That’s all right, Freda,” said Lois cheerfully. “Don’t
worry about it on our account. We’ll manage quite
well.”</p>

<p>“We walked here, you see,” said Ray. “And we’ll
just walk on over the Furka and down the valley till we
get to Montreux—if there are no trains running.”</p>

<p>“But, mon Dieu, what a walk! To Montreux! It
will take you weeks!”</p>

<p>“Not a bit. We get along quicker than that. So get
our bill made out,—that’s a good girl, and we’ll start
as soon as we’ve finished breakfast.”</p>

<p>“Shall I put you up some lunch, monsieur and mademoiselle?”</p>

<p>“No,” said Ray, after a moment’s thought. “We’ll
have a proper lunch and a good rest at the Furkablick,—or
the Belvédère, if we can get that far, and then get on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span>
to Oberwald. I don’t want to stop at Gletsch,” at which
Freda smiled knowingly.</p>

<p>She added four different kinds of cheese to their menu,
buzzed about them to see that they laid in adequate
supplies of honey and blaeberry jam, and finally brought
them a bill which surprised them by its modesty and
provided Ray with a pocketful of change out of a five-pound
note.</p>

<p>From the length of time Freda took to bring back the
change he opined that she had had some difficulty in
obtaining it. But how much he never knew.</p>

<p>For Madame of the hotel had, for the first time in
her life, looked dubiously at an English five-pound
note.</p>

<p>“But, Freda,” she said, “Will that be all right if
England is beaten in the war, as they say she will be?”</p>

<p>“She won’t,” said Freda oracularly. “And in any case
an English five-pound note is always good.”</p>

<p>“I don’t know. It always has been, <span class="locked">but——”</span></p>

<p>“I will change it myself then. I have no fear of England
being beaten by any pigs of Germans. It’s enough to
make you sick just to hear them eat,” and she took the
note and climbed up to her own small room, and opened
her box, and got out the other box in which she kept her
savings, and came back with the change in her hands,
much of it in five-franc pieces.</p>

<p>“Là!” she chirped triumphantly. “There then is
madame’s money, and here is monsieur’s change. I would
not have them think we doubt them,—no, not for five
francs,” and she went off with the receipted bill and the
change on a plate.</p>

<p>“Freda,” said Ray, as he added a lordly remembrance
for herself, “I’d like to stop here for a month.”</p>

<p>“Well—why not? Monsieur and mademoiselle will be
very welcome indeed,” and Freda’s beam was a thing to
remember.</p>

<p>“Duty calls, my child. We’re going to Montreux to
get married, you know, and then we want to get home<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span>
as soon as circumstances will permit. Any news this
morning?”</p>

<p>“By the telephone they say there is terrible fighting
in Belgium. The poor little country! I was there for a
year, in Bruxelles. They are such nice quiet people, but
not great fighters, I would think. And the Germans—they
are strong. Oh, it is terrible to think of.”</p>

<p>Half an hour later, while the sun was still wrestling
with the mist-wreaths, they were climbing the long straight
road to Realp. Turning off there by the second bridge,
they took the old road in order to avoid the endless zig-zags
of the new one, and following the telegraph posts
they mounted rapidly towards the little Galenstock Hotel.</p>

<p>On the Ebneten Alp, below the hotel, they sat down on
a glacier-scored boulder for a last look over the Urseren-Thal
and a rest before tackling the Furka. It was a
wonderful sight—the wide green sweep of the valley right
to the great white barracks at Andermatt and the zig-zags
of the Oberalp-road beyond;—on the one side, the
sprawling green and gray limbs of Spitzberge, still dappled
with mist-wreaths but shining like frosted silver up above;—on
the other side Piz Lucendro, with the Wyttenwasser-Thal
and glacier below it;—and the upward road which
led to the Furka was all white with snow.</p>

<p>It made the walking more difficult, but the air was
crisp and clear up there and the very fact of walking on
snow was exhilarating. In places it was over their shoe-tops
and the drifts by the road side, when they plunged
their poles into them, were many feet deep.</p>

<p>Far away below them in the Garschen-Thal they could
see the cuttings and bridges for the new railway from
Brigue to Disentis and Ilanz, but there was no work going
on. The men had all gone to the front, and the unnatural
offence of their blastings and delvings was for the time
being suspended, though the scars and wounds of their
previous efforts remained in painful evidence.</p>

<p>Presently they walked up into a mist-wreath and had
the novel experience of plodding along an invisible road<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>
smothered in close-packed glimmering whiteness. The
sun outside was evidently shining brilliantly on the thick
bank of mist, but, so far, its rays failed to disperse it and
penetrated only in a weird luminous diffusion, which had
a most curious effect on the senses.</p>

<p>It made Lois’s head spin till she reeled dizzily along and
at last clung to Ray’s arm for safety.</p>

<p>“I believe I’m drunk,” she laughed mazedly. “Have
we had anything stronger than coffee this morning?”</p>

<p>“Not that I remember,” laughed Ray, in the same high-strung
way. “Unless you slipped into one of the hotels
we passed unbeknown to me. It’s queer, isn’t it? I feel
absolutely light-headed. In fact I think the top front of
my head is coming off. Hel-lo! Who’s this now?”</p>

<p>This was a burly overcoated sentry, who loomed suddenly
large in front of them and courteously informed them that
they must keep to the lower road as this one led only to
the barracks. So they stumbled back till they came
on the main road again, and feeling their way by
the granite posts, set up along the side of the road
to keep the diligence from tumbling over into the valley,
they came at last to the Furkablick Hotel, and were
glad to grope into the hall and warm themselves at the
blazing stove.</p>

<p>“We can’t possibly go on if it keeps like this,” said
Ray. “It’s neither safe nor wholesome. We can see
nothing and might find ourselves walking over the edge
into the valley.”</p>

<p>“Suppose we have lunch and a good rest, and perhaps it
will draw off. How far is it to the place we were to stop
for the night?”</p>

<p>“It’s about six miles to the Gletsch,—a bit less by the
short cuts, and four miles or so on to Oberwald.”</p>

<p>“Say three hours. We can give it a couple of hours to
clear off, or even more if necessary.”</p>

<p>So they fared sumptuously, and both fell fast asleep in
big arm chairs near the stove in the salon afterwards, and
when Ray yawned and woke it was close on three o’clock,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>
and the sun had won and the mountains all round were
shining white against the clear deep blue.</p>

<p>There was no one else in the salon. There seemed, in
fact, no one else in the hotel except a few officers who kept
to the smoking-room. So he kissed Lois awake, and in five
minutes they were footing it gaily up the Furka road,
with the Bernese giants towering in front and dwarfing all
the lesser wonders closer at hand.</p>

<p>“That must be Finsteraarhorn,” said Ray, pointing to
the highest and sharpest peak. “And that one further
on is probably Jungfrau, but I know her better from the
other side.”</p>

<p>Then they passed the fortifications and turned a corner,
and the great Rhone glacier lay below them, dappled here
and there, where the sun got into the hollows, with the
most wonderful flecks of fairy colour—tenderly vivid and
lucently diaphanous blues and greens so magically blended
that Lois caught her breath at the sight.</p>

<p>“How beautiful! How beautiful!” she murmured.
“It is a dream-colour, but I never dreamed anything half
so lovely.”</p>

<p>He could hardly get her along. She wanted to stop at
every second step to gloat on some fresh wonder. But
they came at last, by slow degrees, to the point, just below
the Belvédère, where sturdy pedestrians can drop from
the main road into the valley and so avoid the tedious
winding-ways.</p>

<p>“We’ll get down here, if you think you can manage it,”
said Ray. “Then we can get right up to the glacier-foot
where the Rhone comes out. It’s worth seeing, but it’s
a bit of a scramble down unless they’ve improved the
path.”</p>

<p>“I’ll manage it all right if you’ll go first and show me
the way.”</p>

<p>So they started on that somewhat precarious descent,
and had gone but a little way when Ray began to be sorry
he had not stuck to the solider footing of the road.</p>

<p>For the apology of a path had in places disappeared<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span>
entirely under the attrition of the wet season and many
heavy boots. Whole lumps of it had slipped away and
left gaps and slides down which a rough-clad Switzer
might flounder with possible impunity, but which suggested
serious possibilities to the ordinary traveller.</p>

<p>He had gone on hoping it would improve, but it did
not. Instead it grew worse. But if falling down such
awkward slides was no easy matter, re-climbing them to
gain the high road was next to impossible.</p>

<p>They bumped and slipped and floundered downwards
as best they could.</p>

<p>“I’m truly sorry,” he said, as he helped her down one
specially awkward place. “It was nothing like this last
time I came.”</p>

<p>“It’s all right,” she laughed. “It’s fun—all in the
day’s work. Don’t tumble right out of sight if you can
help it.”</p>

<p>And then he did. A lump of rock to which he had
trusted his foot came squawking out of the wet bank, and
he and it went down together a good half-dozen yards.</p>

<p>He brought up with his rucksac over his head and
turned at once to see to her safety.</p>

<p>“All right,” he shouted. “No bones broken. But I
don’t advise you to try it. Strike to the right and try
and find a better place. Throw me down your rucksac
and cloak, then you’ll be free-er.”</p>

<p>She dropped them down to him, with a startled look on
her face, and he scrambled round, as well as he could so
laden, to meet her round the corner. But she had to
make quite a long détour before she came at last on another
and less precarious path and was at last able to join him.</p>

<p>“Sure you weren’t hurt?” she asked anxiously.</p>

<p>“Quite sure. Bit scraped, that’s all. I suppose it’s
the rains that have boggled the path so. Now, if we keep
on round here we’ll be able to get right up to the ice-cave
where the stream comes out. Here’s the rain on again.
Better put that cloak on,” and they scrambled on over
the rough detritus from the glacier and the hillsides till<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span>
they reached the ice-foot, and stood looking into the
weird blue-green hollow out of which the gray glacier
water came rushing as though in haste to find a more
congenial atmosphere.</p>

<p>“It’s the most wonderful colour I’ve ever seen,” she
said, drinking it in with wide appreciative eyes. “It
hardly looks real and earthly. It looks as though a breath
would make it vanish. I suppose if we got inside there it
would simply be all white.”</p>

<p>But just then, in sullen warning, a solid lump of overhanging
ice came down with a crash, and a volley of stones
came shooting at them mixed with its splinters, and they
turned and went on their way down the stony valley.</p>

<p>The rain ceased again just as they arrived at the big
hotel, and as Ray swung off his cloak and shook it, Lois
laughed and said,</p>

<p>“When we get to Oberwald you must hand me over
your trousers and I’ll stitch them up.”</p>

<p>“Why?—what?—” and he clapped his hands to his
hips to feel the damage, while Lois still stood laughing
at the rents and tears which his cloak had so far hidden.</p>

<p>“I should keep my cloak on if I were you,” she suggested,
and then asked quickly, “Why—Ray? What is
it? Are you more hurt than you thought?”—for the
look on his face was one of concern if not of actual consternation.</p>

<p>“I am,” he jerked, with a pinch on his face, and then
he felt hastily in his other pockets and the tension slackened
somewhat. “But it’s not in my person,—only in my
pocket. Would you mind kicking me, dear? Here,—we’ll
go round the corner,” and he stepped back the way
they had come. “And—would you also mind telling me
what money you have in your pocket or your rucksac.”</p>

<p>“Not very much, I’m afraid. Two or three pounds, I
think. Why?”</p>

<p>“Because,” he said, displaying the catastrophe. “That
stupid slip of mine has busted my hip-pocket and all our
money’s gone. All except the change out of this morning’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span>
five-pounder. With that and yours we can get to Montreux
all right, and I can wire from there to Uncle Tony,
but it’s confoundedly <span class="locked">stupid,——”</span></p>

<p>“Couldn’t we find it if we went back?”</p>

<p>“I’m going to try, but you’ll stop here and have some
tea to pass the time.”</p>

<p>“Oh no, I won’t. It’s share and share alike. Aren’t
we almost man and wife? Come along! We’ll have a
hunt for our money anyway,” and she led the way back
towards the glacier.</p>

<p>They searched for an hour, but looking for a flat leather
purse in that stony land was like searching for the proverbial
needle in the haystack. They found the exact
spot where Ray took his sudden slide, but search below it
discovered nothing. They followed step by step the way
he had taken till he met Lois and then, as well as they
could, the path they had taken to the ice-foot. But there
was no sign of the purse and he came to the conclusion
that his pocket was probably torn by the slide and the
purse fell out of it later on,—anywhere down the two-mile
stretch of stony valley between them and the hotel.</p>

<p>They paced it with meticulous care, searching cautiously,
but found nothing, and at last gave it up and went on,—soberly
as regards Ray, amusedly as regards Lois, who
persisted in looking only at the humorous side of the
matter.</p>

<p>“We’ll walk all the way,” she laughed, “and pick out
the cheapest-looking hotels, and you’ll have to haggle like
a German about terms.”</p>

<p>“I’m awfully sick of myself for being such an ass,” he
said gloomily. “It’s hateful to be short of cash in a
strange land. I often used to run it pretty close. I
remember once reaching home from this very place with
only a halfpenny in my pocket. I remember I wanted a
cup of tea on the train, more than I’d ever wanted one
before, and I had to go without.”</p>

<p>“Had you lost your purse then also?” asked Lois
mischievously.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span></p>

<p>“No,—just stopped longer than I’d planned and ran it
a bit too fine.”</p>

<p>They plodded into Oberwald just before dark, and
stumped heavily up the steep wooden steps that led from
the stony road to the door of the little Furka Hotel, fairly
tired out with the day’s walk, which their diversion in
search of Ray’s purse had extended, he reckoned, to close
on five-and-twenty miles, and he proceeded to haggle with
the depressed-looking landlady like any German of them
all.</p>

<p>She was glad enough to have them, however, even on
their own terms, and gave them a quite sufficient supper,
in which three different kinds of sausage, and veal in
several guises, figured principally; and her bed-rooms,
if somewhat meagrely furnished, were at all events clean.
And they went up early to bed, tired with their long tramp
and still tireder,—as Ray expressed it, concerning himself—of
playing the fool with his money and throwing it about
for some wiser man to pick up.</p>

<p>The landlady knew nothing about the war, except that
the diligences had stopped running because the horses
were wanted, and most of the men had gone—to Thun,
or Berne, she was not quite sure where, but it was all
because of the talk of war, and she did not hold with
any of it,—stopping business and upsetting everybody
and everything.</p>

<p>Oberwald, they decided, could not at the best of times
be a very inspiring place. Under the shadow of the
war-cloud it was dismal. They had early breakfast on
the wooden platform outside the front door, while the
deserted village below and about them roused itself,
lazily and obviously against the grain, to its day’s
work.</p>

<p>But Ray was obviously not up to his usual standard,
even though Lois had borrowed needle and thread from
the landlady and had patched up his rents with deft
fingers and visible enjoyment at being of service to him.</p>

<p>“You’re not letting that old purse worry you, are you?”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span>
she had asked, as they sat over their coffee and cheese
and honey on the wooden platform.</p>

<p>“Not at the loss of it, though the stupidity of losing
anything always annoys me. It’s the possible consequences
I’m thinking of. It came on me all in a heap
in the night that it’s just possible we may have difficulty
in communicating with them at home if things are really
bad. I wish to goodness we could get some definite news.
I wanted very much to take you up the Eggishorn—it’s
just close here, and it seems a shame to pass right under
it without going up. You don’t really know what a
glacier’s like till you’ve seen the Aletsch. But....”</p>

<p>“I think we’d better go right on. We can come back
some other time and see all these things. Suppose they
shouldn’t have got your telegram from Leipsic! They’ll
be getting frightfully anxious about us. Let us get on as
quickly as possible.”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid there’s nothing else for it,” he said regretfully.
“Let’s see now—it would take us at least four
days to walk down the valley to Montreux.... How
much money did you say you have with you?”</p>

<p>“I’ve got three pounds, five shillings. I’ll get it for
you.”</p>

<p>“No. Better keep it safe. I might lose it, you know.
Well, four days’ tramping at the lowest possible rate means
at least forty francs. It will pay us to take the train from
Brigue. There’s a quick train about mid-day, I remember
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">... that is, if it’s still running. They may have taken</span>
the trains off also. It comes from Milan, you see, through
the Simplon.”</p>

<p>“Third class?”</p>

<p>“Rather. I’ve come home by it more than once, and
it’s generally packed with Italians, who are not the
pleasantest of travelling companions. But needs must
when you’re such a fool as to lose your purse,—and they’re
probably all being kept at home just now anyway. We
had a tough day yesterday, so to-day we’ll just jog along
to Fiesch. That’s another place I wanted you to stop at.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span>
Most fascinating country, all the hillsides covered with
little irrigation channels about a foot wide, and the natives
spend most of their time turning them on and off. That’s
where you strike up for the Eggishorn ... and the
Märjelen See ... and then there’s Binn.... It’s a
mighty pity to pass them all ...” and he rattled the
few coins in his pocket thoughtfully.</p>

<p>But—“Needs must!” said Lois firmly, anxious to get
into touch with the outer world again and especially with
the folks at home.</p>

<p>“Wait a bit!” said Ray thoughtfully, and got down
the map from its peg in the hall, and began figuring with
his pencil on the back of the bill the landlady had just
brought him, which came to 9.50 francs for the two of
them. “Just ... you ... wait ... a bit ... my
child!” and he measured and figured away with immense
energy and growing enjoyment.</p>

<p>“We can do it all right,” he burst out at last. “See
here!—We’ve got 160 francs left after settling up here.
We’ll get Madame here to put us up the usual trampers’
lunch,—that’s one franc each. We’ll walk on to Fiesch
and then up to the little Firnegarten Inn—small but
clean—on the Fiescher Alp, and stop the night there.
That’ll be, say, 10 francs. It would cost us more down
below. To-morrow we’ll make an early start and climb
up to the Märjelen See and the Eggishorn, taking our
lunch with us again. Then we’ll come down by the big
hotel,—we can only afford to look at the outside of it
this time,—and walk along the ridge to Rieder Alp. It’s
wonderful,—worth coming all the way from England for,—that
and the Aletsch. Stop the night at Rieder Alp.
That will be say 12 francs, if I haggle well. And next
day we’ll walk down to Brigue and Oberried and Bitsch
and the Massa, and get the mid-day train there for
<span class="locked">Montreux,——”</span></p>

<p>“If it’s running.”</p>

<p>“If not we’ll just toddle on.”</p>

<p>“But can we afford it?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span></p>

<p>“Including fares and all it will come to just about as
much as four days’ tramping along the road. And two
days up aloft here are worth forty days on that road. The
road’s fine but it’s not to be compared with the bridle
path along Rieder-Alp.”</p>

<p>He was so obviously set on it that, in spite of her
anxiety to get on, she had not the heart to raise any objection,
and five minutes later they were on the road, with the
dew-drenched green slopes above and below them shimmering
like diamond-dust in the early sunshine, and Ray’s
spirits at their highest again at this getting the better
of the misfortune that would have done them out of the
best bit of the journey.</p>

<p>As to the fact that they would arrive in Montreux with
only 120 francs between them, that did not trouble him
in the slightest now that they were going up aloft.</p>

<p>“I’ll wire Uncle Tony the very first thing when we get
there. It’ll be quite all right, you’ll see, my child. ‘The
year’s at the <span class="locked">Spring——’”</span></p>

<p>“Ninth of August!”</p>

<p>“That’s nothing. It’s our year I’m talking of, and it’s
only a week or so after New Year’s Day.... ‘The day’s
at the morn. Morning’s at <span class="locked">seven;’——”</span></p>

<p>“Nearer eight,”—with a glance at her wrist-watch.</p>

<p>“‘The hillside’s <span class="locked">dew-pearled,’——”</span></p>

<p>“Undoubtedly,”—with a comprehensive wave of the
hand uphill and down.</p>

<p>“‘The lark’s on the <span class="locked">wing;’——”</span></p>

<p>“Maybe—somewhere.”</p>

<p>“‘The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His Heaven;
All’s right with the world!’”</p>

<p>“With your and my little world. But, oh, I wonder
what’s going on outside there, Ray! It’s terrible to think
of war at any time, even though we none of us really know
what it means. But for all the Great Powers to be flying
at one another’s throats,—and England too! I can’t
realise it.”</p>

<p>“Don’t try, child. Rhenius may have caught some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>
flying nightmare by the tail. I haven’t much faith in
Italian newspapers. Anyway we’ll make the most of
these few days of grace and be thankful for them....
You see, if things really are as bad as he said, we may be
stuck for some time in Switzerland, and an extra day up
here in heaven will make no difference in the end and is
all to the good now. Learn to gather your roses while
you may, my child,” and his determined enjoyment carried
the day.</p>

<p>They made Fiesch about noon, and Ray marched her
right through the little town to the house he had stopped
at more than once—the cosy-looking little Hotel des Alpes,
near where the rushing Fieschbach flung its gray waters
into those of the Rhone.</p>

<p>They knew him there and were much hurt that he had
not come to stop with them again, and were greatly interested
in Lois. He had to explain matters very fully before
they were pacified sufficiently to permit him to have a
bottle of Asti, with a small table and two chairs outside
in the sunshine, and the mistress and the two comely
maids hung about them all the time they ate their Oberwald
lunch of bread and sausage and cheese and biscuits,
and insisted on supplementing it with apples and pears
and grapes, grumbling good-humouredly at him and
chattering and giving such news as they had.</p>

<p>“You’d do much better to stop with us. Firnegarten
cannot keep very much of a table up there, you know.
Most people go right on to the Jungfrau Hotel for the
<span class="locked">night——”</span></p>

<p>“I know. But we’re pauper-tramps, you see, till we
get to Montreux, and we have to look twice at every sou.
You see, I was fool enough to lose my purse up at Gletsch
<span class="locked">there——”</span></p>

<p>“Ach! To lose your purse! That was foolishness.
But if you had come to us we would have helped you.”</p>

<p>“It’s awfully good of you, and we’re going to come
back here as soon as ever we can. There’s heaps of things
I want to show mademoiselle,—Binn, and the Fiescher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span>
Glacier, and Ernen—oh, heaps. But now we’ve got to get
on. We’re going to get married as soon as we reach
Montreux, but I couldn’t bear to stump along the road
down here when Aletsch and the Rieder-Alp called me.
Mademoiselle is not at all sure we’re doing the right thing
in not going straight on.”</p>

<p>“You will never regret it, mademoiselle,” they assured
her.</p>

<p>“Though, of course, when one is hurrying along to
get married,—” interjected one of the girls thoughtfully.</p>

<p>“The Great Aletsch is a thing to see before one dies,—”
continued Madame.</p>

<p>“Or even before one gets married, when you have to
pass right under it,” said Ray. “And the <span class="locked">Märjelen——”</span></p>

<p>“Ach—the poor Märjelen! It is gone. It got a hole
in it somewhere and all the water has run out, and so now
there is nothing to see.”</p>

<p>“So! But the Aletsch is still there?”</p>

<p>“Och, yes! The Aletsch can never run away through
a hole. There it is and there it will remain till the world
comes to an end.”</p>

<p>“And the war? What news have you?”</p>

<p>“They are fighting terribly over there, it seems,—at
some place called Liége. But we do not hear very much
since the diligence stopped. And all our visitors went
away at once. We were quite full and not one has come
since. War is bad for everybody. For me, I cannot
understand what people want to fight for. It will not
come into Switzerland, do you think, monsieur?”</p>

<p>“I shouldn’t think so, but when war once starts you
never know where it will stop. And I’ve no doubt Germany
would be only too glad to get hold of Switzerland if she
got half a chance.”</p>

<p>“Ach—those Germans! No, I do not like them. Whenever
I see one come in here I say to myself, ‘Another
trouble-maker!’ They are never satisfied, and they want
everything—except to pay proper prices. No, I do not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>
like them. If they all get killed in the fighting I shall
not care one bit.”</p>

<p>Their leave-taking could hardly have been warmer if
Madame had been jingling in her hand a whole month’s
pension fees instead of the price of a modest bottle of
Asti, and presently they were slowly and steadily climbing
the steep and stony path to Firnegarten.</p>

<p>The maid in charge there was sister to one of those
down below, and she also remembered Ray. She was
much astonished at their intention of stopping the night
there, and laughed merrily when Ray proceeded to hammer
her price down to his level and then explained why he
was, for once, acting like a German.</p>

<p>She made them very comfortable, however, in a simple
way, and obviously enjoyed their company. They went
early to bed, and were well on their way up the Fiescher
Alp soon after seven next morning.</p>

<p>It was close on noon before they struggled up the tumbled
débris of the top, and sank down on a flat rock, with that
great glory of the Aletsch glacier sweeping down in front
of them, from the great snow-basins of Jungfrau and
Finsteraarhorn, till it curled out of sight behind the green
ridges of Rieder-Alp away down below them on the left.</p>

<p>“The Chariots of the Lord!” came involuntarily to
Lois’s lips as she sat gazing on it, and her eyes followed
the strange dark parallel lines which ran throughout its
length and looked exactly like gigantic wheel-tracks.
“What makes them?”</p>

<p>“The continuous slow downward movement of the ice,
I believe. It picks off earth and stones from the sidewalls
and gradually throws them into exact lines like
that. Curious, isn’t it? I remember it struck me in
just the same way the first time I saw it.”</p>

<p>It was long before she could be got to look at anything
else.</p>

<p>“I can’t help expecting it all the time to do something,”
she explained.</p>

<p>“I know. But it never does. See!—that’s Jungfrau<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span>
over there, and that one is Finsteraarhorn. And round
this other side you can see the Matterhorn and Mont
Blanc. Those big white lumps are the Mischabels.”</p>

<p>In time he got her to start on her lunch, though she
asserted that it felt like eating in church,—desecration.</p>

<p>“I’m glad you insisted on coming,” she said softly.
“It is a sight one could never forget,” and he was radiant.</p>

<p>“And to think,” she said again, presently, “that over
yonder the guns are booming and men are doing everything
they know to kill one another! Isn’t it dreadful
to think of—in face of this great silent wonder which
takes one’s thoughts right up to God?”</p>

<p>“It’s simply brutal.... I just hope whoever’s to
blame for bringing it about will get whipped out of
existence.”</p>

<p>He could hardly drag her away. She vowed she could
never weary of that most wonderful sight, and was certain
it would begin to move if they only waited long enough.
And so it was a very tired but very well-satisfied pair
that dropped into the first chairs they came to in the
homely little Riederalp Hotel, with barely enough energy
left to arrange terms on the German plan.</p>

<p>Next morning they came down the steep wooded ways
by Oberried and Bitsch and the Massa gorge, and reached
Brigue exactly fifteen minutes before a train started for
Montreux.</p>

<p>The run down the Rhone Valley and up to Montreux
was full of enjoyment, tempered only by their doubts
as to being able to get any further than that.</p>

<p>Ray pointed out to her all the things he knew,—the new
Lötschberg line away up on the opposite mountain-side,—the
openings of Nicolai Thal, leading to Zermatt and Saas
Fée,—the Val d’Anniviers leading to Zinal, and the Val
d’Herens to Arolla, and promised to take her to them
all when the times got re-jointed. Then they were at
Martigny, and presently the flat delta and the upper
end of the lake came into sight, and Chillon, and they
were at Montreux.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span></p>

<p>Ray enquired at once from the station-master as to
trains for Paris.</p>

<p>“Paris, mon Dieu?” jerked that much harassed
official. “Ask again in a fortnight’s time, monsieur,
and perhaps we shall know something then!” and Ray
made at once for the Post Office and wrote out a telegram
to Uncle Tony,—“Just arrived here. Both well. Lost
purse. Send cash Poste Restante.”</p>

<p>The young man behind the official window looked at
the address and said in excellent English, “We can send
it from here, but we cannot make sure it will ever get
there. You see it must go through France or Germany,
and they are fighting and everything is disarranged....
It is very awkward,” as they looked at one another in
dismay.</p>

<p>“Very awkward!” said Ray. “Please do your best.
Are letters coming through?”</p>

<p>“Not from England for some days. Doubtless in time
matters will arrange themselves.”</p>

<p>In time, doubtless! But the one thing about which
there was no doubt whatever was the fact that they were
in a strange land, cut off from communication with their
own, and that the sum total of their united funds amounted
to something under five pounds,—and there was no saying
when they could procure more.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Alma</span> at St Barnabas’s, and Mrs Dare at The Red
House each received a brief note from Con, from
Southampton, saying he was leaving immediately
but was not permitted to say more.</p>

<p>He seemed in the best of spirits and said he had plenty
to do. After that the vail of war fell between him and
them, and to them was left the harder task of possessing
their souls in hope, with such patient endurance as they
could draw from higher hidden sources. Both, however,—Alma
in her crowded ward, and Mrs Dare in the less
strenuous and so the more meditative sphere of home,—went
about their daily tasks with tranquil faces which
permitted no sign to show of the fears that might be in
them. It was their quiet part in the crisis to give of
their best and suffer in silence, as it was the part of the
millions of other women similarly circumstanced.</p>

<p>Mr Dare had perhaps the heaviest burden to bear at
this time, and in spite of his attempts at cheerfulness the
weight of it was apparent in him. His business at a
deadlock, valued customers urgently claiming the fulfilment
of contracts, the goods they wanted hermetically
sealed within the flaming borders of Germany and Austria,
accounts for goods sent to those countries falling due,
and no money forthcoming from abroad to meet them.
No wonder he looked harassed and aged, and at times
grew somewhat irritable under the strain.</p>

<p>What his wife was to him in those days none but he
knew,—not even Mrs Dare herself in full. In her own
quiet fashion she would at times draw him gently on to
unburden himself to her in a way that would have been
impossible to anyone else, and her great good sense would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span>
seek out the hopeful possibilities and tone down the
asperities of life. And when things were past speaking
about she would show, by her silent sympathy and brave
face, that she understood but still had faith in the future.</p>

<p>But for an unusually alert and active business man to
find himself, without warning, plunged suddenly into a
perfect morass of difficulties, for which no blame attached
to anyone save to the blind precipitancy of untoward
circumstance;—to find himself helplessly idle where his
days had always been briskly over-full,—it was enough
to drive any man off his balance, and in some cases it did.</p>

<p>He went down to St Mary Axe each morning and stopped
there all day in gloomy exasperation. He explained his
situation to irritated clamourers for goods till he grew
sick of explaining. He was grateful when release came
at night; and in the night he lay awake at times and
hugged to himself the few precious hours which still
intervened before he must shoulder his burden again.
Sunday he looked forward to, all the week long, as a dies
non when business matters ceased perforce from troubling
and his weary soul could take its rest. He longed for
weeks of Sundays. At times, in his utter weariness, the
thought of the final unbroken rest made infinite appeal
to him.</p>

<p>The complete lack of any word from Lois and Ray added
not a little to their anxieties. The Colonel, indeed, never
would admit any possibility of mischance in the matter.</p>

<p>“Don’t you worry, Mrs Mother,” he would adjure her.
“They’re having the time of their lives somewhere or
other, I’ll wager you a sovereign.”</p>

<p>“If they’re shut up in Germany it may be a very unpleasant
time,” argued Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“But they’re not. Ray’s no fool and he got out of
that trap instanter. Of that I’m certain. Where to I
can’t, of course, say. Tirol seems nearest, from the
<span class="locked">map——”</span></p>

<p>“That’s Austria,” said Mrs Dare quietly.</p>

<p>“Well then, Switzerland—Russia—Italy—anywhere,—I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>
don’t know. But if he’s still in Germany he’s a much
bigger fool than I ever thought him. They’re all right.
Don’t you worry!”—which was all most excellent in
intention but did not bring to the anxious mother-heart
the comfort that one word from the missing ones would
have done.</p>

<p>But the Colonel was too busy to waste time and energy
in worrying, and, besides, he was not given that way.
Immediately on the declaration of war, he had donned
his uniform and gone down to Whitehall and tendered his
services in any capacity whatever. His bluff, antique
enthusiasm overcame even the natural repugnance of War-Office
messengers to further the wishes of any but their
own immediate chiefs, and he succeeded in seeing Lord
Kitchener, whom he had not met since they toiled up Nile
together in quest of Gordon.</p>

<p>The quiet, level-eyed man, who had gone so far and
high since those days, gave him cordial greeting and
expressed the hope that the younger generation would
exhibit equal public spirit, in which case this belated
creation of a sufficient fighting force would prosper to the
extent of his wishes, which he acknowledged were great,
though not more than the dire necessities of the case
called for. He tactfully switched the Colonel’s enthusiasm
on to the recruiting branch line, and the fiery little warrior
had since then been devoting himself, heart and soul, to
the business of presenting Kitchener’s Army to the youth
of Willstead and neighbourhood as the one and only
legitimate outlet for its duty to its King and Country.</p>

<p>With his V.C. and his Crimean and Mutiny and African
medals, he made a brave show on a platform, and his
fervid exhortations persuaded many from the outer back
rows to the plain deal tables where the recruiting forms
awaited them.</p>

<p>He toured the neighbouring villages in a motor car, and
until the muddle-headed mismanagement by the authorities
of the earlier comers cast somewhat of a chill on their
waiting fellows, the Colonel was a great success.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span></p>

<p>Noel and Gregor MacLean were still impatiently hanging on
for the War Office to decide whether or not the London
Scottish were to be permitted to form a Second Battalion.
And Noel, with the impetuosity of youth, grew so restive
under the strain at times that he stoutly urged Gregor
to enrol with him in one of the regiments of Kitchener’s
army.</p>

<p>“Man!” he would growl, after the usual ineffectual
visit to Headquarters. “We’re going to get left. It’ll
all be over and done with before we get a look in. Let’s
join the Hussars!”</p>

<p>“I’m for the London Scottish, my boy, if it’s at all
possible. They say they’ll know in a week or two for
certain, and we can wait all right. I know such a lot of
the fellows there and I’d sooner be among friends. It
makes a mighty difference and they’re all good chaps in
the Scottish. Besides I’ve a natural yearning for the
kilt. If they shut down on us, then we’ll sign on
wherever you like.”</p>

<p>“Hang it, man! The fun’ll all be over.”</p>

<p>“Don’t you believe it, my son. K of K isn’t raking in
all these men just to amuse himself. He’s the squarest-headed
chap we’ve got, and those eyes of his see a long
long way past Tipperary, you bet. We’re up against a
jolly tough job and he knows it.... Anyway we’ll be
fitter than most when they do take us on. I bet you
there aren’t many recruits can down ten out of twelve
clays at two hundred yards.”</p>

<p>This was Noel’s top score so far. He was rather proud
of it and judicious reference to it always had a soothing
effect on his feelings. So they strenuously kept up their
training, walking all the way in and back whenever they
went up to Buckingham Gate for news, and spending
much time and money at the shooting-grounds.</p>

<p>The girls missed them, of course, but consoled themselves
as best they could with one another. They did a
round of the links each day for health’s sake, but felt the
lack of Noel’s outspoken jibes and Gregor’s curt criticisms<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span>
and all the subtle excitation and enjoyment of the former
times, and learned that golf for duty and golf for pleasure
are greens of very different qualities.</p>

<p>Still they would not have had it otherwise. The boys
were doing their duty as it appeared to them, and it was
their portion to miss them and get along as best they
could without them. For their sakes they heartily wished
Headquarters would make up its mind what it was going
to do, and get them settled down to actual work and
disciplined courses.</p>

<p>For this waiting on and on, with no definite certainty
as to the outcome, was wearing on Noel’s temper, and bits
of it got out on the loose at home at times and disturbed
the atmosphere somewhat.</p>

<p>Like most boys of his age, when things went his way
he was as pleasant as could be. And they so generally
had gone his way that when they did not he resented it
and let people know it. Like nine boys out of every ten,
whose chief concern in life had so far been themselves and
their own troubles and enjoyments, there was a streak of
natural selfishness in him, any implication of which he
would have hotly resented. He could be generous enough
of his superfluities, but so far had had to make no call on
himself for the higher virtues of self-denial or self-restraint.
In short he was just an ordinary boy merging into man,
very full of himself and his own concerns and enjoyments,
and at times a little careless of others.</p>

<p>This odd new friendliness which had sprung up of late
between himself and Victoria Luard was all very much
to the good. It came in between him and himself and
made him feel ready, and even anxious, to do great things
for her, and to consider her feelings even before his own.
But, at the same time, his feeling of personal discrepancy
with regard to her, drove him in the rebound to occasional
little displays of bearishness and boyish arrogance, the
springs of which Victoria understood perfectly and was
vastly amused at.</p>

<p>Gregor MacLean, with the advantages of his extra five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span>
years and much shoulder-rubbing with his fellows, had
grown out of these youthful discordances, and he sometimes
took Noel humorously to task for his little lapses,
and Noel would take more from him in that way than
from anyone else.</p>

<p>Honor of course, in sisterly fashion, saw his faults and
did not pass them over in silence. Still, she also generally
did it in humorous fashion which left no more than a
momentary sting even if it did not produce much result.</p>

<p>Miss Mitten knitted untiringly. Victoria gravely asserted
to Mrs Dare and Honor, when they had dropped
in for tea one afternoon, that, so assured was Auntie Mitt
that the outcome of the war depended entirely on the
number of body-belts and mufflers she could complete
in a given time, that she went on knitting all night long
in her sleep. And Auntie Mitt, in no way offended,
though somewhat scandalised at such public mention of
her in the privacy of her bed, only smiled and knitted
harder than ever.</p>

<p>“The cold weather will be coming soon,” she said
gently, “and it’s cold work fighting in the trenches.”</p>

<p>“But, my dear Auntie Mitt, they don’t fight in trenches
nowadays,” said Vic.</p>

<p>“No?... They used to. I remember ... I remember
hearing much of the discomforts of the trenches
in the Crimean War from those who had taken part in it.”</p>

<p>“Nowadays they fire shell at you from four or five
miles away and you’re dead before you know what’s hit
you,” said Honor. “It’s low kind of fighting to my
mind.”</p>

<p>“Or drop bombs on you from aeroplanes without a
chance of hitting back,” added Vic, “which is lower still.”</p>

<p>“Well ... I don’t myself agree with anything of that
kind,” said Auntie Mitt gently. “It certainly does not
seem to me a very manly way of fighting.”</p>

<p>“It isn’t. But unfortunately it’s the way that’s in
fashion,” said Vic.</p>

<p>“It is very horrible,” said Mrs Dare, busy with her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span>
knitting also and thinking of her two, one of whom would
probably sooner or later be exposed to these barbarous
novelties of civilised warfare. “But of course they respect
the Red Cross men,”—in which case Con at all events
might possibly return alive.</p>

<p>“Oh, they’ll respect the Red Cross all right, Mrs Mother,”
said the Colonel, catching her last words as he strode in,
with an early evening paper in his hand. “They’re big
fighters but they’re civilised and they’ll fight like
Christians.”</p>

<p>“What a horrible expression!” said Mrs Dare. “Fight
like Christians!”</p>

<p>“Yes,—I apologise and withdraw. You are quite
right, Mrs Mother,” with an old-fashioned little bow
towards her. “It was not happily expressed.... And
yet Christians have to fight at times, and if ever fighting
was justified it is now—on our side. We’re fighting for
Right and for the rights of everybody outside Germany.
Never in the history of the world was there a more righteous
war as far as we are concerned. And so we are fighting
like—or if you prefer it—as Christians.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I prefer it that way. It is my only consolation
when I think of the boys. They are fighting for the
Right.”</p>

<p>“When they get to it,” said Honor. “What’s the
latest, Colonel? Does Liége still stand where it
did?”</p>

<p>“It stands marvellously—the forts that is. The
Germans seem to have the town, but the forts are still
alive and kicking. It’s simply marvellous how those
Belgians have suddenly transformed themselves into the
pluckiest fighters the world has ever seen. Marvellous!
No one ever believed they could hold Germany’s millions
for a day, and here they’ve kept them at bay for a whole
fortnight and given France time to get herself in order.
If the rest of the war goes the same way there can be no
doubt as to how it will end.”</p>

<p>“Doubt?” echoed Vic scornfully. “You don’t mean<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span>
to dare to say you’ve ever had any doubts as to how it
would end, Uncle Tony?”</p>

<p>“There speaks Young England,—always cocksure of
winning and inclined to despise the enemy. If you had
seen as much of war as I have, my dear, you would be
cocksure of nothing, except that you’d do your duty to
the last gasp and would have to leave the rest to Providence.
Germany is a tremendous fighting-machine. We have a
tough job before us, but we’re fighting for the Right and
please God we’ll win. It’s good to see the new spirit the
war is evoking everywhere. Great Britain and Ireland
shoulder to shoulder, and India and all the colonies rushing
to help. It’s magnificent,—simply magnificent.”</p>

<p>“Yes,” said Mrs Dare quietly. “It is doing good in
that way, and in matters at home also,—the matters which
come home to the hearts of us women. We’ve just formed
a committee for looking after the wives and children
of the men who have to go to the front, and every single
person I’ve seen about it is keen to help,—people in some
cases who have hitherto shown no inclination for anything
beyond their own concerns.”</p>

<p>“There will be a good deal of distress one way and
another, I fear,” said the Colonel, nodding thoughtfully.
“That is if things go on as they usually do.”</p>

<p>“I’m inclined to hope they’ll go better,” said Mrs Dare.
“Our men at the head of affairs are in closer touch with
the needs of the people than yours ever have been,”—with
a pacificatory little nod towards him. “I know you
don’t like Lloyd George, but you must acknowledge that
he has handled the financial situation in a masterly way.”</p>

<p>“I do acknowledge it. And I’ll even go so far as to say
that I don’t believe our side would have handled the whole
matter as well as it has been done. We might. Men
rise to the occasion,—as yours have done. We might,—but
I confess I don’t at the moment see which of our
men could have done what has had to be done as well
as Sir Edward Grey, and Churchill and Lloyd George
and Asquith.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span></p>

<p>“Hooray!” cried Honor. “You’ll be on the right
side yet, Colonel.”</p>

<p>“I’m always on the side of right, anyway. What are
you girls doing to help?”</p>

<p>“I’m going to knit body-belts and mufflers,” said Honor
lugubriously. “But I’m only a beginner and I’m shy of
performing in public yet.”</p>

<p>“And you, Victoria-who-ought-to-have-been-Balaclava?”</p>

<p>“Our Central Committee in town is considering how
we can best help, and as soon as they decide I’m on to it.
In the meantime, Honor is teaching me to knit body-belts
and mufflers,—that is, she’s passing on to me, the beginnings
of her own little knowledge,—though I don’t quite
see the need of them. It’ll all be over in a month, I
expect.”</p>

<p>“If it’s all over in six months I shall be more than
glad,” said the Colonel weightily. “And there’ll be
plenty of cold days and nights before then. However,
I’m glad you’re all doing what you can. It’ll do you all
good.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">“Yus!” said</span> Mrs Skirrow, with an emphasis that
carried conviction. “It may seem a vi’lent
utt’rance to you, mum, but, for me, I’m bound to
say I’m right down glad o’ this war. It’s tuk my three
off o’ me hands, an’ it’s givin’ me the time o’ me life.”</p>

<p>“Where have they got to?” asked Mrs Dare sympathetically.</p>

<p>“Jim and George, they’re in Kitchener’s lot at Colchester—the
Hoozars, and me old man’s back in th’ Army
Transport, an’ if that don’t mek him move his lazy bones
I d’n know annything this side the other place that will.
It tired him so last time he was in it, that he’s bin resting
ever since. But it’s the thing he knows best, and when
the call come he forgot his tiredness an’ up an’ went like
a man. ‘Damn that Keyzer!’ he says,—you’ll pardon
me, mum, but them was his identical words,—‘Damn
that Keyzer!’ he says. ‘He is the limit,—walking over
little Belgium with ’is ’obnails like that without so much
as a by-your-leave or beg-pardon. He’s got to be knocked
out, he has, and I’m on to help jab him one in the eye.
And you two boys,’ he says, ‘you’re onto this job too,
or I’ll have the skin off of you both before you know where
y’are. Yer King and yer country needs yer.’ An’ if
you’ll b’lieve me, mum, they went like lambs.”</p>

<p>“And why did they go into the Hussars? Can they
ride?”</p>

<p>“Divv—I mean, not a bit of it, mum. But they talked
it over atween themselves, and Jim, he said, if it come
to riding or walking, he’d sooner ride any day, an’ the
spurs made a man look a man. So they went up together
and they was took on like a shot. An’ I’m to get twelve-and-six<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span>
a week now and mebbe more later on, they do
say. I ain’t got it yet, but it’s a-comin’ all right, an’
<span class="locked">then——”</span></p>

<p>“Well, I hope you’ll save all you can, Mrs Skirrow.
You never know what the future may bring, you know.”</p>

<p>“That’s true, mum. But I’ve worked harder than
most for these three this many a year, and I’m inclined
to think I’ll mebbe tek a bit of a holiday and have a decent
rest. How long d’you think it’ll go on, mum?”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid no one can tell that, Mrs Skirrow. Colonel
Luard says he will be glad if it’s over in six months.”</p>

<p>“Ah,—well,”—with a satisfied look on her face,—“that’s
a tidy spell. For me, if it was a year I d’n know
as I’d mind. It’ll keep a lot o’ men out o’ mischief.”</p>

<p>“And put many out of life altogether, I’m afraid.”</p>

<p>“Ay—well—mebbe! But there’s always the pension
to look forward to, an’ they do say it’s goin’ to be bigger
than ever it was before.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I’m sure everybody feels that everything possible
should be done for the men at the front and those they
leave behind them.”</p>

<p>“That’s right, mum. ’Tain’t such a bad old world
after all. D’you hear about the Chilfers down the road,
mum?”</p>

<p>“No. What about them?”</p>

<p>“A rare joke. Everybody’s laughing at ’em. When
yon first pinch come and it lukt ’s if we might all be starvin’
inside a week, Mr Chilfer he went up in his big motor to
th’ Stores, and he come back with it full,—’ams and sides
o’ bacon, all nicely done up, an’ flour, an’ cheeses, an’ I
d’n know what all. Lukt like a Carter Paterson at
Christmas time, he did. An’ now prices is down again
he wants to get rid o’ the stuff, an’ nob’dy’ll luk at it ’cos
it’s all goin’ bad on ’is ’ands. And serve him jolly well
right!—that’s what I say.”</p>

<p>“And I say the same. It was inconsiderate and selfish
and decidedly unpatriotic. If everybody had done like
that where would the rest of us have been?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span></p>

<p>“That’s it, mum. But it’s them Chilfers all over. I’m
glad to say they’ve tuk his car f’r the war, and they’ve
tuk all the horses they could lay their hands on. That’s
rough on some. There’s Gilling down our way. He runs
a laundry. They stopped him in the street t’other day
an’ tuk his horse and left th’ van and th’ laundry he was
delivering right there. It’ll put a stop on him I’m thinking,
and folks’ll have to go dirty, unless th’ big laundries pick
up all the business.”</p>

<p>“There will be discomforts in all directions, I’m afraid,
Mrs Skirrow. But we’re much better off than the poor
people in Belgium who are being turned out in thousands
and their homes burnt over their heads. It’s dreadful
work.”</p>

<p>“’Tis that, mum. An’ begging your pardon, I says like
my old man, ‘Damn that Keyzer, and put the stopper on
’im as quick as may be!’”</p>

<p>“One cannot help hoping he will suffer as he deserves.”</p>

<p>“That’s right, mum! Bet you I’d trounce ’im if I
got half a chance. I’d twist his old neck like that, I
would,”—and she wrung her wet floor-cloth into her pail
with a vehemence that imperilled its further usefulness.
“He’s an old divvle, he is, an’ th’ young one’s worse,
they say. All the same, if they c’d do it so’s none of ’em
got killed, for me I wouldn’t mind th’ war going on for
quite a goodish bit.”</p>

<p>“And I would be thankful if it all ended to-morrow.”</p>

<p>“Ah! ’twon’t do that, mum,” was Mrs Skirrow’s safe
prophecy.</p>

<p>Since Con’s post-card saying they were expecting to
leave within an hour or two, they had had no word from
him, nor was any information as to the movements of the
troops permitted in the papers. The rigid censorship
dropped an impenetrable vail between the anxious hearts
at home and the active operations abroad.</p>

<p>It was a time and an occasion for the exercise of unparalleled
and implicit faith and hope and trust in the
powers that held the ways, and still more in the Highest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>
Power of all. And on all sides was manifested an extraordinary
strengthening and quickening of those higher
and deeper feelings which had become somewhat atrophied
during the long fat years of peace. The nation and the
Empire drew itself together, forgot the little family disputes
which had enlivened its existence for so long, and stood
shoulder to shoulder as never before. The waters were
troubled and the sick were healed.</p>

<p>The Colonel, in the pursuit of his duties, was frequently
at the War Office. He heard, there and at his club, many
things of which he never spoke even to Mr and Mrs Dare
in their intimate evening confabulations.</p>

<p>The full bleak blackness of the days of Mons and Maubeuge
were known to him, and the peril of Le Cateau
and Landrecies, and it was as much as he could do to
keep the weight of these grave matters out of his face at
times.</p>

<p>He saw the casualty lists as they were compiled at the
office, long before they were issued, and groaned over
them in general and in particular. Killed, wounded,
missing,—many whom he had known, and more whose
people he knew, were already gone. Who would be left
when the full tale was told?—he asked himself gloomily,—when
this was barely the beginning.</p>

<p>Then, one day, his anxious old finger, following the list
down, name by name, stopped with a sudden stiffening on
the name of “Dare, Lieut. C., R.A.M.C.” under the head
of “Missing,” and he had to inflate his chest with a very
deep breath and hold himself very tightly, before he could
mechanically get through the rest of the list.</p>

<p>“Missing!”—Under all the ordinary circumstances of
civilised warfare that would leave abundant ground for
hope. But the appalling stories he had been hearing of
late as to the newest German methods left only room for
fear.</p>

<p>They were, on the most indisputable evidence, behaving
worse than the worst of savages. Their barbarous cruelties
were the result of a deliberate system of frightfulness and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span>
terrorism inspired by headquarters. They had shocked
and wounded his soul till at times it had felt sick of
humanity at large. But they filled him also with a most
righteous anger which helped to brace him up again.</p>

<p>That a hitherto reputedly civilised nation could, of cold
deliberation, do such things!—and exult in them!—Faugh!
It was savages they were,—and worse than any
savages he had ever come across!</p>

<p>And so he feared the worst for Con, and his heart was
heavy for Con’s wife and mother and father.</p>

<p>He went over to his club to think it over, but found too
many friends there for his present humour. So he turned
into St James’s Park, and walked on and on, with his
mind full of Con and Alma, past the Palace and the Duke’s
statue, and found himself in Hyde Park, where the London
Scottish were drilling and manœuvering with a huge crowd
looking on.</p>

<p>That made him think of Ray, and he wondered briefly
where those two had got to. If Ray had been at home,
as he ought to have been, he would have been among
these stalwart kilties who looked fine and fit for anything.
As soon as he got home he would take his place of course.
And young Noel and Gregor MacLean,—he had heard
that very day that reserve battalions were to be raised
pretty generally. So they would be in it too. And that
was all right. Duty called, and it was the part of the
young to bear the burden and heat of this desperate life-struggle
to the death.</p>

<p>But his heart gave a twinge, all the same, at the possibilities.
Con was possibly gone. Suppose these others
went too! It would leave a dreadful gap in their homes,
and wounds in their hearts that would never heal. This
was what war meant. God help them all!</p>

<p>He watched the brave swing of the boys in hodden gray
for a time with approving eye, till they fell out to munch
exiguous lunches on the grass, which reminded him that he
was hungry himself, and he went off to feed thoughtfully
all by himself at a quiet little restaurant in Jermyn Street.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p>

<p>Alma must be told at once. Sudden sight of the ominous
news in the list when it was published would be very trying
for her. He could break it gently and put a better face
on it than, to his own mind, it actually bore. And then
he must break it also to Mrs Dare and she would tell her
husband and the others.</p>

<p>But he nodded his head gravely over the whole matter
as he ate, and was full of bitterness and wrath as those
stories he had been hearing of ghastly brutalities perpetrated
by the Germans even on the wounded came
surging up in his memory. He cursed them heartily,
and prayed High Heaven to requite them in full for
all.</p>

<p>But a couple of daintily-grilled cutlets, with crisp curly
wafers of chip potatoes, and a nut of real old Stilton, and
a pint of Burgundy, and a good cigar, induced a more
hopeful state of mind.</p>

<p>There were black sheep in every army of course. With
all our care we had never been able to eliminate them
entirely from our own. And war was a terrible loosener
of the passions. But a victorious army was perhaps less
likely to indulge in vicious devilry than a beaten one. At
least one might hope so. Unless, indeed, the Germans
had all gone Berserk mad, as some were saying.</p>

<p>Con, busy with his wounded, had probably had to be
left behind in the hurried retreat,—how hurried only those
in the know really comprehended as yet. He was a non-combatant
and there could be no possible reason for maltreating
him. He was probably safe and sound in Germany
by this time.... If only one had not heard all those
devilish stories!... Even women and children! ...
and the wounded!... God hold them to account for it
all!</p>

<p>By the time his taxi set him down at the big gate of St
Barnabas’s, he was fairly himself again. He rang the bell
and requested audience of the Matron.</p>

<p>“Bad news?” she asked, with an anxious look, as she
shook hands with him.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span></p>

<p>“Might be worse—perhaps. He’s in the list as ‘missing.’
And that may mean anything or not so much. I thought
I’d better let her know beforehand. The list will be out
in a day or two and....”</p>

<p>“I’ll send for her,” and she rang the bell and gave the
order, supplementing it after a second’s hesitation with,
“Tell Nurse Luard that her uncle has called to see
her.”</p>

<p>“It will prepare her for possible ill-news,” she said,
“and she will have time to pull herself together.”</p>

<p>“Yes,—thank you! I am going to assume that it is
not really very bad news, though to tell you the
<span class="locked">truth——”</span></p>

<p>“It leaves a loophole for hope, of course. But the
Germans seem behaving very <span class="locked">badly——”</span></p>

<p>“Damnably,” jerked the Colonel.</p>

<p>“—If all the stories we hear are true.”</p>

<p>“Must be some fire for all the smoke that’s about,” and
then Alma came hastily in, her face white and set, her eyes
painful in their anxious craving.</p>

<p>“Is he dead?” she asked quickly, and the Matron
slipped quietly out.</p>

<p>“No, no, my dear!” said Uncle Tony, gripping her
trembling hand firmly. “Nor, so far as we know, even
wounded. But in the list I have just happened to see up
yonder, his name is among the missing. And I did not
want you to come on it suddenly in the paper, and think it
worse than it is.”</p>

<p>“Thank God!” she said quietly, with a sigh of relief,
and drew her hand across her eyes as though wiping away a
ghastly vision. “That is all you know?” she asked with
a searching look. And if the Colonel had been breaking
worse news by gentle steps he would have had a very
bad time.</p>

<p>“That is all that is known by anyone, my dear. As
soon as we hear more you shall know it. It may be that
he will be safer as a prisoner, wherever he is, than if he
were in the thick of it.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span></p>

<p>“He would sooner be in the thick of it,” she said, with a
decided shake of the head. “He will be terribly put out
at being shelved so soon. I have put down my name for
the next draft. I was hoping we might perhaps come
across one another.”</p>

<p>“One hundred to one against it, I should say. There
will be so many hospitals and you might be sent anywhere.”</p>

<p>“I’d have felt nearer him anyway. But if he’s....
Where would they be likely to send him?”</p>

<p>“Away into some remote part of Germany, most likely.
You think you’ll go? If any further news comes you
would get it quicker here than out there.”</p>

<p>“They are needing all the help they can get. I think
it is my duty to go, Uncle.”</p>

<p>“Very well, my dear. Go, and God bless you! And
bring you back safe to us. We shall miss you all. Noel
and young MacLean will be in the London Scottish to-morrow,
I expect. And <span class="locked">Ray——”</span></p>

<p>“Any news of those two?”</p>

<p>“Not a word. I’m expecting a telegram any minute
from Southampton or Folkestone or Newhaven, saying
they’ve just got across and will be up in a couple of
hours. And as soon as Ray gets back he’ll join his
battalion of course. We’ll have no one left but the two
girls.”</p>

<p>“They’ll keep you lively.”</p>

<p>“We shall miss you all. But it wouldn’t be in any of
our thoughts to stand between any of you and what seems
to you your duty.”</p>

<p>“Things are not going well with us from all accounts.
Are they really as bad as some of the papers seem to make
out?”</p>

<p>“They have been too strong for us so far. They’ve
simply rolled us back by weight of numbers. But they
haven’t rolled over us, and their losses must have been
terrible. I have great faith in French and Kitchener.
Safe men both. And the Frenchman, Joffre, seems a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span>
good steady sort too. No froth about him and France
believes in him. The tide will turn, you’ll see.”</p>

<p>And presently he took his leave, bidding her keep her
heart up and promising to send her instantly any further
news he could get of Con. And then he went on home to
break it gently to Con’s mother also.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">As</span> the Colonel marched up the platform in search of
a suitable seat in the Willstead train, he spied his
niece, Victoria, sitting in a corner, knitting—though
not with the practised ease of the born knitter—for dear
life, regardless of observation, and obviously full of thought.</p>

<p>“Hello, Uncle Tony!”—as he sat down beside her.
“What’s the latest from Head-Quarters? I’ve been up at
a meeting of the Committee that is to look after Out-of-Work
Girls. We’re going to start them all knitting and
sewing for the men at the front both on land and sea.”</p>

<p>“Capital! And you’re by way of setting them an
example.”</p>

<p>“I was just thinking some things out, and Auntie Mitt
and Mrs Dare are quite <span class="locked">right——”</span></p>

<p>“Of course they are.”</p>

<p>“You can think a great deal better when your hands are
employed.”</p>

<p>“Personally, <span class="locked">I——”</span></p>

<p>“Oh—you’re only a man. You know nothing about
it. Any news?”</p>

<p>“Yes. I’ve just been to see Alma,”—she stopped
knitting and eyed him sharply,—“Con’s name is in the
list of missing—” she gave a sigh of relief and went on
knitting furiously,—“It may be no more than that,—prisoner
of war in <span class="locked">Germany——”</span></p>

<p>“They’re treating prisoners and wounded abominably,”
she said severely,—to hide the anxiety that was in her.</p>

<p>“There have been such cases reported. Let us hope
they are the natural exaggerations of war. Anyway,
till we hear more we can hope for the best, and to his
people we must keep hopeful faces. His mother will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span>
naturally fear the worst. Do all you can to keep her
spirits up and make no more of it than the facts warrant.”</p>

<p>“I’ll do my best. But ... I’ll not be satisfied he’s
all right till we hear from himself. How long will it be—if
he is all right?”</p>

<p>“It may be weeks, my dear. Things are in something
of a mess over there, you see. Everything has gone so
quickly. One hardly has time to breathe, and the Germans
are too busy driving on to Paris to spare time for such little
details as that. Anyway he’s not among the dead or
wounded—not officially so <span class="locked">far——”</span></p>

<p>“It might mean either. We’re falling back. Many of
our dead and wounded must get left behind. I wish I
could go out and help.”</p>

<p>“Alma’s going,—at least she’s put down her name.
But I hope she’ll think better of it. She’ll get news
quicker here than out there. But you could do nothing
without training, you know.”</p>

<p>“To be sitting on Committees and talking,—and
knitting, when our poor fellows are bleeding to death
out there!” she said bitterly. “Why on earth didn’t
you insist on me learning nursing too? I could wash
their hands and faces anyway.”</p>

<p>“You’ll find plenty to do at home, my dear. Only
the fully qualified are any use out there. Presently,—ay
already,—there are widows and orphans to look after,
and your out-of-work girls, and the wives and children
who are not yet widows and orphans but may be any day.
Plenty to do at home for all of us. But, for the moment,
we’ve got to quiet Mrs Dare’s fears for Con.”</p>

<p>“It would be too awful if—if the worst had come to
him,” she said, with a glistening in the eyes.</p>

<p>“It would be very sad for us all. But for him—my
dear, a man can do no better than die at his post. If it
should be so, be sure he died doing his duty. But we’re
not to think of him as gone. Con’s one of the finest boys
I know, and, please God, he’s alive and well and will come
back to us.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span></p>

<p>Mrs Dare and Honor had just suspended work and
were sitting down to tea when they were shown in, and
Mrs Dare rang for additional supplies as soon as she had
greeted them.</p>

<p>“Well, Colonel? Any new news?” she asked cheerfully.</p>

<p>“Yes,—I came on purpose to tell you. I have just
been to see Alma.”</p>

<p>They both sat up at attention and eyed him anxiously,
and he hurried on, “It is disquieting, but not necessarily
more than that. Con’s name is in the list of ‘missing.’
That means he has been captured and so may be out of
further danger till the end of the war.”</p>

<p>“Thank God, it is no worse!” said Mrs Dare, with a
sigh of relief. And then, as her mind travelled quickly
the possibilities, with a downward tendency natural under
the circumstances, “Can we be sure it is no worse?”</p>

<p>“If he were known to be dead or wounded, it would
be so reported. ‘Missing’ leaves us every ground for
hope, Mrs Mother. And it is our bounden duty to hope
for the best. And we will. A great many of our R.A.M.C.’s
were captured at the same time. The retirement was very
hurried, you see. They would be busy with their
wounded. Probably they would not leave them. The
Germans swept on, and there they were—behind the lines—prisoners.”</p>

<p>“They have been behaving very brutally,” said Mrs
Dare depressedly.</p>

<p>“In cases—where they will probably claim to be
justified, and even they are probably much exaggerated.
Is it any good treading the stony ways before we actually
come to them? There may be more than enough for us
before we’re through.”</p>

<p>“You are right, my friend. I’m afraid I’m sadly
lacking in faith. One gets somewhat disjangled with
thinking overmuch about things.”</p>

<p>“Mustn’t think down,” said the Colonel, shaking his
finger reprovingly at her. “Think up! Half the ill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span>
things we fear never come to pass. Isn’t that your
experience now?”</p>

<p>“It is. But the times are out of joint, <span class="locked">and——”</span></p>

<p>“And it’s our business to put them in again, and we’re
going to do it.”</p>

<p>“We’re still falling back, I suppose,” she said, uncheerfully,
and he knew she was wondering if there would be
any hope of news of Con if a change should come in that
respect.</p>

<p>“Still retiring on Paris, and doing it uncommonly well
too,” he said, very much more cheerfully than he actually
felt.</p>

<p>For the black Sunday of Mons still lay heavy on him,
and he knew better than any of them the certain cost of
those terrible rear-guard actions—from Cambrai-le Cateau
to the Somme—Oise—Meuse, to Seine—Oise—Meuse, to
Seine—Marne—Meuse, and he dreaded the thought of the
tardy lists which would be hard to compile and harder
still to read.</p>

<p>“You’ll see we’ll find the ground we’re looking for
soon,” he said stoutly. “Then we’ll right about face
and maybe give them the lesson they’re spoiling for.
They are suffering terribly, as it is, but there seems no
end to them. But, anyhow, Con will be all right in
Germany by this time, and truly I don’t think we need
worry about him unduly.”</p>

<p>“I’ll try not to, but it is not easy,—hearing the things
one does.”</p>

<p>“If duty were easy it would lose half its virtue,”—and
then the door flew open and Noel and Gregor MacLean
stood in the opening, with their hands to their foreheads
in most punctilious salute and broad grins of delight on
their heated faces.</p>

<p>“London Scottish!” they said in unison.</p>

<p>“You’re in?” cried the girls, jumping up.</p>

<p>“For King and Country! At your service,” and they
broke off and demanded tea,—much tea and all the cakes
that were going.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span></p>

<p>The girls flew round ministeringly and buzzed about
them full of questions and congratulations.</p>

<p>“And how soon do you get to work?” asked the
Colonel.</p>

<p>“Medical inspection 9 a.m. to-morrow morning. But
we’re as fit as fiddles, so that’s all right.”</p>

<p>“And when will you get your kilts?” asked Honor.</p>

<p>“A-a-a-a-a-ah!” said Noel. “Now you’re asking.”</p>

<p>“Echo answers ‘When?’” said Gregor. “From all
accounts it may be months.”</p>

<p>“O-o-o-oh!” remonstratively from the girls.</p>

<p>“But we want to see how you’ll look in them,” said
Honor.</p>

<p>“You go right up to Head-Quarters, my child, and put
it to them straight, and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if
we got them by mid-day Monday,” said Noel.</p>

<p>“‘The kilt is but the guinea stamp, the man’s the
gowd for a’ that,’” said Gregor with a grin, and a reddening
under his tan at so unusual an outburst and an approving
glance from Honor.</p>

<p>“Well, it’s been worth waiting for,” said the
Colonel.</p>

<p>“I should say so. We’d sooner be full privates in the
London Scottish than potty little lieutenants in anything
else, wouldn’t we, Greg, my boy?”</p>

<p>“Rather!”</p>

<p>“Do you know Con is missing?” said Honor.</p>

<p>“No?” unbelievingly from both of the boys. “Missing?”—and
they stood staring from one to another with
such startled looks that the Colonel thought well to interject
a bluff, “He’s probably tucked safely away in some
remote corner of Germany by this time. But we shall
hear in due course,”—and he accompanied it with so
straight and meaning a look at the boys that they understood,
and fell in with his intention.</p>

<p>“Poor old Con! How mad he’ll be to be out of it,” said
Noel hastily. “Say, Greg, my boy, we’ve got to get out
there as quick as ever we can. What a joke if we came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>
across him—er—languishing in captivity and were the
means of setting him free.”</p>

<p>“Are the lists out then, sir?” asked Gregor.</p>

<p>“Not yet, my boy. I was up at Head-Quarters and
they’re compiling them as fast as they can. Pretty heavy,
I’m afraid.”</p>

<p>“Sure to be, sir. There’s been some mighty tough
work out there.”</p>

<p>“The German lists will be ten times as heavy. That’s
one consolation,” said Noel.</p>

<p>“No amount of German losses will compensate one
mother for the loss of her son,” said Mrs Dare soberly.
“My heart is sore for all those German mothers too. It
is terrible waste. And all so unnecessary too.”</p>

<p>“Always bear in mind, Mrs Mother, that we did not
want it,” said the Colonel. “It was forced upon us, and
we are fighting for freedom and the rights of the smaller
peoples. It is an honour to fight in such a cause. It would
be an honour to die for it.”</p>

<p>“Hear, hear!” said Noel.</p>

<p>But when the Colonel took his leave, and the two boys
lit their pipes and strolled along with him, Noel broke out
impetuously, “Is there any more behind, sir, that you
haven’t told us? ‘Missing’ may mean anything.”</p>

<p>“That is absolutely all that is known as yet, my boy.
It may, as you say, mean anything. But until more is
known we have every right to hope for the best. And for
that reason I want you to take the brighter side of the
possibility and do your best not to let your mother dwell
on the other side. You understand?”</p>

<p>“I understand, sir,” said Noel, very soberly.... “It
would be awful if—if the worst had happened to him. Does
Alma know?”</p>

<p>“I went and told her at once and minimised it as much
as possible. But I’ve very little doubt they all understand
what it may mean just as well as we do.”</p>

<p>“They’re behaving like perfect devils over there, from
all accounts,” said Gregor. “I can’t understand it. I’ve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>
known heaps of Germans, as nice folks as you’d wish to
meet. And now—devils unloosed, and up to every dirty
underhand trick imaginable. What do you make of it,
sir?”</p>

<p>“War is a terrible unloosener of the worst that is in
man, and there are black sheep in every army. And I’ve
no doubt there’s a great deal of exaggeration in the stories
we hear.”</p>

<p>“I’d like to stamp the whole darned lot out of existence
like so many black beetles,” said Noel hotly.</p>

<p>“I’m afraid they’ll take a lot of stamping out,” said the
Colonel, as he turned and went through his own gate.</p>

<p>“By—Jing, Greg, I don’t like it one little bit!” said
Noel, as they linked arms and went on down the road
to tell their own good news to Mrs MacLean.</p>

<p>“It may be as bad as we can’t help fearing. But, as the
Colonel says, it may not, and it’s cheerfuller to look on the
bright side. I can’t imagine Con being killed.”</p>

<p>“Neither can I, but they say we’ve lost about fifteen
thousand already, and when you think of that it doesn’t
take much more thinking to think he may be one of them.”</p>

<p>“That’s not all killed, man. It’s everything.”</p>

<p>“I know, but it’s been beastly hot work, and ... dash
it, Greg, you know what I’m thinking of. They say they’re
sparing none and making a dead set at the Red Cross men.”</p>

<p>And Gregor nodded gloomily.</p>

<p>“We’ll say nothing to my mother about it at present,”
he said. “Maybe better word’ll come in a day or two,
and it’s no good fashin’ her unduly. She’ll be glad we’ve
got in all right, because she knows we’ve been wanting it
so much, but she’ll feel it, you know, when we have to go.”</p>

<p>“That’ll not be for a good while yet. And anyway
we’re doing our duty to our country.”</p>

<p>But this news about Con distinctly sobered their exuberance,
and Mrs MacLean, as she congratulated them on the
attainment of their wishes, thought what a fine sensible
pair they were, and what a change the prospect of service
was making in them already.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span></p>

<p>She was well over middle age, white-haired, and had the
kindliest face and sweetest soft Scotch voice Noel knew,
outside his own family. Gregor was her only child and
her heart was wrapped up in him.</p>

<p>“I’m glad you’re going to wear the kilt,” she said gently.
“When will you be getting them, do you think?”</p>

<p>“Oh, not for a while yet, I expect. First Battalion
want everything they can get, you see. We’re only in the
nursery yet.”</p>

<p>“You’ll find it queer at first, but you’ll soon get used to
the bare knees,” she smiled, to Noel.</p>

<p>“It’s no worse than footer, you know. By Jove, Greg,
my boy, we’ll Condy them a bit to subdue their natural
shiny whiteness. Then they won’t startle people as we
pass.”</p>

<p>“All right. But we may as well wait till we get there,—unless
you want to begin training them right away in the
way they should go.”</p>

<p>“And when do you start work?”</p>

<p>“Medical exam to-morrow morning, and then as soon as
the top-knutties can lick themselves into shape.”</p>

<p>And so they chattered on, very full of themselves and
their new importance, and Mrs MacLean rejoiced in them,—but
hoped fervently, nevertheless, that the war would be
over before they would have to do any actual fighting.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">In</span> the Post Office at Montreux, Ray and Lois, with
startled looks, faced the fact that only a modest
five pounds stood between them and poverty in a
land which esteemed its visitors according to the size of
their purses.</p>

<p>The quietly portentous statement of the young man
behind the glass screen at the Post Office, as to the unlikelihood
of their telegram ever reaching its destination,
was well calculated to take away their breath. It left
them floundering like incapable swimmers washed suddenly
out of their depth.</p>

<p>Lois, having infinite faith in Ray, was the first to recover
herself with a glimmer of amusement.</p>

<p>“We’ll manage somehow,” she said. “It’s all part of
the adventure.”</p>

<p>Ray had had experience of shortage in foreign lands
and knew how small was the sympathy it evoked. But
it was assuredly not for him to emphasise the sorriness
of their plight, which, he kept saying to himself, was all
due to his own idiocy in losing his purse.</p>

<p>“Seems to me a cup of tea is indicated,” he said.
“Perhaps it will stimulate our jaded brains to see the
way out,” and he led her to the little tea-shop near the
Kursaal.</p>

<p>They had it to themselves at the moment, and Mademoiselle
in charge welcomed them with smiles as possible
harbingers of a revival of business.</p>

<p>“Iff you please,—tea?” she asked, proud of her
accomplishment.</p>

<p>“A good pot of tea and some of those cakes. How well
you speak English!” said Ray.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span></p>

<p>“We haf many English, you see, and I wass in Bhry-tonn
for one year. Yes, sank you, saire.”</p>

<p>“Perhaps she could recommend us to some cheap
pension,” suggested Lois, as Mademoiselle tinkled among
the tea-cups behind the screen. “She looks a sensible
kind of girl and we can make her understand the position.”</p>

<p>“Good idea!”—and when she came back with the
tea and arranged it before them with an ingratiating,
“Iff you please,”—he asked, “I wonder if you know of
any pension, mademoiselle, where they take in stranded
foreigners for nothing a day and feed them well?”</p>

<p>But that was altogether too cryptic for her.</p>

<p>“Please?” she asked, with a puzzled smile, scenting
a joke but not fathoming it.</p>

<p>“We want to find a very cheap pension,” explained
Lois. “We are on our way home to England but have
had the misfortune to lose our purse up there on the Rhone
Glacier. And at the Post Office they tell us we may
not be able to get any money sent from England for some
time, because of the war.”</p>

<p>“Ah—zis horreeble war! It is ruining us all. But
yess, madame, I know a pension which is cheap. Pension
Estèphe, opposite the Gare. It is not everything, but it
is clean and it is honest, and it is cheap. I have myself
stopped there once.”</p>

<p>“Thank you. That is just what we want. We have
telegraphed for more money, you see, but they cannot
be sure it will ever get there, and we can’t tell when we
can get away.”</p>

<p>“Ach! It is terreeble. There are many caught like
that. Zis horreeble war! It will ruin everybody,
yess!”</p>

<p>“What’s the latest news about the war?” asked Ray.</p>

<p>“Mais, monsieur, we get little news. They are fighting
all the time—oh, terreebly. But we do not know much
about it. I do hope it will not come here. You do not
think it will, monsieur?”</p>

<p>“We’ll hope not, ma’m’selle. But if it suited the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>
Germans to come I’ve no doubt they would, in spite of
you.”</p>

<p>“Ach, I do not like the Germans. No!”</p>

<p>“The feeling seems general. Well, we’ll go along
presently and look at the Pension Estèphe, and if we like
it we shall come in and see you again, ma’m’selle.”</p>

<p>“Iff you please, saire!”</p>

<p>Madame of the Pension Estèphe eyed them somewhat
doubtfully at first. They were above her usual class of
customer, and it took considerable explanation to make
her understand why they wanted to stop with her, the
exact relationship in which they at present stood to one
another, and, more especially why they had no luggage
but their rucksacs.</p>

<p>However, by dint of much talk, they came at last to
terms. For a room each, and their meals, she would
charge them seven francs per day for the two. If they
got married and occupied only one room it would be a
franc less. And she providently demanded a deposit of
ten francs and that they should pay their bill each
day.</p>

<p>“For,” said she, without any beating about the bush,
“you have no luggage, you see, and you might walk away
and leave me nothing but your rucksacs which do not
contain much.”</p>

<p>Their rooms were alongside one another and their
appointments were plain to the point of exiguity, but
they were clean and the beds looked comfortable enough.</p>

<p>“From the mere point of economy it’s obvious we must
get married at once,” laughed Ray, and Lois blushed but
raised no objection.</p>

<p>“It’ll have to be a pauper’s wedding,” he ran on, “And
we’ll have a wedding-tea at Ma’m’selle’s shop and blow
out one franc each on it. I wonder what it will cost to
get married? If it’s more than we save on the room in,
say, a fortnight, we can’t do it,”—at which Lois laughed
enjoyably.—“There used to be a jolly old Scotch parson
here. We’ll look him up and put the case before him.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>
Perhaps, in the circumstances, he’ll do it for nothing—or
at all events, give us credit till we reach home.”</p>

<p>And, presently, they went along to the little church in
the rue de la Gare and got the minister’s address and
went along to his house, but they found that he was
away on holiday and so they had to deal with his locum.</p>

<p>He proved very pleasant and amiable, however, and
when the whole matter had been explained to him he
undertook to marry them as soon as they chose and free
of charge.</p>

<p>“Then to-morrow, please,” said Ray. “You see we
save a franc a day by getting married, and when you’ve
only got five pounds altogether it’s something.”</p>

<p>“If you get no reply to your telegram, you must see
the Vice-Consul. He’s Swiss, but a good chap. Some
provision is to be made, I believe, for our stranded fellow-countrymen.
There are a great many here in much the
same position, and more coming in every day. It’s
making a lot of trouble, this wretched war.”</p>

<p>“It’ll make a lot more before it’s finished, I’m afraid.
If I were home I’d probably be in it myself—I’m in the
London Scottish, you <span class="locked">see,——”</span></p>

<p>“Ah?—You’re a kiltie, are you?” with a sparkle in the
eye.</p>

<p>“Been one four years, and I expect every man we can
scrape will be needed before we’re through. What are
folks here thinking about it all, sir?”</p>

<p>“Not over well for us, I’m afraid,”—with a gloomy
shake of the head. “The Germans are not liked here, as
you may have <span class="locked">found——”</span></p>

<p>“We haven’t met one single person that has a good
word to say for any one of them.”</p>

<p>“Exactly! Their bumptiousness and lack of manners
make them a byword. But all the same they are believed
to be overwhelmingly strong and wonderfully organised.
I should describe the general feeling as a fear that Germany
may win. In which case it will be a bad thing for us here.
We have one powerful factor in our favour, however.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span></p>

<p>“And what is that, sir?”</p>

<p>“We’re in the right this time. We haven’t always
been, but this time we certainly are. And righteousness
tells in the long run.”</p>

<p>“I hope it will. I can’t imagine England knocking under
to Germany. It’s unthinkable.”</p>

<p>“The Right will win.... Meanwhile they are hammering
away at poor little Belgium because she would not allow
them free passage to Paris. And she’s doing <span class="locked">magnificently——”</span></p>

<p>“Belgium! Think of it! I’d no idea she had it in her.
One has come to associate Belgium so with Congo atrocities
and purely material things that anything heroic in her
surprises one.”</p>

<p>“Heroic is the word. She’s holding the fort while
Britain and France and Russia get ready. It may be that
she is saving Europe from Pan-Germanism.”</p>

<p>“Splendid! I take off my hat to her. Good thing old
Leopold’s not in the saddle! The new man must be a
good sort.”</p>

<p>“He must be.... Then to-morrow, Mr. Luard. Shall
we say at eleven? And I hope, my dear,”—to Lois,—“it
will make for your happiness.”</p>

<p>“Oh, it will,” she assured him. “And it is very very
good of you.”</p>

<p>When Ray and Lois came down to their dinner-supper,
that first night, in the common-room of their unpretentious
pension, they found a numerous company already busily
at work, and were somewhat taken aback by their looks,—burly,
moustached and bearded men in blouses and dungarees,
with an odour and look of trains and engines about
them;—loud of voice, disputatious indeed, and oblivious
of manners.</p>

<p>Lois shrank a little at sight and sound of them. But
their hostess directed them to a small table apart, covered
with a red-and-white-check cover, over which she spread
a table cloth and even provided them with napkins. For
seats they had high stools without backs. “It feels like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>
a music-lesson,” whispered Lois,—and—“I hope it will be
more satisfying,” murmured Ray. “I’m hungry,” and
watched the black-a-vises critically out of the corners of
his eyes. They toned down for a moment when the
strangers entered, and passed remarks sotto voce between
themselves, but in a minute or two were in full blast again.</p>

<p>“They look like brigands,” murmured Lois. “They
won’t murder us in our beds, will they?”</p>

<p>“The fact of our being here will prove that we’re not
worth it, I should say.”</p>

<p>“I shall barricade my door all the same ... if I can.
There’s not overmuch to barricade with.”</p>

<p>“They’re probably quite decent fellows,—railway-men
from the look of them, and they’re generally a good sort.”</p>

<p>And they proved entirely so and never gave them any
trouble whatever, beyond the noise of their arguments,
which was at all times tremendous and more than once
looked like ending in blows.</p>

<p>Most of them drifted back to work when their meal was
over. With the two or three who remained over their
cigarettes, Ray got into conversation on the war and picked
up some interesting bits of information.</p>

<p>Some of them had just, in the course of their work, come
through from Italy, and the thing that was exercising
them all at the moment was—what was Italy going to do?
If she came in against France their opinion was that Germany
would win. If Italy maintained neutrality, as some
of them insisted was likely from what they saw and heard
down there, then they thought the other side might have a
chance, but it would be no easy job. They, also, were
mightily impressed with the idea of Germany’s strength
and preparedness. But they liked her no better than
anyone else. Most of their Italian fellows had already been
recalled to the colours.</p>

<p>“It’ll be a bad day for the world if she wins,” said Ray.</p>

<p>And, “You’re right, monsieur, without a doubt,” was
their unanimous verdict.</p>

<p>Lois duly barricaded her door with her alpenstock and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>
only chair, but no murderous attempt was made on her,
and she laughed at herself in the morning, and felt like
apologising to the noisy, good-humoured crew.</p>

<p>Promptly at eleven o’clock, too joyous of heart to let
themselves be troubled by their outward shabbiness, they
walked into the little dark gray church on the road above
the station and were quietly married, with the delightful
assistance of the pastor’s wife, who was immensely interested
in their little romance. And afterwards he insisted
on the newly-married pair joining them at their mid-day
meal.</p>

<p>“It will be a very modest wedding-feast,” he said. “But
such as it <span class="locked">is——”</span></p>

<p>“We can’t afford to refuse such a noble offer,” laughed
Ray. “We were going to celebrate the great occasion
by spending a whole franc each at the tea-shop near the
Kursaal. We save two francs and enjoy your good company.
It’s great, and we are very much obliged to you.”</p>

<p>“You would do as much for us if ever the occasion
offered.”</p>

<p>“Just give us the chance, sir, and you’ll see.”</p>

<p>Next day the kindly Scot accompanied him on a visit
to the Vice-Consul, whom they found already being worried
and badgered into desperation by the clamorous demands
of their stranded fellow-countrymen and women, especially
the latter. For every lady in distress seemed to think her
own special plight the extremest limit in that direction,
and each one claimed the individual attention of her
country’s representative and required him to send her
home instantly, bag and baggage, and to ensure her safe
arrival there.</p>

<p>It was obviously something of a relief to him to meet
a man whose requirements were definite and modest and
his methods business-like.</p>

<p>Ray briefly stated his case and asked if he could do
anything towards getting a telegram through for him.</p>

<p>“My uncle, Sir Anthony Luard, will send me money
instantly when he learns of our plight,—that is, if it is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span>
possible to do so,” he said. “What do you think of the
prospects?”</p>

<p>“At the moment—very doubtful. Later on things will
settle down somewhat no doubt. I am trying to get
through by way of the south. France and Germany are
quite out of the question. What are your immediate
needs, Mr Luard?”</p>

<p>“Very small. We are cutting our coat according to
the cloth we have. Six francs a day pays our board and
lodging,”—at which the Consul permitted himself a brief
smile. “But we had to walk all the way from Innsbruck,
you see, so we sent all our baggage to Meran with a Mr
Lockhart, the man who writes about Tirol,”—the consul
nodded—“And we really must buy some few things to
go on with. Could I possibly draw on Sir Anthony
through you for a small sum?”</p>

<p>“We’ll manage it somehow. You see how I’m situated,”—with
a wave of the hand towards the adjoining room
full of clamorous applicants. “As far as I can I must
do something for everybody. If I find you fifty francs a
week at present, how will that do?”</p>

<p>“Splendidly, and I’m ever so grateful to you. I’ve
had visions of us sleeping on a seat on the quai and eating
grass.”</p>

<p>“We’ll hope it will not come to that for any of you,”
smiled the consul. “If the amount grows large enough
to make a small draft I will get you to sign one. But I
am hoping that some arrangement will be made before
long for getting you all home through mid-France. All
the fighting is likely to be on the frontiers for some time
to come, I should say.”</p>

<p>“And then in Germany we will hope.”</p>

<p>“Germany is very strong,” said the Vice-Consul cautiously.
“One can’t foresee what may happen.”</p>

<p>And so their way was to that extent smoothed for
them. Board and lodging were at all events assured, and
if they were not everything that could be desired they
might have been much worse, though truly they could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span>
not have been much cheaper. The food, if a little rough,
was well-cooked and sufficient, and Monsieur and Madame
of the Estèphe and their four comely daughters grew
more and more friendly under the influence of prompt
and regular payments, and did all they could for their
comfort. And Ray and Lois testified their gratitude to
Mademoiselle of the tea-shop by having a festive cup
and a chat with her every day when their rambles had
not led them too far afield.</p>

<p>Walking, since it cost nothing, was their one diversion.
Fortunately they were both in good condition, and in
spite of the heat they enjoyed their tramps immensely.
Madame of the Pension met their wishes and provided
them with portable lunches, which, if somewhat monotonous
in their constitution, were undoubtedly satisfying, and
she generally managed to amplify their evening meal to
their entire contentment, and indeed showed herself not
a little proud of the distinction such high-class guests
conferred upon her establishment.</p>

<p>Their chief lack was news. English papers were beyond
their pocket and almost unattainable, and the local ones
contained but very one-sided and garbled statements of
what was going on at the various fronts. Cook’s offices
were closed, so no news could be got there. The ‘Feuille
d’Avis’ was indeed stuck up each day in the office-window
in the Market-Place, and they went along every morning
and read it for what it was worth. But it was only by
applying to their friend the consul that they could get
any actual facts, and those not of the most recent nor
of the most vital. And he was so terribly overworked
that they disliked troubling him.</p>

<p>At times, indeed, in sheer self-defence he locked his
door and stuck up a notice saying that he was broken
down and could see no one. Then the clamorous throng
gnashed its teeth and leaned its elbows on his bell-push,
and Lois and Ray were so ashamed of their fellows that
they preferred getting along as best they could without
news sooner than harass him further.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span></p>

<p>They managed to keep brooding at bay very enjoyably
by exploring all their surroundings,—from Chillon—they
could not afford to go inside,—to Vevey;—to the Rochers-de-Naye
by Veytaux and Recourbes; and up to Les
Avants and the Chauderon Gorge. Anywhere and everywhere
attainable to pedestrians they went, with unbounded
energy and immense satisfaction, and savoured the joy
of life to the very fullest.</p>

<p>The restful beauty of the shimmering blue lake, and
the uplifting glory of the peaks of the Valais and Vaudois
and Savoy, viewed as they were through the glamour of
their fulfilled love, wrought themselves into the very
texture of their lives.</p>

<p>To Lois it was a time of rare enchantment, heightened
and intensified—like the shining of stars in a blue-black
sky—by the grim horror of the war-clouds beyond. It
might all come to an end any day. The future might
have in it unthinkable sorrows. But this at least was
theirs, and the joyous memory of it would never fail
them.</p>

<p>“Ray! I am so glad it has all happened just so;—as
far as we are concerned, I mean. These days are my
jewels. They will shine for me always and always, and
I can never lose them. Oh I am glad, glad, glad to have
lived them!”</p>

<p>“And what do you think I am, dear? Do you think
there ever were two happier people on this earth?”</p>

<p>“Never! It is not possible.”</p>

<p>They were perched in a little eyrie, high up the mountain-side
near Crêt d’y Bau, shoulder to shoulder for the joyful
feeling of one another, gazing out over the lake towards
Geneva, eating the little wild raspberries of inexpressibly
delicious flavour which they had gathered as they climbed.</p>

<p>“Whatever may come to us now we can bear it because
we have had all this,” she sighed contentedly. And
asked presently, in a lower key,—“Do you think it is
possible for people to be too happy, Ray? ... that we
shall have to pay for it later on?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span></p>

<p>“No, my dear, I don’t. Why should we? We were
meant to be happy. It’s only folly or wickedness—either
in ourselves or other people—that brings unhappiness ...”—and,
stumbling along after the thread of his thought,—“and,
it seems to me that if we keep ourselves up to the
pitch of deserving happiness, whatever happens outside
us cannot take it from us. Troubles may come. Not
many folks get through life without them, and they don’t
turn out the best folks as a rule. But if we remain to one
another what we are now, we shall be proof against them
all and they won’t hurt us.... In other words, my child,
it is not outward circumstance that counts, but our own
inner feelings.”</p>

<p>“Yes! I’m feeling all that, and more and more every
day.... If this horrid war goes on do you think you will
really be called up? I thought the London Scottish and
the rest were only for home-defence.”</p>

<p>“I wish to goodness we knew just how things stand.
If it’s going to be a life-and-death struggle England must do
her proper share. Compared with the armies over here
ours is trifling,—in point of numbers, I mean. As far as
it goes it’s probably better than any of them. But it’s
very very small in comparison with their millions. And
numbers tell. There may be a national call for volunteers.
If it comes you wouldn’t have me shirk it?”</p>

<p>“No ... but oh, I wish it might not come,” and she
pressed his arm closer against her heart.</p>

<p>The Kursaal concerts, costing at the lowest one franc
each, were beyond them of course. So in the soft autumnal
evenings they spent most of their time on the quais outside
the gardens, sitting when a seat was obtainable, wandering
along with the rest, leaning over the railings, with the dark
lake stretching from under their feet away into the infinitude
of night. There they could hear the music quite as
well as the wealthier folk inside, and without a doubt
enjoyed it more than any of them.</p>

<p>The sunsets were wonderful beyond words. The evening
star hung like a jewel in the afterglow and twinkled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span>
at itself in the smooth mirror below. Then the summer
lightning played fitfully over the further hills and set the
lake, and the bayonets of the quai-patrol that guarded them
from invasion, shimmering and gleaming, and looked
so like menacing signals that their thoughts turned constantly
to the fact that somewhere over there the world
was dreadfully at war.</p>

<p>When it grew quite dark, parties of sober merry-makers
would put off in small boats, each with its coloured lantern,
and ply quietly to and fro, weaving their trailing reflections
into patterns of extraordinary beauty, till the lake below
looked like a great dark blue carpet shot through and
through with wavering tracery of gleaming gold and all the
colours of the rainbow. And it was all undoubtedly very
charming and beautiful, but, to Lois, it was also all most
strangely unreal and evanescent, as though at any moment,
at the sound of bell or whistle, it might all vanish and give
place to scenes less tranquil. For somewhere over there
the world was at war and how far it might spread none
could tell.</p>

<p>So the days ran on, and only now and again when it
rained, and trips up aloft were out of the question, did they
ever find them long.</p>

<p>Their chief lack still was news of what was actually
happening over yonder behind the curtain. And this
began to tell on Ray though he did his best at first to hide
it. But Lois saw and understood.</p>

<p>Away across there in Belgium and the north of France,
England might be feeling already the sore need of every
man she could put into the field. His fellows might already
be pressing to the front. And he was tied here by the leg.</p>

<p>He did his best not to show how he was feeling it, but
there it was, and his thoughtful silences, and an occasional
concentrated pinching of the brows which she had never
seen in him before, told Lois the tale even before he spoke
of it.</p>

<p>To her he was quiet thoughtfulness itself and the perfection
of married lovers. For deep down in his heart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span>
was the knowledge that before very long the time for parting
might come. It would be sore to leave her. It would
wring his heart and hers. But he knew that if duty called
she would not have him stop. He set himself to make
sure, and surer still, that these brief days of married love
should hold in their memory no smallest flaw, and he
succeeded to the full.</p>

<p>He told her all that was in his heart concerning future
possibilities, and they talked it all over quietly, soberly,
lovingly, and were the stronger and richer in their love.</p>

<p>“Whatever comes, we have had this, and nothing can
take it from us,—and the rest is in God’s hands,”—was the
end to which they always came and the strong rope to which
they clung. And their love grew ever deeper and stronger
for this trying of it.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">“Absolutely</span> nothing further so far,” said the
Colonel, standing with his back to the fire in Mrs
Dare’s sitting-room, as she handed him a cup of
tea. “All they can say is that quite a dozen of our
R.A.M.C.’s of various grades have never turned up since
Landrecies, and they believe they were all taken in a bunch.
And that seems to me to improve the chances of Con’s being
all safe and sound. We shall hear from him before long,
you’ll see.”</p>

<p>“It is sore waiting,” said Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“So many have not even the chance of doing that. The
lists are again very heavy, I’m sorry to say.”</p>

<p>“And we are still falling back?”</p>

<p>“Still retiring, but you’ll see we’ll stop before long,”—and
then there came a ring at the bell, and presently the
door opened and there stood in the doorway a burly figure
whom neither of them recognised, and behind it the concerned
face of the maid whose attempt at announcement
had been forestalled.</p>

<p>The newcomer was tall and broad, and something about
his face seemed familiar to both Mrs Dare and the Colonel,
and yet they were sure they had never set eyes on it before.
For it was most decidedly a face calculated to impress itself
on the memory. To Mrs Dare it suggested the late Emperor
of the French, but with more alert and wide-awake eyes.
It made the Colonel think of Victor Emmanuel the First,
of Italy.</p>

<p>“Well, well?” said the stranger, and then they knew
him.</p>

<p>“Good heavens, Rhenius! What are you playing at?
You gave me quite a shock. I took you for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span>
ghost of Victor Emmanuel,” jerked the Colonel half-angrily.</p>

<p>“And I thought you were Napoleon III come to life
again,” smiled Mrs Dare, as she poured him out a cup of tea.</p>

<p>“Ah-ha! So you accorded me promotion on both
<span class="locked">sides——”</span></p>

<p>“If you’d call it promotion?” growled the Colonel.</p>

<p>“Quite so. Very questionable. I have never greatly
admired either of the gentlemen in question.”</p>

<p>“And why on earth have you been playing such pranks
with your face? Think it an improvement?”</p>

<p>“I was in Italy when the troubles broke out,—at Piora,
near Airolo. Before I could get through, France was
practically closed to any but Frenchmen. I wished to
get home so I became a Frenchman for the time being—a
Frenchman of the Second Empire, and me voici! But
I came to bring you news.”</p>

<p>“Of Con?” asked Mrs Dare eagerly.</p>

<p>“Of Con? No. What is wrong with my good friend
Con?”</p>

<p>“He’s reported missing,” said the Colonel.</p>

<p>“Missing!”—with a pinch of the lips that jerked up
the long moustache. “I am sorry. But that is better
than either killed or wounded. He is at all events safe
from harm.”</p>

<p>“You really think so, Doctor?” asked Mrs Dare
anxiously.</p>

<p>“Why, of course, my dear madame. As a prisoner of
war he will be well-treated and out of harm’s way.”</p>

<p>“If one could only be sure of that,” she sighed.</p>

<p>“What’s your news then?” asked the Colonel brusquely,
not having yet quite recovered from his umbrage at the
Doctor’s facial metamorphosis.</p>

<p>“Ah, yes—my news.... I came over Furka by way
of Hospenthal, and there, at the Golden Lion, I met two
of my young friends whom you know very <span class="locked">well——”</span></p>

<p>“Lois and Ray?” and Mrs Dare dropped her knitting
and stared up at him in anxious excitement.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span></p>

<p>“Yes—Lois and <span class="locked">Ray——”</span></p>

<p>“I told you they’d strike down south and get out that
way,” said the Colonel triumphantly. “That’s good.
I forgive you your barbarisms, Doctor,—neat that, eh?
And I’ll take another cup of tea on the strength of it,
Mrs Mother, if you please!”</p>

<p>“And they were quite all right?” asked Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“Quite all right, and as happy as young people ought
to be. They were hastening down to <span class="locked">Montreux——”</span></p>

<p>“And why haven’t they got here?” asked Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“Well, you see, it was no easy matter even for me,
and I had made up my mind to get through at any sacrifice,”
and he stroked, with a suggestion of regret, the
remnant of the flowing beard that had had to go. “I
made my way across country to St Nazaire and got
across from there. But it was no easy matter, I assure
you.—And, besides, they had plans of their own—great
plans. They were hastening to Montreux to get
<span class="locked">married——”</span></p>

<p>“To get married?” echoed Mrs Dare, while the Colonel
greeted the news with a shout of, “Well done, Ray!
Da-ash it, that boy’s got brains in him. I knew he had
good taste,” and he turned and grasped Mrs Dare’s hands
and shook them heartily.</p>

<p>“But why could they not wait till they got home?”
asked Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“Well—I think they felt it not quite proper to be
wandering about together like that, you know. And
there is no knowing how long they may be detained out
there.”</p>

<p>“Why didn’t you bring them along with you?” asked
the Colonel.</p>

<p>“I had booked a seat in the diligence to Brigue, and
it proved to be the very last seat—and I fear the last
diligence. The driver told me they would probably stop
next day, as all the horses were wanted by the military
at Thun. It may be weeks before you see them, and I’m
afraid there are many others in the same predicament.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span>
Ray particularly asked me to ask you to send him out
some more money to Poste Restante, Montreux. But
I’m afraid you’ll have difficulty in doing so.”</p>

<p>“I’ll see the bank first thing in the morning. They’ll
manage it somehow. And what opinion did you form
of things generally over there, Doctor?”</p>

<p>“I had small chance of hearing anything. I’ve heard
a great deal more since I reached home.”</p>

<p>“You were in Italy, you say. Well, what’s Italy going
to do? She’s an important factor in the case.”</p>

<p>“Undoubtedly!”—with a sagacious nodding of the
ponderous head. “A very important factor.... What
she will ultimately decide it is impossible to say. She
is not anxious for war, that is pretty certain. She is
poor, you see, and somewhat exhausted. If she had
been going in of necessity, as a member of the Triplice,
she would have declared herself before this. It depends,
I should say, on whether the others can force her in.”</p>

<p>“Not a volunteer, eh! And maybe at best an unwilling
conscript. I should say she’d be well advised to
keep out of it.”</p>

<p>“If she can.... Ah, here are the young ladies!”—as
Honor and Vic came in with looks that demanded tea.</p>

<p>“Goodness!—” gasped Vic.</p>

<p>“Gracious!—” continued Honor, and they both ended
on a most emphatic “Me!” and stood staring at him
with faces full of amazement.</p>

<p>“The voice is the voice of Jacob but the face is as the
face of—who is it, Vic?”</p>

<p>“Mephistopheles.... What on earth are you playing
at, Doctor?”</p>

<p>“Playing?” he remonstrated, pulling up the point
of his Napoleon and trying to look down at it with
melancholy regret. “Playing, indeed!”</p>

<p>“I fathom it,” said Vic gleefully. “It’s an omen.
Germany’s going to be beaten so you’ve transformed
yourself into the likeness—such as it is—of Napoléon
Trois. Good business!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span></p>

<p>“Napoléon Trois has always been my particular
detestation, Miss Vic-who-ought-to-have-been-Balaclava,”—which
was his usual counter-stroke to her thrust,—“as
you very well know. This was imposed upon me by
force of circumstance. I had to get home, you see,—for
all your sakes. And to get home I had to come across
France.”</p>

<p>“And you were afraid of being taken for a German
spy! I see.”</p>

<p>But he had known her since her hair hung down her
back and he would not take offence.</p>

<p>“I might very well have been taken for a German,
anyway, and Germans are not held in high esteem in
France at the moment.”</p>

<p>“Nor anywhere else in the world except in Germany.
And I hope they’ll be blotted out even there before long.
Detestable wretches!”</p>

<p>“Ta—ta! There speaks hot youth. But it does not
trouble me since I have nothing in common with Germany.”</p>

<p>“Except your name, and your birth, and your looks,—when
they’re normal that is, mein Herr! They’ll intern
you, for certain, at Dorchester, or Porchester, or wherever
it is, and you <em>will</em> have a time.”</p>

<p>“All that does not concern me, my dear. I am a British
subject just as much as you are.”</p>

<p>“Not a bit of it, mein Herr! I was born one.”</p>

<p>“The more credit to me. You couldn’t help yourself.
I acquired the right of my own good free-will.”</p>

<p>“He has you there, Vic,” said the Colonel, who always
found huge enjoyment in their sparring. “But he has
brought us news of Ray and Lois—Mr and Mrs Ray Luard,
I should <span class="locked">say——”</span></p>

<p>“No!” and the two girls flopped down into chairs
simultaneously.</p>

<p>“Fact,—at least we have every reason to hope so. When
the Doctor saw them—at Hospenthal—they were making
their way down to Montreux, with the expressed intention
of getting married as soon as they got there.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span></p>

<p>“Well!... <span class="locked">I—am——”</span></p>

<p>“‘Hammered!’ as Gregor says,” supplied Honor.
“What a pair of families we are! Vic, my dear, the atmosphere
of war is packed with marriage-germs. We must be
careful. I’m sure they’re catching. Mother, dear, some
tea, please. Quick! I feel faint,” and, first carefully
taking off her hat, she subsided gracefully against the back
of her chair.</p>

<p>“All the same, Nor, it’s rather too bad, you know,” said
Vic resentfully. “That’s two weddings we’ve been done
out of. It’s really anything but fair.”</p>

<p>“It’s abominably shameful,” said Honor, undergoing a
quick revival at thought of their wrongs. “I don’t believe
they’ll have been properly married out there. It ought to
be done over again as soon as they get home. How do you
know it will be all right?” she put it to the Colonel. “Ten
years hence it may come out that they are not really
married at all and there’ll be a dreadful scandal.”</p>

<p>“I’ll trust Ray to see himself properly married, my dear,”
laughed the Colonel. “Don’t you worry your pretty head
about it,” and then with a touch of concern in his voice,
to the Doctor,—“I hope they’ll not give you any trouble
here, Rhenius. Some of the yellow rags are making something
of an outcry against foreigners—enemy foreigners,
I mean. You see, there undoubtedly is an immense amount
of espionage going on, and folks are apt to run to extremes
at times and lose all nice sense of discrimination.”</p>

<p>The Doctor shrugged his big shoulders. “I was naturalised
years before some of you were born. They will not
trouble me,” he said with confidence. “If they do I’ll
come to you for a character, Colonel.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">In</span> course of time and on the principle that Heaven
helps them that help themselves, the stranded English
in Montreux formed a committee of repatriation,
which met in a room placed at their disposal by the authorities
of the Kursaal, and, by dint of much writing and wiring
and hustling, towards the end of the month their arrangements,
such as they were, were, with the assistance of
Cooks, who had now returned to business, satisfactorily
completed.</p>

<p>The penniless were to be sent off first, then the rest by
degrees in inverse ratio to their staying powers.</p>

<p>Anxious as they were, for some reasons, to get home,
Lois, at all events,—with the knowledge that getting home
might well be but the beginning of sorrows—found herself
full of regrets at leaving Montreux. The little inconveniences
of their stay there had been gloriously impearled
with the glamour of their love. They had been perfectly
happy, and perfect happiness comes not often in life nor
ever lasts too long.</p>

<p>They had taken leave of their friends, and Ray had duly
given the Vice-Consul a draft on Uncle Tony for the money
he had advanced them. Monsieur and Madame and all
the four demoiselles of the Pension Estèphe, and Anna the
maid, had all come to the station to see them off, and were
full of regrets at losing them, and now their train was
jogging along towards Lausanne bound for Geneva.</p>

<p>They had been instructed to take with them provisions
for three days, within which time it was hoped the journey
to Paris might—failing accident—be accomplished. And
so they had, with the assistance of Madame of the Pension,
provided themselves with much bread, and butter, and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span>
tin of tongue, and a cold boiled fowl, and apples and pears
and tomatoes, and cheese, and two bottles, one filled with
wine and the other with cold tea. And they wondered if
they would ever get through such a pile of eatables and felt
prepared for a siege.</p>

<p>Hand-baggage alone was to be taken, and theirs consisted
entirely of their provisions, as everything else they
possessed went into the rucksacs on their backs. Those
who attempted to take too much had to leave the excess in
the Consigne at the station, to be forwarded later if opportunity
permitted.</p>

<p>They had been told to be at the station at 5 a.m. and to
form themselves into parties of eight, which would just fill
a compartment, and as Lois and Ray had made few acquaintances
they had some difficulty in making up their
complement. They made hasty quest round, however, and
Lois discovered two little elderly maiden ladies, waiting
timidly in a corner for someone to take them in hand and
tell them what to do, which she immediately did, and they
wept gratefully. And Ray picked out two nice-looking
boys of about his own age, who were standing watching
the confusion in aloof amusement,—found they were not
engaged, and secured them on the spot.</p>

<p>The final two in their carriage were thrust upon them at
the last moment when the authorities found their numbers
short. They were two young men from Lancashire, who
did not speak a word of French—or indeed of anything but
broad Lancashire—and they rarely opened their mouths.
They were decent quiet fellows, however, and made no
trouble.</p>

<p>The little ladies had just started on a Swiss trip to
which they had been looking forward for years, and the
war had made short work of it.</p>

<p>“We came to Switzerland once before, when our father
was alive. But since he died—well, we have been keeping
a school,”—confided one of them to Lois,—“and we
have just disposed of <span class="locked">it——”</span></p>

<p>“You see these newer subsidised schools are making<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span>
things hard for the private schools,” said the other, as
the train jogged along the side of the lake, still wreathed
with swathes of fleecy mist. “And when the chance
offered we were glad to retire.”</p>

<p>“And we thought it would he so delightful to renew
our old memories of Switzerland. We were at
<span class="locked">Zermatt——”</span></p>

<p>“I was trying to remember where we’d seen you,” said
one of the stranger youths, with just enough of a drawl
and intonation to betray a trans-Atlantic origin. “We
were at Zermatt too. We came across to climb something
and they told us Matterhorn was about as good as anything.
So we went to Zermatt and made a start on
<span class="locked">Matterhorn——”</span></p>

<p>“You began at the top,” said Ray.</p>

<p>“Matterhorn’s not a thing you can begin at the top.
But we started from the Schwarzsee, and that’s 8945
feet up.”</p>

<p>“8495,” said his brother.</p>

<p>“And you got on all right?” asked Lois, while the
little ladies regarded them with silent admiration,—men
who had actually been up the Matterhorn, at which they
themselves had gazed in fearful rapture from below!</p>

<p>“It was all right. We had guides, four of them, very
good fellows, and ropes and axes and all the usual things.
And they got us through. The only thing that happened
to us was a stone in one of the couloirs that came down
on my brother’s wrist and smashed his watch, and cut him
a bit.”</p>

<p>“Had you done any climbing in America?” asked
Ray.</p>

<p>“Nary! Never climbed <span class="locked">anything——”</span></p>

<p>“’Cept stairs!” said his brother.</p>

<p>“Plenty stairs, yes, but no mountains to speak of.
That’s why we came—to see how it felt.”</p>

<p>“And it felt good,” said his brother.</p>

<p>“Yes, it felt good, and if we could have stopped we’d
have climbed some more. But this flare-up’s knocked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span>
everything sky-high. We couldn’t raise a red cent on
our letters of credit, and there we were, stony in a strange
land, and not even able to tell what was the matter, ’cept
when we struck someone that had the good sense to speak
English.”</p>

<p>They were extremely nice fellows, graduates of Harvard,
one studying law in Boston, and the other medicine, and
their humorous outlook and comments on life in general
did much to palliate the discomforts of the journey.</p>

<p>They had gone in strongly for fruit as provisioning,
and had a couple of melons, a large supply of grapes,
apples and pears and nuts, and of course tomatoes. The
little ladies’ ideas had run to sandwiches and chocolates
and a few bananas, all of which they confidently asserted
were extremely nutritious.</p>

<p>At Geneva they had to change trains for the journey
through France. They were all bundled out into the
courtyard outside the station, and stood there in the
broiling sun till soldiers with bayonets separated them
into parties of forty and finally marshalled them to their
carriages.</p>

<p>These were a decided come-down,—old non-corridors,
five-on-a-side, and some without even racks for their
parcels. However, it was all part of the adventure, and
our party, all sticking together, were glad to find themselves
at last securely locked in and really started on the
journey home.</p>

<p>It was slow business, however, and freighted with discomforts,
but they made as light of these as they possibly
could, and did their best to look upon it all as a joke.</p>

<p>When, in the course of the night, Lois produced a small
spirit lamp she had lavishly expended two whole francs
on, and, after several times nearly setting them all on
fire, managed to produce cups of tea all round—an operation
which took time, since her kettle was of the smallest
and they had only two aluminium folding-cups—they
could none of them find words commensurate with their
gratitude. Time, however, was the one thing they did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span>
not lack, and their absorbed interest in that precarious
tea-making, and the attention they had to give to unexpected
conflagrations, and then their exultation and
enjoyment over their cups of hot tea, rejoiced her greatly
and fully compensated her for her prodigal expenditure
on the spirit-lamp and kettle.</p>

<p>Even the new members of their party, a somewhat
reserved young Englishman and his wife, returning dolefully
from a short-cut honeymoon, thawed by degrees
under the influence of hot tea at midnight, and became
quite cheerful and friendly, in spite of the fact that no
formal introductions had taken place.</p>

<p>They were packed pretty tight in their old-fashioned
carriage, and but for the general goodwill the discomforts
would have been almost insupportable.</p>

<p>They chatted and ate, and ate and chatted, and made
tea at intervals, and now and again dozed with their
heads on one another’s shoulders quite irrespective of
persons. The ladies were accorded the corner seats and
the men acted as pillows and buffers between. And so
they jogged slowly along through the night, drawing up
now and again with a succession of clangorous bumps
that ran from end to end of the train and died with
lugubrious creakings into startling silence, then starting
again with a jerk that shook them all wide awake. It
was as though they were cautiously feeling their way
through the darkness and unknown dangers ahead.</p>

<p>Of official stops there were almost none. When one
did come, and the guard announced ‘dix minutes d’arrêt,’
everybody poured out of the carriages, to fill their water-bottles
at the station pump and stretch their cramped
legs gratefully.</p>

<p>In the very early morning they had a stop of nearly
an hour and heard that it was because a lady had been
taken ill. They blessed her fervently, washed their hands
and faces at the pump, and many boldly produced toothbrushes
and did their teeth. And all the time afterwards,
their American boys kept suggesting that Lois, or one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span>
of the little ladies, or the young bride, should go sick
and procure them another such happy release from their
cages.</p>

<p>Everywhere, as they waited in sidings, there were heavy
train-loads of soldiers speeding to the front. They were
all obviously in the best of spirits, eager to get to the long-expected
red work and to make an end of it for good and
all. They leaned out of the windows and cheered the
waiting trains, which gave them back cheer for cheer
and hearty God-speeds.</p>

<p>Their young Englishman, with more zeal than aptitude
for foreign tongues, roused great enthusiasm by leaning
as far out as he could get and shouting at the top of his
voice, “Vive la Président!”—which was invariably greeted
with laughter and heartier cheers than ever. And so, by
slow degrees and haltingly, they crept up towards Paris,
where one of Cook’s people met them, and took them round
by the Ceinture railway, and saw them safely off for Dieppe.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Mrs Dare</span> was sitting by the fire in the parlour
at Oakdene, knitting long deep thoughts into a
Balaclava helmet. On the other side of the
hearth sat Auntie Mitt, similarly occupied on a body-belt,
which, being more straightforward work, suited
her better. Both their faces were very grave, and
they had not spoken a word for close on half an hour.
There was so little to speak about and so much to
think about.</p>

<p>The news from the front was not good. It did not bear
discussion. The Germans were still pressing furiously on
towards Paris. Their losses had been enormous and ours
had been terribly heavy though slight in comparison with
theirs. But life seemed the very last thing worth their
consideration. So long as they won the bloody game
nothing else mattered, and they were fouling the game with
every tricky manœuvre and abominable brutality their
twisted minds could contrive.</p>

<p>It was a time indeed for anxious thought on the part of
all who had any stake out there, and Mrs Dare’s heart
ached with fears for Con. If he were still alive he must be
somewhere in the hands of these pitiless savages, and
according to the papers they spared none. They even
seemed to go out of their way and beyond human nature
in the pursuit of that gospel of frightfulness which the
Kaiser openly preached.</p>

<p>Her heart had been wrung over Belgium and Northern
France. What chance had any man of coming alive out
of such a welter of crashing deaths? At times her faith
in the goodness of God and the ultimate triumph of
Right seemed to her overborne by the high-piled horrors of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span>
the morning’s news. How—could—God—permit—such—doings?</p>

<p>And when she was in that low state of spiritual health
it was always a comfort to her to hear the Colonel’s cheerful
voice at the door, and to set eyes on his grave but always
confident face.</p>

<p>Her husband was so sorely tried in these days that even
she—helpless and almost hopeless as she felt herself at
times—had to play the part of faithful helpmeet as best
she might.</p>

<p>The moratorium had indeed relieved him of the heaviest
of the pressure for the time being, but his business was
practically killed and the future weighed on him almost
beyond bearing.</p>

<p>To both of them the Colonel played cheerful Providence,
and did his utmost to dissipate their clouds.</p>

<p>“My dear Mrs Mother,” he would adjure her. “Have
we not gone through just such times <span class="locked">before——”</span></p>

<p>“Never quite so dark—nor coming so close home to
one.”</p>

<p>“That has been your happy fortune. But to thousands
of others they have come close home in just this same way.
Always in the end we pull through;—ay, even when we’ve
had less justification than we have now. If there’s a
righteous God overlooking this matter—and you’re not
going to tell me you doubt <span class="locked">it——”</span></p>

<p>“No, I’m not. But I’m sometimes sorely put to it when
I think of it all,—the horrors—the <span class="locked">hideous——”</span></p>

<p>“Don’t think of them. Think of the way our lads are
behaving out there. They’re simply grand. And the way
they’re toeing the line here is just as fine. And the
Colonies!—and Ireland! By Gad, ma’am, we’re living
in noble times! And we’ll see grander times yet. We’re—going—to—win!
Tough work first, maybe, but win we
shall, as sure as God’s God.”</p>

<p>And his faith in his country and in the Higher Powers
never failed to cheer her into renewed hope.</p>

<p>To John Dare he was equally helpful.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span></p>

<p>“Cheer up, John,” he would exhort. “There’s a lot of
life and work in you <span class="locked">yet——”</span></p>

<p>“I feel sometimes as if I’d like to go to sleep and never
wake up again.”</p>

<p>“I know. I’ve been there, but I’m glad now that I
thought better of it and waked up as usual. Things’ll
pull round all right. Darkest hour before the dawn, you
know.”</p>

<p>“That’s the trouble. It’s all dark and I see no
dawn.”</p>

<p>“It’s there all the same, man. Thousands of other men
feeling just same, but you’ll all come up smiling again in the
end.”</p>

<p>But he was harder to beguile of his morbidity than his
wife. And, indeed, with a carefully-built business crumbled
to nothing at a stroke, and five-and-fifty years behind
him, it was not easy to regard the future with much confidence.
It was not to be wondered at that he was terribly
depressed, and at times a little irritable. Life was touching
him on the raw, and he found it hard to bear.</p>

<p>“Well, we’ll have tea,” said Auntie Mitt, breaking the
half-hour’s silence and ringing the bell. “I hoped Sir
Anthony would be in by this time. Perhaps he will bring
us some good news from town.”</p>

<p>“I’ve almost lost the expectation of hearing good news,”
said Mrs Dare. “It would be a refreshing novelty to hear
something cheerful again.”</p>

<p>“We must never lose hope, my dear. While there’s
life,—you know.”</p>

<p>“That’s just it. I can’t help fearing he’s dead all this
<span class="locked">time——”</span></p>

<p>“Who, my dear? Sir Anthony?”</p>

<p>“I was thinking of Con. He’s in my thoughts all the
time.”</p>

<p>“Sir Anthony seems to feel certain he will be all right.
If—if the worst had happened, he says, we should certainly
have heard before this.”</p>

<p>But Mrs Dare shook her head. “I don’t know. This<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>
war seems different from any other war. They do such
dreadful things. They seem to respect nobody.”</p>

<p>“They are certainly behaving very badly, if one can
believe all the papers say. I sometimes think they
exaggerate a little, you know,—make the worst of things
and the best, just as they think it will please people.
The papers are very different from what I remember
them.”</p>

<p>“They have changed a bit in the last seventy years
or so, haven’t they, Auntie Mitt?” said the Colonel, who
had come quietly in behind the maid with the tea-tray.</p>

<p>“Oh—Sir Anthony! Seventy years! They have
changed terribly in the last twenty years.”</p>

<p>“Of course they have. When you and I first knew
them—— Thanks!” as she thrust a cup of tea at him.</p>

<p>“Any good news?” asked Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“In the papers—none. Confidentially, I hear that the
tide is about to turn. They’re not to get to Paris anyway.”</p>

<p>“I’m glad of that. It would have been hateful. They
would have crowed so. And Paris has suffered from
them before. What is going to happen?”</p>

<p>“Oh, having drawn them on, now we’re going to roll
them back.”</p>

<p>“Wouldn’t it have been better to keep them out?”</p>

<p>“Yes, if we could have done so, but we couldn’t. They
were too strong for us. But we’ve been getting stronger
every day and now we’re going to turn and rend them.”</p>

<p>“I’m not blood-thirsty by nature, but truly I’ve come
to the point of longing to see them rent in pieces. It is
very horrible, I know, but I can’t help it.”</p>

<p>“It’s very human, Mrs Mother. We’ll rend ’em in
pieces for you all right, but it’ll take time and some
doing.”</p>

<p>“And terrible loss,” she said with a sigh.</p>

<p>“No gain without loss, and their losses have been
awful. There never has been anything like it. How long
they can stand it, I don’t know.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span></p>

<p>“I’ve given up caring for their losses in thinking of
our own. I’m growing inhuman.”</p>

<p>“Not a bit! Couldn’t—no matter how hard you tried.
Now who’s this, I wonder. Some of Auntie Mitt’s old
tabbies, I expect. I’ll bolt.”</p>

<p>But the door opened and disclosed the maid’s face all
alight with excitement as she announced with a jerk,
“Please, ma’am,—Sir Anthony,—Mr and Mrs Luard!”
and Ray and Lois walked in.</p>

<p>The Colonel rushed at them with a shout. Mrs Dare
jumped up. And Auntie Mitt almost upset the tea-table
into the fire-place.</p>

<p>“Well, well, well!—Mr and Mrs Luard! My dear,”—as
he kissed Lois heartily,—“This is a great day for us!
There,—go to your mother. She’s been aching for you.
Ray, my dear boy, you’re a champion. How did you
get here? Where have you come from? How are
you?”—All which incoherencies testified his feelings
better than many set speeches.</p>

<p>“I suppose you never got the wire I sent from Montreux,
sir?” asked Ray.</p>

<p>“Never got a thing, my boy. But Rhenius got home
and told us you were wanting money and I’ve been doing
my best to get some sent out, but so far it’s been impossible.
How did you manage?”</p>

<p>So they unfolded the idyl of their great adventure over
many cups of tea; each supplementing the other with
suddenly remembered intimate little details, the one
taking up the running whenever the other ran dry, or
out of breath, or stood in need of sustenance.</p>

<p>“We spent the night on the boat,” concluded Lois,
“with eight hundred others. It was an awful pack and
we had to sleep <span class="locked">anywhere——”</span></p>

<p>“She slept on a bench on deck, and I lay under the
bench, and every bone of me’s <span class="locked">sore——”</span></p>

<p>“So are mine,” said Lois, “and it was none too
<span class="locked">warm——”</span></p>

<p>“Fortunately it didn’t rain, and we managed to get<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span>
some hot tea early in the morning which bucked us up a
bit. But it’s not an experience I’d care to repeat—not
just that part of it, I mean.”</p>

<p>“Now tell us all the news,” begged Lois. “We’ve
been in the wilderness for a month and we know practically
nothing except that we’re at war. How’s everybody?
And how are things going?”</p>

<p>All that would obviously take much telling, and Auntie
Mitt, foreseeing a considerably enlarged party for dinner,
disappeared quietly to look after the commissariat.</p>

<p>The wanderers were mightily astonished at the tale of
the last month’s happenings. They rejoiced at Alma’s
marriage, but were greatly disturbed at Con’s disappearance.
Having as yet been told nothing of the savage
brutalities in vogue among the Germans, they were,
however, hopeful that he would turn up again all right
in time.</p>

<p>“It is terrible for Alma, all the same. We must go up
and see her, as soon as possible, Ray.”</p>

<p>“We’ll go to-morrow, and give her a surprise.”</p>

<p>A foretouch of future shadows fell on them when they
heard of Noel and Gregor MacLean having joined the
London Scottish.</p>

<p>“What about the First Battalion, sir?” Ray asked
at once.</p>

<p>“Mobilised for Foreign Service, my boy.”</p>

<p>“Where are they?—Head-Quarters?”</p>

<p>“Watford.”</p>

<p>“There’ll be some papers waiting here for me, I
suppose.”</p>

<p>“You’ll find them all in your room.”</p>

<p>“I must go up to-morrow first thing. Did you tell
them why I hadn’t answered, sir?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I called at Head-Quarters and saw Colonel
Malcolm. He said it would be all right, and he would
keep your place open as long as possible. They’ll be
glad to see you, even if you’re a bit late.”</p>

<p>“You really feel you must go, Ray?” asked Mrs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>
Dare anxiously, full of thought for Lois and remembering
Con.</p>

<p>“Yes, mother dear. I must go. We have talked it
all out, and Lois feels as I do about it. It is evident
that we’re going to need every man we can put into the
field, and if there are any shirkers they ought to be shot.”</p>

<p>“It will be hard to part with him,” said Lois bravely.
“But he cannot stop when all the rest are going.”</p>

<p>Mrs Dare picked up her knitting and went quietly on
with her work. Her heart was overfull. This monster
of War was taking them one by one. What if none of
them ever came back? What terrible gaps it would
make in their lives! God help them all!</p>

<p>The Colonel’s hand dropped gently on Lois’s and patted
it softly in token of his high approval.</p>

<p>And presently Ray slipped away to look over his equipment
and pack his kit. To make sure that everything
was in order he put on his uniform, and when he went
down to them again it was as First Lieutenant Luard of
G Company of the London Scottish, and very fine and
large he looked as he came striding into the room.</p>

<p>“I think everything’s all right,” he said. “If anyone
sees anything amissing, kindly mention it.”</p>

<p>And Lois looked on him with shining eyes and a flush
of pride in her face. But in her heart she was saying,
“He is splendid, splendid,—but suppose it only leads
to his death.”</p>

<p>Such thoughts, however, were for private consumption
only, and her face was all in order as she commented
with quiet approval on this detail and that, and asked in
matronly fashion if he was sure all his buttons were
stitched on tight.</p>

<p>She liked him so much in his fine feathers that he consented
to keep them on. “For,” she said to herself,
“to-morrow he will be gone and I would like to think of
him like that.”</p>

<p>Vic and Honor came in only in time for dinner and
could hardly believe their eyes. They loaded Lois with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span>
reproaches for her hole-and-corner wedding and commented
adversely on her German frock, which they
advised her to burn forthwith, or as soon as she could
procure something decent enough to be walked with, and
she promised to attend to their wishes in town in the
morning.</p>

<p>The Colonel had sent word to the Red House for Mr
Dare to come over if he came in, and presently he appeared,
so worried-looking and dispirited that Lois’s heart was
touched and troubled about him. But he brightened up
at sight of her and Ray, and gave them very hearty
greeting. The lack of news concerning them had been
an addition to his load. The sight of them now, alive
and well, lightened it to that extent.</p>

<p>He brought the cheering news of a heavy defeat of the
Austrians by the Russians at Lemberg, but had nothing
encouraging to report from France. There we were still
falling back and there was talk of the Government removing
itself from Paris to Bordeaux, which was not
reassuring. It sounded so fatally like 1870.</p>

<p>“Wise, all the same,” said the Colonel confidently.
“Every additional step the Germans take from their
base is a possible added risk for them. But I heard better
news than that, Dare. We think they’ve come far enough
and now we’re going to call a halt. And maybe we’ll
even drive them back.”</p>

<p>Over dinner, the great adventure had all to be gone
through again, and the girls did their best to convince
Lois that she was not properly married and certainly ought
to go through the ceremony once more to make quite
sure, for her own satisfaction and theirs.</p>

<p>“Think how awful it would be,” said Vic portentously,
“if in ten years’ time you found it was invalid, and Ray
could just shake you off with a simple ‘Good-day,
Madam!’”</p>

<p>“Horrible!” laughed Ray. “Don’t you worry yourself
thin over it, Balaclava. I’ve seen to it that
she can’t get rid of me, no matter how she wants<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span>
to. Everything is quite all right, my child. Trust me
for that.”</p>

<p>And Lois, smiling confidently, was yet praying in her
inmost heart, “God spare him to come back to me!
It may be that when he goes I may never see him
again.”</p>

<p>They were still deep in talk when the boys came swinging
in about nine o’clock, and at sight of the uniform they
drew themselves up and saluted smartly.</p>

<p>“Three paces in front and three in the rear!” said
Noel, and they marched solemnly past Ray before dropping
their hands. “And if a simple private may be permitted
to address his superior officer,—where the dickens have
you two dropped from—a Zeppelin?”</p>

<p>“No, only the Folkestone boat——” and, after a brief
outline of their wanderings abroad, they fell into talk of
regimental matters.</p>

<p>“Maybe they’ll put you back into the Second Battalion,”
suggested Gregor, and Lois’s heart beat hopefully.</p>

<p>“Oh, will they, my boy? Not if I know it. The
Colonel knows all about it and he’s holding my post for
me.”</p>

<p>“Lucky beggar!” said Noel enviously. “I wish we
were off to the front. Greg and I are as fit as any man
in the First, and I’ll bet you we’d knock spots off most
of them in the shooting line, eh, Greg?”</p>

<p>“And what are you playing at all day?”</p>

<p>“Oh, mouching about Head-Quarters while the Hossifers
change their minds as to what we should do. There’s a
fearful lot of mouching about in this business.”</p>

<p>“Worse than Throgmorton Street,” said Gregor.</p>

<p>“To-day we did a route march to Richmond Park.
Jolly hot it was too, and some of the fellows had about
as much as they could stick. Greg and I didn’t turn a
hair. By the way,”—to the girls,—“you remember us
telling you of the old lady who comes out on to her
balcony every time we go out Putney way, and waves
a black cardboard cat to us for luck? She was there again<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span>
to-day, waving away like a jolly old windmill, and we
gave her a cheer that did her heart good, I bet.”</p>

<p>“Dear old thing!” said Honor. “Perhaps she’s got
someone in the battalion.”</p>

<p>“I don’t know. But she’s undoubtedly gone on us.”</p>

<p>“I don’t see why,” said Vic critically. “Any news of
uniforms yet?”</p>

<p>“On the contrary,” laughed Gregor, with quiet enjoyment.
“Some of the fellows in the First Battalion, who
couldn’t go abroad for one reason or another and so have
been put back into the Second, have had to give up theirs
to fellows in the First who were short, and they’re as mad
as bears at having to tramp in civvies. Dear knows
when we’ll all get fitted out.”</p>

<p>“Oh well,” chimed in Noel, “I’d sooner wear my own
things than go about like a convict in blue serge, as some
of Kitchener’s poor beggars have to.”</p>

<p>“Yes, they do look rotten.”</p>

<p>“Feel rotten, too, you bet. If they put me in convict
dress I’d feel like chucking the whole thing.”</p>

<p>“Kilt before country!” suggested Vic ironically.</p>

<p>“Not a bit. Kill’t for one’s country, if you like, so
long as it’s in a kilt. But I can tell you it makes a difference
to your feelings—padding along like an out-of-work
procession, with every kind of coat and cap that ever
was made. Makes one feel like a rotten old jumble sale.”</p>

<p>“You’ll get your togs in time,” said Ray. “The great
thing is to have the man that’s to go inside them fit and
well.”</p>

<p>“Well, we’re all that anyway. We’ve been route-marching
ourselves and potting clay-pigeons for a month
past.”</p>

<p>Mr and Mrs Dare were noticeably quiet. She, because,
in spite of herself, her heart was depressed at all this close
approximation of the Juggernaut of War. It was impossible
to close her mind to the fears that beat blindly
at it. Con gone already—possibly gone for good. Ray
going,—he might well never come back. Noel and Gregor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span>
longing to go,—they would jump at any chance that offered.
They too might never come back, and she had fathomed
Gregor’s feeling for Honor, from the shy anxious glances
he cast at her whenever opportunity offered. About Noel
and Vic she was not so sure; their manner towards one
another puzzled her. But already she forecasted all the
boys lying dead and all the girls left broken-hearted.</p>

<p>Mr Dare had his own reasons for withdrawing into his
shell. Business, of course, for one thing. And for another,—Noel.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Noel</span>, embryo warrior, was a very different personage
from the Noel of six weeks ago looking forward
without enthusiasm to the stool in St Mary Axe.</p>

<p>The sudden enlargement of his horizon to the boundless
possibilities of military life and active warfare had, unconsciously,
and perhaps unavoidably, wrought changes
in him.</p>

<p>From being a boy, dependent on his father for both
present and future, he had become suddenly a man, independent,
and at times somewhat resentful of either
control or advice.</p>

<p>His whole heart and mind were given with his active
body to his new duties. He was soldier first, and anything
else afterwards. To Honor it was quite understandable.
He was jovially patronising to her and she held her own by
chaffing him royally when chance offered. To his father
and mother it was understandable also, but none the less
somewhat of a trial at times.</p>

<p>Their boy was no longer wholly theirs. He had suddenly
become a soldier and considered himself a man. They
rejoiced in the better points of his manly development,
but both felt keenly their deprivation in him; Mr Dare
perhaps the most.</p>

<p>They saw very little of him. He was away early and
home late. He was making many new acquaintances.
Home and its associations counted for less with him. There
was a general loosening of the old ties. They felt it, indeed,
a beginning of the end that might find its consummation
out there in the battle-smoke.</p>

<p>“We are losing him already,” said Mr Dare with a sigh,
one night when a telegram had come from Noel saying that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span>
as he had to be on orderly duty early next morning he would
sleep at the Soldiers’ Home opposite Head-Quarters. He
had hinted at the possibility once or twice, but they had not
taken it very seriously.</p>

<p>“We must not lose him,” said Mrs Dare quietly. “He
is keeping all right, John, I feel sure. He said he might
have to stop now and then, you know. He’s got to take
his turn with the rest.”</p>

<p>“I know, I know,” said Mr Dare, a trifle irritably.
“All the same I feel as if we were losing our hold on him.”</p>

<p>“I suppose it’s inevitable to some extent. We must
do our best to hold on to the little that is left us.... If
he ... if he comes through it safely, as we pray that he
may, perhaps he will come all back to us.... Perhaps,”
she said, following up a side thought, “it is nature’s way
of softening the blow if he should not come back to us.
The parting is beginning even now.”</p>

<p>“Hmph!” grunted Mr Dare resentfully. “He’s
getting out of hand, that’s certain. I asked him to see to
something the other day ... I really forget what it was,—some
small thing that he’d have done in a moment two
months ago,—and he simply let it slide,—never gave it
another thought <span class="locked">apparently——”</span></p>

<p>“Boys are very thoughtless when their minds are full of
their own concerns. I expect he just forgot all about it.”</p>

<p>“That doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”</p>

<p>“I know. It only explains it perhaps.”</p>

<p>“And I’m beginning to doubt if he’ll ever settle down to
ordinary work again. He has never been so keen on anything
in his life before. I don’t understand it. Where
does he get it from?”</p>

<p>“It’s partly boyish love of adventure, and partly, I
don’t doubt, real feeling that every man is needed, and
when so many are going he wouldn’t be one to stop behind.
We will give him credit for that. But, indeed, it is the last
thing in the world I would have desired for him.”</p>

<p>“Or I,” said Mr Dare, with a sigh.</p>

<p>The change in their relationship manifested itself in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>
many little ways,—quite trifling some of them, but to Mr
Dare’s already bruised and sensitive feelings none the less
galling.</p>

<p>The frank confidences of boyhood, which kept back
nothing, were gone. Beyond the bare statement that they
had done a route march to Richmond or Hampstead, or
had been mouching about Head-Quarters all day, or playing
about in Hyde Park, even his mother’s interested attempts
to draw him out came to little.</p>

<p>His manner at times seemed to hint that it would be
waste of time on his part to enter into the details they
would so have enjoyed hearing, since, being mere
civilians, they could not possibly understand purely
military matters.</p>

<p>When, occasionally, by some lucky chance, his Company
was dismissed earlier than usual, if he did not stop in town
to go to a theatre or music-hall with some of his fellows,
he would rush in for a meal and off again almost before he
had swallowed it, to call on this one or that one where
he evidently found more congenial company than at
home.</p>

<p>If they all happened to meet outside, at Oakdene or
elsewhere, they would find him in the highest of spirits,
reeling off merry yarns of their doings en route or at Head-Quarters,
and they felt a little sore that all this brighter
side of him should be kept for foreign consumption when
the home market was pining for it.</p>

<p>“Have we failed in any way in our duty to him?”
grumbled Mr Dare, after one such evening at Oakdene,
as he and Mrs Dare went along together to their own
house, which had never felt so lonely since they came
to it.</p>

<p>“No, John, we haven’t,” said Mrs Dare. “It’s just
that he’s very young still though he thinks he’s a man,
and youth draws to youth. It’s always the way, I
expect.”</p>

<p>“It wasn’t so with Con, or Lois.”</p>

<p>“They had the younger ones—and they were all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span>
younger together. Young birds must quit the nest, you
know.”</p>

<p>“Youth is apt to run to selfishness, it seems to me.
I think we’d better take a smaller house.”</p>

<p>“We might well do that, but I would be sorry to leave
Willstead and all our friends.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap r"><span class="smcap1">Ray</span> went off in full rig first thing in the morning,
taking his kit with him, in case, as he thought
probable, he should be ordered to join his company
at once.</p>

<p>Vic and Honor had business in town, so they went
with him and Lois to the station, where they found Noel
and Gregor marching impatiently about the platform for
the train to come in.</p>

<p>“You can’t travel with us, you know,” said Noel. “We
go third. <span class="locked">Officers——”</span></p>

<p>“Thanks, my child! ‘Out of the mouths of <span class="locked">babes——’”</span></p>

<p>“The girls will of course follow the uniform,” said Noel,
while Gregor grinned hopefully.</p>

<p>“Of course,” said Honor, and they got in with Ray.
He leaned out of the window for a last word with Lois,
who was going up later to do some shopping; and then
they were gone, and she stood watching the joggling end
carriage till it was out of sight, and wondered forlornly
if she would ever see him again.</p>

<p>She was still standing watching, with an odd little feeling
in her heart that when she turned away it would be like
cutting the last link with the happy past and turning
to face the anxious future, which stood waiting peremptorily
just behind her, when the down-train ran in. She
turned with a sigh that was almost a sob, and went out
into the road.</p>

<p>Her eyes were misty as she went. It was the beginning
of partings, and if he went to the front, as he most
assuredly would if the rest went, it might be the beginning
of the end.</p>

<p>And life was just at its fullest with them, just opening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span>
its fairest white flowers. They were so very happy,—and
would have been happier still, if this hideous war
had not come.</p>

<p>But she must be brave. Ray was feeling it just as
much as she was. But he had gone to his duty with
high heart and quiet face, and she must do no less.</p>

<p>But it was hard, hard, hard, to part with him so soon.
God help them both! They were in His hands, and she
must cling to that with might and main.</p>

<p>“Lois!”—and she turned quickly and found Alma
hurrying to come up with her.</p>

<p>But a much-altered Alma. The beautiful face, which
used to be all agleam with the joy of life,—the gracious
curving mouth, where quick smiles and ready laughter
used to hover,—the eloquent eyes which caught your
thought in advance of your words,—they were all there
but frozen to the semblance of a marble saint. Lois
caught her breath at the change in her.</p>

<p>“Am I too late? Has he gone?” panted Alma.</p>

<p>“Just gone. Oh, Alma! My dear! My dear!” and
they embraced one another there in the road, oblivious
of who might see them at it. For the tragic web of
circumstance in which their hearts were caught lifted
them above all care for such small mundane considerations.</p>

<p>“Vic wrote me a line last night about you two, and I
knew Ray would have to be off at once, so I came as
soon as I could possibly get away. I <em>would</em> have liked
to see the dear old boy once more. How is he feeling
and looking?”</p>

<p>“Just as you would expect him to. He looks splendid.
He is feeling—well, very much as we are, I suppose.”</p>

<p>“Yes, these are sad and sober times for us all, but
chiefly for us women. I think it hits us harder than the
men. They have all the glamour and the activities.
There is not much glamour in it for us who sit at home
and wait for things to happen and fear the worst all the
time.”</p>

<p>“No ... Al, dear, I can’t tell you all I feel about you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span>
and Con. But, dear, I feel somehow that he will come
back. I do not believe he is ... gone for good.”</p>

<p>“I don’t myself. But the waiting and hearing nothing
is hard to bear.... I thank God a dozen times a day
that I have my work and that it is hard and taxing. If
I hadn’t I should break down. You must get some work
to do, Lois. It is the only way to bear it.... But
when Con and I parted, the evening of the day we were
married—it was just outside the big gate at the hospital—I
just knelt by my bed half the night. I could not
think of sleeping. And I gave him up, there and then,
to God and his country, and made up my mind that I
might never see him again.”</p>

<p>“It was brave and strong of you, dear. I’m afraid I
haven’t got up to that yet.”</p>

<p>“It is best so. We may never see again any of those
who go. If we can bring ourselves to really understand
that, and say good-bye to them in our hearts, I think the
pain of the actual news will be lessened.”</p>

<p>“But we can always hope for them.”</p>

<p>“Of course. We can, and do, and will. And if the
hope is realised, so much the better. But if not, the
pain will be less.”</p>

<p>“It is all very terrible. Who would have thought it
three months ago?”</p>

<p>“Ay, indeed!... I cannot help hoping that those
who brought it about may suffer in themselves every bit
of the suffering they are causing.”</p>

<p>Her unexpected visit was a pleasant surprise to the
Colonel and Auntie Mitt. It reminded them of her
sudden home-swoops of ante-war-days, but with the
unforgettable difference. Auntie Mitt, indeed, kept
stealing surreptitious glances at her, as though she were
not absolutely certain in her own mind that this really
was their own Alma. And the Colonel’s voice had a novel
inflection in it when he spoke to her.</p>

<p>“No news, Uncle, or you would have let me know,”
was her first word to him.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span></p>

<p>“Nothing yet, my dear. I shall hear the moment they
have anything definite. But they all seem quite hopeful.”</p>

<p>But she had heard that so often that it had come to
lose its savour for her.</p>

<p>“I am very sorry to have missed Ray. I got off as
early as I could, but we are terribly busy. Have you
any further idea as to my going out?”</p>

<p>“My dear, you could go out, I imagine, with any party
that is going. But ... I really think your best place
is here,—at your own work, I mean. If any news came,
and you were away out there somewhere,—think how
awkward it might be. We might want you at once and
never be able to find you. Can’t you bring your mind
to stopping at home?”</p>

<p>“I suppose I must if you put it so. But I feel as
though I would like to go out and tackle harder work
still,—the harder and grimmer and redder, the better.”</p>

<p>“I know,” said the Colonel understandingly. “And
if I thought it best I would say so, and help you there.
But I really think you are best at home—for a time at
all events. Now I must run, my dear. I promised to
be in town at eleven. Stop as long as you can. I’ll send
you good news as soon as I learn any.”</p>

<p>She stayed till close on mid-day, ran in for a short
chat with Mrs Dare, had an early lunch, and then Lois
walked back to the station with her.</p>

<p>“You will keep me posted as to Ray’s doings, Lo,”
she said, as they stood on the platform. “For your sake,
dear, I could almost wish he might not have to go. But
I know him, and you know him, and we both know that
if the rest went and he was left behind, it would break
his heart.”</p>

<p>Lois nodded. Her heart was very full. She wished
Alma could stop at home. They could have helped one
another. Life was all partings at present.</p>

<p>“Remember, dear,” said Alma, as the train came round
the curve, “we are more than ever sisters now. We
must help one another all we can. And—don’t forget!—throw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span>
yourself into some good work or other. It is the
very best anodyne.”</p>

<p>And, the next minute, Lois was watching the joggling
end of the train as it carried her away.</p>

<p>She went slowly home to discuss with her mother what
work she should set her hand to. But before they had
decided anything the matter was settled for them, for
the time being, in quite a different way. A telegram
was brought over to her from Oakdene, and it was from
Ray at Watford.</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“Have got rooms for you at Malden Hotel here.
Come along.”</p>
</div>

<p>This meant a quick fly round if she was to do him no
discredit. Within an hour she was in town and whirling
in a taxi to Regent Street. Inside another hour she had
chosen, tried on, and had properly fitted, a costume and
hat equal to the occasion, and she reached the Malden at
Watford just in time for tea.</p>

<p>Then she waited joyously for Ray to put in an appearance,
her clouds for the time being lightened by the
certainty of seeing him again, and of having at all events
some small share in him for a few days longer.</p>

<p>She knew well enough that it was but a postponement
of the evil day, a very temporary lifting of the war-clouds
to let the sun of their happiness shine briefly through.
But possibly, to one under sentence of death, a respite
of even a week may seem a mighty gain,—seven long
days and nights snatched from the shadow beyond.
Possibly!—for to some it might seem better to have it
over and done with rather than to live on in the inevitableness
of the ever-approaching menace.</p>

<p>Yet most would be gratified for even the gift of days,
and Lois was so. Like Alma, she felt that when the
actual parting came it would be wisdom to look on it as
possibly—probably final. And so these few unlooked-for
extra days were jewels beyond compare, vouchsafed them
by the goodness of God,—to be made the very most of,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>
and afterwards to be treasured as long as memory
lasted.</p>

<p>Ray came striding in on her just before dinner.</p>

<p>“Well!” he said, when he had kissed her to their
hearts’ content, and then held her off at arm’s length to
take her all in,—“We are smart!”</p>

<p>“To be upsides with you, sir.”</p>

<p>“However did you manage it? I was half afraid it
would bother you to come, but the Colonel gave permission
and it was too good a chance to miss.”</p>

<p>“I should think so, indeed. I am so glad you managed
it.”</p>

<p>There was a joyous surface-light on his face though
below it was set in firm restraint. Like herself,—but
with larger knowledge of the actual facts and so a clearer
estimate of the possibilities—he thought it more than
likely they might never see one another again when they
said their last good-bye. The slaughters out there were
terrible. Officers especially were going under at a terrific
rate. It seemed, from what they heard, that it was an
essential part of the new low German fashion of fighting
to make a dead set at every man in officer’s uniform.</p>

<p>But not for one moment did he regret what they had
done. If the worst was to come, his last breath would
be the happier for the knowledge that their lives had
been one, and that Lois’s future was secure so far as Uncle
Tony’s generous hands could make it.</p>

<p>His billet was not very far away, but the Colonel, who
had known him for years and Uncle Tony still better,
and who had heard all about their little romance, permitted
him the privileges of the hotel so that he might
spend as many of these last precious hours with his new-made
wife as possible, and Ray saw to it that love trespassed
not on duty by so much as one hair’s breadth.</p>

<p>He was up and away each day before she was properly
awake, and he came in at night—when he came in at all—tired
and hungry, but hungriest of all for another sight
of her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span></p>

<p>And Lois spent the days intercepting the Battalion on
its route marches or exercising itself in cover-taking and
trench-digging and manœuvering at Fortune’s Farm.</p>

<p>And always, when she managed to catch the long line
on the march, the sight of the intent masterful faces
under the cocked bonnets, and the rhythmic swing of the
kilts and bare knees and hodden-gray stockings and blue
flashes, to the spirited skirling of the pipes, brought her
heart up into her throat, and, often as not, the tears into
her eyes.</p>

<p>They looked so gallant and so gay, so eager to be at it,
so gloriously young and full of life, so ready to do, and
dare, and die,—and, inevitably, some of them, many of
them maybe, would swing away into the war-cloud, just
like that—gaily, gallantly, eagerly, and would never
come out of it. The glorious young life would gasp itself
out on the foreign soil,—those who loved them would
know them no more save as happy memories,—and maybe
that life that was dearer to her than her own would
be among them.</p>

<p>It was a sweet, poignant, uplifting time, and she lived
to its utmost every vital moment of it. As in one of
those gorgeous death-banquets of old, the ever-pressing
knowledge of the inevitable end heightened and deepened
and quickened the vitality of the moments that were
left. Life—in herself and in these others—had never
seemed so wonderful and so desirable. For—for some
of them—its hours were numbered.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Lois</span> was present, in a corner, at that last parade
at Fortune’s Farm when the new rifles were given
out. And, later on, with misty eyes and that
troublesome choking in the throat, she was watching the
long wavering gray line as it swung gallantly away with
skirling pipes and eager faces—en route for the front.</p>

<p>Then she turned to go quietly home to her mother and
Uncle Tony, and to wait God’s will in the matter.</p>

<p>She was to live at Oakdene as became Ray’s wife, but
her time was to be spent between the old home and the
new, and her energies devoted to cheering them both.
For both were lonely now and clouded. Of all the merry
company that had filled them with such joyousness of
youth, she was the only one they could now count upon.</p>

<p>Victoria and Honor were out all day, slaving on Out-of-Work-Girls
and Belgian Refugee Committees, organising
crowds of willing but in many cases incompetent workers,—arranging
accommodation and hostels,—procuring
houses, funds, and furniture, and getting them into something
like working order.</p>

<p>Noel was only in for supper, bed, and breakfast, and
not always that. The Colonel was carrying on a recruiting
campaign with a patriotic vehemence much in excess of
his years and his bodily powers.</p>

<p>Miss Mitten meekly, and Mrs Dare boldly, did their
utmost to keep his exertions within reasonable limits.
But to all their expostulations and warnings his invariable
reply was,—“We need every man we can get, and since
I can’t go out, I must do all I can at home. Better to
wear out than to rust out or go under to those damned
barbarians.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span></p>

<p>“But you’ll do no good by killing yourself,” Mrs Dare
had remonstrated, one morning when he looked in as
usual in passing, and punctuated his paragraphs with
muffled sneezes.</p>

<p>“Oh—killing myself! It’s not got to that yet.
(Att-i-cha!) I’m enjoying it, I assure you, Mrs Mother.
We got twenty fine (Att-i-cha!)—boys at Greendale last
night.”</p>

<p>“Well, do keep your hat on when you must speak
outside, I beg of you. The nights are getting cold and
you’re not as young as you were, you know.”</p>

<p>“It’s my one com—att-i-cha!—complaint. And it’s
only the outer husk that feels it. I’m really wonderfully
young inside, you know. I tell you, I was quite put out
yesterday when a young fellow insisted on giving me his
seat in the train.”</p>

<p>“It was very nice of him.”</p>

<p>“Hmph! Well, no doubt it was,—att-i-cha!—But,
hang it all, I don’t look as decrepit as all that, do I?
However, I got the better of him by giving it to an old
lady—a really old lady—a minute or two later. By the
way, Lois had a post-card from Ray this morning.”</p>

<p>“What does he say? Where have they got to?” she
asked eagerly.</p>

<p>“Says nothing except that he’s well and very busy.
No word as to where, of course.”</p>

<p>“And no postmark?”</p>

<p>“Nothing. They’re behind the war-screen now. We
shall know nothing more,—unless through the despatches,
maybe. Now we’ve got to live on—att-i-cha!—on faith
and hope,” he said meaningly.</p>

<p>“And keep our hats on when we speak outside,” she
retaliated.</p>

<p>“That’s all right,” he laughed. “I’ll begin taking
you and Auntie Mitt with me, one on each side, to hold
it down. I want to wave it all the time nowadays,
at thought of having those infernal Huns on the run at
last. More good news again to-day. Russia’s smashed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span>
Austria into little bits in Galicia. Whurr—att-i-cha!—oo!”</p>

<p>“They were retiring somewhere yesterday.”</p>

<p>“In East Prussia. Quick advance there was by way
of diversion no doubt, and now they’ve done their work
and are taking up safer positions.”</p>

<p>“When any part of our side retires it’s always a strategic
retreat,” smiled Mrs Dare. “But when the Germans
retire it’s always a rout.”</p>

<p>“Well—so ’tis,” he laughed, and shook hands and
sneezed himself away.</p>

<p>“You’d be very much the better of a couple of days
in your bed,” was her last piece of advice as he went
down the path.</p>

<p>“When the war’s over. Did you ever manage to keep
John in bed for a couple of days?”</p>

<p>“Yes—once,—for about two weeks—when he had
pneumonia.”</p>

<p>“Well I’ll stop in bed when I get pneumonia,” and he
waved his hand again and marched away.</p>

<p>At teatime, when Miss Mitten and Mrs Dare, and their
respective body-belt and jersey, were keeping one another
company in friendly silence in the Oakdene parlour, Lois
having gone into town to complete her outfit, the Colonel
came in looking no more than a washed-out rag of his
usual cheerful self.</p>

<p>“I’ve decided to take your advice, Mrs Mother, and
lie up for half a day,” he said depressedly. “I ought
to be at Northcote to-night, but Penberthy has taken it
on instead. He’s a good chap, Penberthy, but unfortunately
he can’t speak worth a button. <span class="locked">However——”</span></p>

<p>“The sooner you’re in your bed the better,” said Mrs
Dare. “You can’t afford to neglect a cold such as that.”</p>

<p>“I always obey superior orders, don’t I, Auntie Mitt?”</p>

<p>“I’m sure you did, Sir Anthony,”—at which he chuckled,
but less heartily than usual.</p>

<p>“Just one cup of tea to cheer me up, and then, if you
will be so good, Auntie Mitt, a good big white-wine posset,—one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span>
of your very best, and you’ll send me up a bit of dinner
later. Nothing like one of Auntie Mitt’s big white-wine
possets for chasing a cold out of the system. Talk about
grateful and comforting!”</p>

<p>“I know them. Take my advice and put your feet in
mustard and water as well,” said Mrs Dare. “You’ve got
a very bad cold on you.”</p>

<p>“I shouldn’t wonder if it’s a touch of influenza,” said
Miss Mitten, when she returned from compounding the
posset. “They say there’s a good deal of it about. I don’t
know that a posset is the best thing for him. He seems
hot enough to me. But it’s no good arguing with him.
He always does just as he pleases.”</p>

<p>“I thought you agreed that he always obeyed superior
orders,” smiled Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“And so he does, but they’re always his own. When
he was in the army I have no doubt he did all he was told
and sometimes perhaps a bit more. That’s how he won
his V.C. But since he retired he’s been his own master
entirely.”</p>

<p>“If he seems feverish in the morning I should send for
Dr Rhenius, if I were you. He has been grievously
overworking himself of late, and, since he won’t take care
himself, you must be careful for him.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I will,” said Auntie Mitt, with a very decided nod
and pursed lips. “He forgets his age sometimes.”</p>

<p>Next morning the Colonel was so limp and full of pains
that he raised no objection when Miss Mitten suggested
the Doctor.</p>

<p>“A stitch in time sometimes saves nine,” quoth she.</p>

<p>“I’ve got ’em already,” grunted the patient.</p>

<p>“Then it’s a touch of pleurisy, I expect,” and she
hastened to get advice on the subject.</p>

<p>Dr Rhenius at once confirmed her speculative
diagnosis.</p>

<p>“You’re my prisoner, Colonel, till I say the word, or I
won’t answer for consequences. You’ve been altogether
overdoing it, you know.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span></p>

<p>“King and Country need you,” grunted the Colonel in
extenuation.</p>

<p>“Well, you’ll be more use to them alive than dead, and
you’ve got to knock off now, or you’ll knock out. Besides,
they can spare you well enough for a bit. They’re getting
all the men they can handle, aren’t they? In fact they
don’t seem able to handle properly those they’ve got, according
to the papers.”</p>

<p>“Big job, you see, ... machinery hardly in order
yet.... Took us unawares, ... but we’re going to see
it through.”</p>

<p>“What have you got up to now?”</p>

<p>“What Kitchener asked for.... Half a million or so....
We’ll need lots more before we’ve done with it.... Get me
right again as quick as you can.... I’ll go crazy lying here.”</p>

<p>“If you follow my instructions, and keep still, and don’t
talk so much, I’ll get you right again. And when I do,
just try and remember that you can’t stand as much as you
could when you were five-and-twenty.”</p>

<p>The Colonel grunted, since talking set the pain in his side
stabbing again. Dr Rhenius wrote out a prescription,
gave Miss Mitten very specific directions as to treatment,
shook a warning finger at the obstreperous one, and promised
to call back in the evening.</p>

<p>“He’ll not be easy to manage,” he said to Miss Mitten,
as he went downstairs. “Shall I send you in a nurse?”</p>

<p>“Is it as bad as that?” asked Auntie Mitt, to whom
an outside nurse suggested extremity. “If you think it
necessary, Doctor, we must have one.”</p>

<p>“No need to be alarmed—as yet. But I know him, and
he’ll be a handful. And then there’s the night work, you
see.”</p>

<p>“If you think it necessary then.”</p>

<p>But as he went down the path he met Mrs Dare coming
up to enquire how things were. And when he told her, she
said at once, “Nurse? We don’t need any outside nurse.
We’ll manage him between us all right. Lois will be a
great assistance.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span></p>

<p>“She’s home then? And Ray?”</p>

<p>“They’ve all gone,—to the front, we suppose;—the first
Territorials to go. They consider it a great honour. For
myself ... it makes me sick to think of it all.”</p>

<p>“Very well, then. The three of you ought to be able to
manage him among you. We will leave it so.”</p>

<p>“We’ll manage him all right. Tell us just what you want
done and we’ll do it. It will be good for us all and keep our
minds off other things.”</p>

<p>No man could have had three more devoted and indefatigable
nurses. They spared themselves nothing and put
up with the safety-valve growlings of their patient like
angels.</p>

<p>The Colonel had had so little illness in his life—apart
from wounds, which were quite a different matter—and
felt so keenly his country’s need for him to be up and doing,
that he took his shelving with anything but a good grace.
Auntie Mitt and Lois alone would never have been able to
manage him. But to Mrs Dare he submitted—a little
grumpily, at times—but still submitted, and exploded all
his objurgations on things in general under cover of the
bed-clothes.</p>

<p>He insisted on Lois reading all the latest news to him
from the morning and evening papers, and forbade her to say
a word in her letters to Ray about his illness. “No good
worrying him,” he said. “He’ll have his hands full out
there without having me on his mind.”</p>

<p>But presently he developed pneumonia in addition to the
pleurisy, and the Doctor put a peremptory embargo on
all war news, since it invariably sent his temperature up.
Absolute lack of news, however, had just as bad an effect,
and finally he was permitted to hear from day to day that
things were going well, and all the papers were kept for
him to read when he got better.</p>

<p>They made much of the fresh loyal offers of help from
India, and of the successful aeroplane raid on the Dusseldorf
Zeppelin sheds, carefully withheld any hint of the sinking
of the Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue, and the impudent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span>
quarter-of-an-hour’s bombardment of Madras by the
lively Emden, and soothed him with assurances that France
and Britain were splendidly holding their own along the
Aisne, that Russia was forging ahead in Galicia, and that
recruiting was quite up to expectations. In fact they
played motherly censor to him with the already over-heavily
censored news, and permitted nothing whatever of
an upsetting nature to reach him; and of course they
overdid it,—just as the other censor did.</p>

<p>He grew suspicious of all this cotton-woolling, and at
last insisted on Lois holding the paper before him each
morning so that he might scan the head-lines. Then he indicated
what he wanted read and there was no getting
out of it.</p>

<p>Dr Rhenius, appealed to, did his best to break him off it,
but the result was disastrous. The Colonel’s temperature
went up a degree and a half through suppressed indignation,
and he had to be allowed his news.</p>

<p>“Not a da-asht infant,” he murmured. “Can stand it—good
or bad. Must know.”</p>

<p>But the fever sapped his strength to such an extent that
at times he lay so listless and apparently careless even of
news that Auntie Mitt grew apprehensive.</p>

<p>“I don’t like it,” she confined to Mrs Dare. “It’s so
very unlike him. I would really be thankful to hear him
swear a little.”</p>

<p>“The fever has weakened him. Once the crisis is past
he’ll begin to pick up again, and then we’ll tell him you
want to hear him swear again.”</p>

<p>“It’s not really that I want to hear him swear, you
understand, my dear,” Auntie Mitt superfluously explained,
“but that I wish he were well enough to do so.”</p>

<p>“I know. I would like to hear him too.”</p>

<p>To keep the house quiet Victoria was stopping with
Honor at The Red House, which was quite to Noel and
Gregor’s taste.</p>

<p>They were still doing heavy route-marching almost every
day, and on the off-days and Friday, which was pay-day,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>
they mouched about Head-Quarters or put in a bit of drill
in Hyde Park.</p>

<p>The pay of three shillings a day—to cover travelling
expenses and daily rations—was to Gregor a negligible
matter. But to Noel, who had never earned a farthing in
his life, it was uplifting. He was actually keeping himself—in
cigarettes and amusements,—and in conjunction with
Gregor even took the girls to a theatre now and again. It
was a grand thing not to be dependent on anyone for his
pocket-money, and it made him feel excessively manly.</p>

<p>He and Gregor—who, like a good chum, did his best
to keep his purse to the level of his friend’s—made many
quaint discoveries in the matter of restaurants where they
got a cut off the joint and two vegetables and bread, and
choice of cheese or sweets, for the all-round sum of one
shilling.</p>

<p>Marching days, however, were lean days with them,
when they were dependent on the none-too-filling sandwiches
and biscuits, and apples and ginger-beer, of the
travelling canteen. And those nights they took home
tremendous appetites and were unjovial till they had been
satisfied,—a task which they divided about equally between
The Red House and the White.</p>

<p>Mrs MacLean rejoiced whenever they went to her, and
would have liked them to come every night, and she was
never caught short. The girls did their best. But the
boys’ movements were as a rule so unforeseeable, and at all
times subject to such unexpected alteration on the spur
of the moment, that providing for them was no easy
matter.</p>

<p>Gregor, at all events, showed no sign of complaint, and
doubtless the presence of the girls more than made up for
any little defects in the commissariat. Noel expressed
himself freely on the subject if occasion offered.</p>

<p>“Wait till we go into camp,” grinned Gregor. “You’ll
learn things, my boy. Bully beef and hard potatoes, and
mouldy cheese, and jam that’s all the same whatever it
calls itself!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span></p>

<p>“Rotten! They might at all events feed us properly.”</p>

<p>“It’s a shame,” said Honor. “I should strike, or
mutiny, or whatever’s the proper thing to do in such a
case.”</p>

<p>“Proper thing is to grin and bear it and buy some extra
grub outside to fill up with. If you kicked you’d be taken
out and shot at dawn,” said Gregor gravely.</p>

<p>“I don’t think soldiering’s as nice as I thought it
was.”</p>

<p>“It’s not,—not all of it. But it’s got to be done since
the Kaiser’s said so.”</p>

<p>“The wretch! I wish he would die.”</p>

<p>“Not yet. He’ll suffer a lot more if he lives. At
least I hope so.”</p>

<p>“He can never suffer as he deserves to,” said Vic. “I
would have all the pain and misery he has brought
about visited on his own head, but that’s not humanly
possible.”</p>

<p>“He’ll suffer,” said Gregor weightily.</p>

<p>“If we lick him all to pieces, as we shall do,” said Noel,
“he’ll surrender to England and be given a palace to live in
and a nice little pension. We’re altogether too soft-hearted.
When a man’s down we’re always sorry for him, no matter
what he’s done, and we sentimentalise over him like a lot
of silly schoolgirls.”</p>

<p>“That all you know?” said Honor.</p>

<p>“What about those kilts?” asked Vic.</p>

<p>“Next week, please the powers! Things are turning up
by degrees. A lot of sporrans and spats came in this afternoon.
I saw them myself.”</p>

<p>“We’ll be getting clothed bit by bit,” said Gregor.
“You’ll see us swanking it in one spat and a sporran maybe.
There’s no kilts come yet, and as for tunics!—you see there’s
more khaki wanted than they can turn out, though the
mills are working night and day, they say.”</p>

<p>“And pretty poor stuff it is, from all accounts,” said
Noel. “You should hear a song the fellows have about
the rotten time they’re taking to give us our uniforms.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>
How does it go now? They roar it at top of their voice
whenever the Colonel comes <span class="locked">along,—</span></p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indentqq">‘There’s a matter here to which we call attention,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Concerning which we feel a trifle warm,—</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">The days are getting cold, and we’re slowly growing old,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">And here we are without our uniform.’</div>
  </div>
</div>
</div>

<p class="in0">“Chorus, Greg!”</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indentqq">‘Sunday we pray we soon may get ’em;</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Monday, our spirits rise a bit;</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Tuesday is the day they say they’re on the way, but not a bit of it!</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Wednesday, we grow a shade mistrustful,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Thursday our hopes begin to fall;</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">On Friday we’re despairing,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">On Saturday we’re swearing,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">We’ll never get the—er—ruddy things—at all.’”</div>
  </div>
</div>
</div>

<p>“Bravo!” cried the girls. “Encore!”</p>

<p>But just at that point Mr Dare came in, with a tired
nod to them all, and Noel’s high spirits seemed to lower at
once by several degrees.</p>

<p>“How is the Colonel to-night?” Mr Dare asked Vic.</p>

<p>“He’s just about the same, Mr Dare. The stabbing
pain has gone, they say. But he’s very limp. Even
good news of the war hardly bucks him up. He seems
to want just to lie quiet, and I’ve never in my life
known him do that before. It shows how pulled down
he is.”</p>

<p>“It’s the crisis to-night, I think, and it’s going to be a
wild night,”—as the wind shook the windows as though
trying to force its way in. “A bad night for the trenches
and a worse on the sea,” and he subsided into the evening
paper.</p>

<p>“Lois had another post-card from Ray this morning,
father,” said Honor.</p>

<p>“That’s good. He’s all right so far then. Doesn’t
say where, I suppose?”</p>

<p>“Gives no clue. Not allowed. Simply says he’s quite
all right and awfully busy.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span></p>

<p>“Well, we must be thankful for that much. The
losses all round are terrible to think of. If it goes on
much longer at this rate——” but consideration for the
boys cut his Cassandra ruminations short.</p>

<p>“Has the City any views as to how long it’ll last, sir?”
asked Gregor.</p>

<p>“Any amount of views but no knowledge. Some are
sure it’ll be all over by <span class="locked">Christmas——”</span></p>

<p>“Rotten! I jolly well hope not,” jerked Noel.</p>

<p>“—And some say it will last two years or even three.”</p>

<p>“There’ll be a lot of wastage if it goes on that long,”
said Gregor. “And all the countries would be bankrupt,
I should say.”</p>

<p>“It’s too ghastly to think of. We’ll hope for better
things,” and he took to his papers again.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> big trees clashed and roared all night in the
gale. In the morning a huge limb of one of the
Oakdene elms lay on the lawn, and Vic, running
across, anxious for news of the Colonel, brought back word
that he had had a very restless night but was now sleeping
quietly, and that Mrs Dare was sure he was no worse,—which
in itself was great gain—and was not sure that he
was not even a little better.</p>

<p>And so it proved when the Doctor called. He pronounced
the crisis passed and had every hope that his
patient was now on the road to recovery. Every care was
still needed, however, as one could never tell what might
happen in the case of such a trying combination as pneumonia
and seventy-eight years of age.</p>

<p>Dr Rhenius himself was looking somewhat fagged and
overworked. He said there was a great deal of sickness
about, and set it down to some extent to the general
depression of spirits caused by the war. Every house
he went into had some connection with it, and the sense
of anxiety was widespread,—not, he admitted, as to the
ultimate issue, on which all minds were made up, but as
to the fate of relatives at the front. For the descriptions
which came home of the fierceness of the fighting and the
effects of the huge German shells, which dug holes in the
ground big enough to bury an omnibus in, seemed to
leave small hope of escape to any who might be exposed
to them.</p>

<p>The stories of the atrocious barbarities practised by
the German hordes in Belgium and Northern France
depressed them all greatly,—Malines, Termonde, Rheims—there
seemed no bounds to the inhumanity of these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span>
twentieth-century Huns. They had shed off the thin
veneer of their civilisation and reverted to savagery, and
the whole world stood aghast. That a nation professedly
Christian, and calling on God to assist its nefarious enterprises,
could not only descend to such depths but could
actually exult in them, was a shock to the moral sense of
humanity at large.</p>

<p>What chance could there be for any who fell into their
vengeful hands? What chance even for those who went
out to meet them in fair fight? For trickery and treachery
and every mean device were the chosen weapons of their
dishonourable warfare. Nothing was sacred if it stood
in the way of their winning. They played the game like
dirty little gutter-snipes whose intention was to win at
all costs, and the fouler the means the more they exulted
in the success of them.</p>

<p>There were heavy hearts at home in those days, and
‘Missing’ came to be regarded as almost more hopeless
than ‘Dead’;—certainly more pregnant of sorrows, for
the dead were happily done with it all and could suffer
no more.</p>

<p>Con was ever in their thoughts. When his mother read
the grim accounts of the dastardly ill-treatment meted
specially to British prisoners, she was tempted at times
to wish his name had been in the fatal list which left no
room for further hopes or fears.</p>

<p>And Ray,—any day might bring similar word concerning
him. Now and again a brief post-card reached them
saying he was well and busy. But even as they read the
precious words and rejoiced in them, each one knew full
well that since they were written the end might have come.
When bullets are flying and shells are bursting it takes
so little to end a life. And those venomous Germans
made a point of picking off every officer they could crawl
within range of.</p>

<p>And presently Noel and Gregor would go. They were
as keen for the front as though they bore charmed lives
and death and mutilation were not. There were sure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span>
to be drafts before long to make good the inevitable
wastage in the First Battalion, and these two, splendidly
fit and eager for the fray, were certain to be among the
chosen.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare and Lois and Alma knelt long of a night, and
carried prayers in their hearts all day; Honor and Vic
perhaps also, but the matter had not come so poignantly
home to them as yet. Their younger eyes were still
somewhat misted with the pomp and glamour of war,
but from the others’ the scales had fallen and only the
horror and misery were apparent to them.</p>

<p>Alma had run over to see how Uncle Tony was getting
on, and they were all six of them for once sitting over
their tea together, working busily, and talking quietly
in the shadow of the war-cloud. Lois had been sitting
with Uncle Tony till he fell asleep. He slept much of
late and was often listless and drowsy and very unlike
himself, when awake, especially in the afternoon.</p>

<p>It was Alma who said, out of the fulness of her heart
and of much inevitable brooding over the matter,</p>

<p>“You know, if the women of all the world would only
say the word, and say it together, and not only say it
but mean it with all their souls and lives, there could be
no such thing as war in the world.”</p>

<p>Mrs Dare suspended work for a minute and regarded
her thoughtfully. Auntie Mitt peered at her over her
spectacles in wonder. Lois nodded comprehendingly, with
a star in each eye. Honor shook her head doubtfully.
Victoria said, “If we had the vote—perhaps.”</p>

<p>“The vote will come all right in time,” said Alma.
“But I was thinking larger than that. In all wars the
women are the greatest and final sufferers. If they could
join hands all over the world and say ‘There shall be no
more war!’—well ... there would be no more war.”</p>

<p>“I don’t see why,” said Honor. “The men would make
war all the same if they wanted to—as they would.”</p>

<p>“Not if the women meant what they said, and were
prepared to stand by it and all its consequences. Ey!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span>
she said, throwing up her arms in a supplicatory gesture,
“I wish I could rouse them to it! It could be done. I’m
sure it could be done. And just think what it would
mean!”</p>

<p>“It would mean new life and new hope,—a new Heaven
and a new Earth,” said Mrs Dare impressively. “It would
be a Second Advent.... My dear, it is a wonderful idea....
If only it were possible!”</p>

<p>“It is quite possible,” said Alma, with a quiet confidence
which impressed even Vic, who gazed at her in wondering
amazement, “The idea came to me in the night, as I lay
thinking of Con and Ray and the boys, and all the other
men-folk of all the other women in the world. And I saw
how it all might be done if it only could be done.”</p>

<p>“How then?” asked Vic, impatiently, as Alma fell
silent and sat gazing thoughtfully into the fire.</p>

<p>“Why,—in this way.—All men—except the few in every
country who hope to benefit by war—want peace. Peace
and happiness are the natural and healthy states of life.
War is unnatural and unhealthy. It is a lapse. Women
crave peace still more, for they are the greatest sufferers
by war. Let them unite all over the <span class="locked">world——”</span></p>

<p>“Women don’t unite,” snapped Vic.</p>

<p>“Even for such a trifling thing as the Vote they have
shown that they can unite. But when this war is over—it
has got to be fought out, I quite see that.—But it will
leave the heart of womanhood all over the world so sore
and bruised that, unless I am mistaken in my sex, the
women will be ready to do greater things than we have ever
dreamed of to prevent a recurrence of such doings.... I
can imagine a World-Wide Women’s League for Peace;—membership,
every right-thinking woman in the whole
<span class="locked">world——”</span></p>

<p>“Phew!” whistled Vic. “How’d you get ’em?”</p>

<p>“Easily, I think. That is a detail. I’ll deal with it
presently. Such an organisation, pledged to prevent war,
would be all-powerful. And, if it could do this greatest
thing of all, it would naturally have its say in all the minor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span>
matters which, through men’s mishandling and easily-roused
passions, so often lead to war.”</p>

<p>“You’re a suffragette, Alma,” said Vic.</p>

<p>“I detest them and all their ways, as you very well
know. But the greater necessarily includes the less. Let
women ensure peace, and they will be accorded their
rightful voice in all the smaller matters. Be sure of
that.”</p>

<p>“And how would they go to work to ensure peace?”
asked Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“Perhaps my vague ideas will seem rather crazy to you.
But they are something like this. Imagine the women
of the world pledged to keep the peace at risk even of their
lives. Two nations verge on war. To the women that
means loss in every way—chiefly in the lives that are dearer
to them than their own. Very well,—then let them stop
it by risking their own lives. It is the smaller risk after
all. After exhausting every other means of averting the
war, let the women of each such nation rise in their millions
and if necessary take their stand between the contending
armies and defy their men to fight.”</p>

<p>“Through my heart first!” said Vic.</p>

<p>“Exactly. The Germans, they say, fire on Belgian
women and children. Do you think they would mow down
their own? Not for all the Kaisers ever heard of. War
would stop. But I do not think it would ever come to that
final test. Certainly it would never come to it more than
once. A thousand women shot down by their own men
would create such a revulsion of feeling that wars would
end. Telemachus ended the fights in the arena by giving
just his single life. Here would be a thousand Telemachuses,—a
million if need be!!! If their determination
was known, and that it would be persisted in to the very
uttermost,—to death itself,—the men would understand
that war was impossible, and they would find some other
way out. But, mind you, if women had their proper share
in the councils of the state their voice would always, on
both sides, be for reason and righteousness. It only needs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span>
reason and righteousness on both sides to arrive at the
proper solution of any dispute.”</p>

<p>“I wish with all my heart you could bring it about,
my dear. It is a grand idea,” said Mrs Dare. <span class="locked">“But——”</span></p>

<p>“How were you thinking of roping all the women of the
world in, Al? It’s a mighty big contract,” asked Vic.</p>

<p>“At first it seemed to me that if you could show the
militant women how much more likely they were to attain
their ends by my ideas than by theirs—they could do it.
But I am not sure. They have turned the world against
them by their follies. Nobody would trust them. And
then, suddenly, I thought of the Salvation Army. I see a
good deal of them, you know, round our way. And those
gentle-voiced women, with the quiet happy faces and
shining eyes—it is just the very work for them. They
are in and of every country in the world, and everywhere
they are held in esteem. They certainly could do it.
Those Salvation Army women could save the world from
War.”</p>

<p>“Alma,” said Mrs Dare, with shining eyes and deep
conviction. “You lay awake to some purpose, my dear.
It is a noble idea. I wish it could be brought about.”</p>

<p>“It could. But whether it <span class="locked">can——”</span></p>

<p>“The Krupps, and all the other war-mongers in every
country, would fight you like Death,” said Vic.</p>

<p>“Of course. That is their only raison d’être. But the
women could beat the war-mongers.”</p>

<p>“And all the Kings, Kaisers, Tzars, Emperors, and such
like would be dead against you.”</p>

<p>“Yes. It would be better for my schemes if they were
all done away with. Republics don’t as a rule go to war
as readily as Kingdoms and Empires.”</p>

<p>“South America,” suggested Honor.</p>

<p>“They are exceptions because they are not yet educated
up to self-government. But where a King is the best man
for the post I should let him remain—as president.”</p>

<p>“There was one of our stalwarts at the Pension Estèphe,”
said Lois. “Who used to argue such matters with Ray.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span>
And I remember him saying one day,—‘You in England
are very well-placed. You have practically a Republic
with a permanent head.’ It struck us both as very
sensible.”</p>

<p>Then the Colonel’s bell, the push of which lay to his
hand on the bed, announced peremptorily that he was
awake, and Lois ran upstairs to him while Auntie Mitt
hastened to prepare his glass of warm milk and cognac,
which at the moment did duty with him for afternoon tea.</p>

<p>“He is a very sick man,” said Alma, when Auntie Mitt
had left the room. “Pneumonia is a serious matter at any
age, but at seventy-eight it is almost hopeless. The great
thing is to keep him quiet <span class="locked">and——”</span></p>

<p>“And that is no easy job,” said Mrs Dare, with a
reminiscent smile. “We tried to keep the papers from
him by telling him the news and suppressing anything we
thought might upset him. But he was too sharp for us and
insisted on seeing for himself, and now he sees the paper
every day and makes Lois read the bits he wants.”</p>

<p>“I can imagine the state he would be in. His heart is
wrapped up in England’s fortunes. I wish it could all
end and give us back our boys.”</p>

<p>“Ay, indeed!” said Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“It can’t end till Germany’s beaten flat,” said Vic, with
emphasis. “It’s no good half-ending it and simply laying
up trouble for the future.”</p>

<p>“Of course,” nodded Alma. “We are all agreed as to
that. Now I must run and look after my sick men.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV">XXV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">John Dare</span> was sitting all alone by the fire one
evening in the parlour of The Red House. The boys
were at Mrs MacLean’s that night, and Honor and Vic
were assisting in an entertainment to the Belgian Refugees
at a neighbouring hostel.</p>

<p>Desirous as they all were of being of service to the
exiles, circumstances had not permitted of their taking any
of them into their homes. And so they all subscribed
towards one of the many hostels and assisted in such other
ways as their many engagements allowed time for.</p>

<p>And Mr Dare took no exception to it all. It was an unavoidable
part of the general upsetting, and to tell the truth
he was so depressed and uncompanionable these days,
that he felt himself better company for himself than for
any of the younger folk.</p>

<p>Honor had got for him from the library the two big
volumes of Scott’s Last Journey to the Pole, and with
these and a pipe he was doing his best to forget for a time
business troubles and German delinquencies.</p>

<p>With a tap at the door, the maid announced, “A gentleman
to see you, sir.”</p>

<p>“Who is it, Bertha?” he asked, with a touch of annoyance
at the disturbance of his peace.</p>

<p>“I don’t know, sir. He said you would not know his
name, but it’s important.”</p>

<p>“Oh well, show him in here,” and he closed his book and
stood up to meet the intruder.</p>

<p>“You won’t know me, Mr Dare,” said the newcomer,
when the door closed on Bertha. “I am Inspector Gretton
from Scotland Yard. I’ve come to consult you on a certain
matter and I want all the information you can give me.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span></p>

<p>“At your service, Inspector. Won’t you sit down?
Have a cigar,”—and he got out a box from the cupboard
under the bookcase. “Now what’s it all about?”</p>

<p>“It’s this, Mr Dare. For some time past the wireless
stations at Newstead and Crowston have complained of
jamming. In other words, unauthorised messages are
passing, and by a process of elimination and deduction
we are satisfied they emanate from somewhere in this
neighbourhood. As an old resident and a Justice of the
<span class="locked">Peace——”</span></p>

<p>“A very nominal J.P. of late, I’m afraid,—thanks to the
war.”</p>

<p>The Inspector nodded. “We felt sure, however, that
any assistance in your power you would render us.”</p>

<p>“Assuredly. Anything I can do. But I don’t at the
moment see what.”</p>

<p>“From the nature of the messages that have been intercepted,—they
are in code of course, but our people have
managed to get an inkling of their meaning,—it is evident
that someone is sending out information of moment to
some enemy station, probably nearer the coast. And
we’ve got to get to the bottom of it. Very powerful instruments
are being used and probably from a considerable
elevation. Now is there anyone in this neighbourhood,
within your knowledge, likely to be up to anything of the
kind?”</p>

<p>“I should not have thought so.... In fact it is hard
to believe it of any of one’s neighbours....”</p>

<p>“Unfortunately, our experience is that the folks who are
in this kind of business are just the ones one would least
expect. What enemy aliens have you round here?”</p>

<p>“Quite a lot,—or we had. And mostly quite nice
people. But a number have left since the war began,—either
they thought it safer to get back home, or you are
taking care of them elsewhere.”</p>

<p>“We’ve got quite a lot on our hands, but evidently not
all. Would you tell me, sir, who there are left about here?”</p>

<p>“Well,—let me see. There are the Jacobsens,—they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span>
claim to be Danish, I believe. He’s a produce-importer in
quite a big way.”</p>

<p>“What age of a man, and what family?”</p>

<p>“He’ll be somewhere about fifty, I should say. Family,—wife,
two daughters and a boy of seventeen.”</p>

<p>“Where does he live?”</p>

<p>And so they progressed through such a list as Mr Dare
could make out on the spur of the moment. The Inspector
making an occasional note and asking many pointed
questions.</p>

<p>And when Mr Dare’s spring of information had apparently
dried up, he asked suddenly,</p>

<p>“Whose is the tall old-fashioned red-brick house up
there on top of the hill,—the one with the double-peaked
roof and the tall old-fashioned chimney-stacks?”</p>

<p>“That? Oh that’s Dr Rhenius’s. But he’s quite
above suspicion. He’s lived here for over twenty years.”</p>

<p>“What is he? German?”</p>

<p>“It’s the one thing he resents—to be called a German,”
said Mr Dare, with a smile. “His father was a Pole
from somewhere near Warsaw. He himself has been
naturalised for twenty years at <span class="locked">least——”</span></p>

<p>“Do you know that?”</p>

<p>“Well,”—with a surprised lift of the brows—“if you
put it as a legal point,—no! I don’t know that anyone
has ever questioned it. You see, he is our medico round
here, and is greatly esteemed and liked. He’s an uncommonly
clever doctor and everybody’s very good friend.”</p>

<p>“I see. Quite above suspicion, you would say, Mr.
Dare?”</p>

<p>“Oh quite. He hates Prussian Junkerdom as every
Pole must.”</p>

<p>The Inspector nodded acquiescingly, and they chatted
on about the war and things in general till his cigar was
finished and he got up to go.</p>

<p>“I will ask you to keep all this absolutely to yourself,
Mr Dare,” he said. “Not a word to anyone, if you
please, sir.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span></p>

<p>“Certainly, Inspector. I’m afraid I’ve not been of much
use to you. If you think of anything <span class="locked">else——”</span></p>

<p>“I’ll let you know, sir,” and Mr Dare saw him out of the
front door, and returned to Scott and the South Pole.</p>

<p>As for Inspector Gretton, he wandered off to have a
closer look at the old-fashioned red-brick house on top of
the hill.</p>

<p>Just a week later he called again on Mr Dare, late one
night, and, as before, found him all alone.</p>

<p>The Colonel had suddenly, when apparently getting on
well, developed pneumonia in the other lung and was in a
very critical condition. Mrs Dare spent all her time at
Oakdene in unremitting attendance on him, with every
help that Lois and Auntie Mitt and Honor and Vic could
render. The boys were sleeping in town that night as they
had to be on early fatigue next morning.</p>

<p>“Well, Inspector? Any success?” asked Mr Dare,
as Gretton was shown in.</p>

<p>“I’ve come to end the matter, Mr Dare. I thought perhaps
you’d like to see the last act.”</p>

<p>“Really? Got him. Who on earth is it?”</p>

<p>“If you care to come with me I’ll show you, sir,” and
Mr Dare got into his hat and coat in record time and went
out with him.</p>

<p>At the gate they were met and followed by half-a-dozen
stalwarts in flat caps and overcoats, who in some subtle
fashion conveyed the impression of law and order, armed
not only with right but with other weapons of a more
practically coercive nature.</p>

<p>The roads were almost in darkness in accordance with
recent orders, lest undue illumination should offer mark
or direction for lurking menace up above. They turned
into the road up the hill and came to the gate of Dr
Rhenius’s old-fashioned red-brick house.</p>

<p>“You don’t mean to say——” jerked Mr Dare in vast
amazement.</p>

<p>“Sh-h-h!” whispered the Inspector, pressing his arm.
“See that tree!”—a huge elm towering a hundred feet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span>
high just inside the gate. “I’ve been up there every night
since I called on you, with a pair of the strongest glasses
made—Zeisses,” he said with a chuckle. “Your friend
has visitors of a night and later on he gets busy.”</p>

<p>Mr Dare was dumb. He could not take it all in. There
was some grotesque mistake somewhere.</p>

<p>“We’re a bit early yet,” said the Inspector. Then,
adjusting his field-glasses and peering up at the house,
“No, it’s all right. He’s at work in good time to-night.”</p>

<p>He handed the glasses to Mr. Dare, and whispered,
“Look at that chimney-stack. Get it against the Milky
Way. See anything?”</p>

<p>“I see the chimney.... Yes, and something like a
flag-pole projecting above it....”</p>

<p>“Exactly,—a wireless pole. We’ll catch them at it.”</p>

<p>He said a word to his men. They had had their instructions.
They all went noiselessly up to the house, some
to the back and sides, the Inspector, Mr Dare and two
others to the front door.</p>

<p>“Keep out of sight till I go in,” said the Inspector, as
he rang, and in the distance inside they heard the thrill of
the bell. But no one came. He rang again.</p>

<p>“Good thing no one’s dying in a hurry,” he growled.</p>

<p>It was not till after the third appeal that they heard
steps inside and all braced up for the event. As the door
opened Inspector Gretton quietly inserted his foot.</p>

<p>“Is the Doctor in?” he asked.</p>

<p>“He is oudt,” said a voice, which Mr Dare recognised as
Old Jacob’s, the Doctor’s factotum.</p>

<p>“Then I’ll come in and wait for him. I want him at
once,” and the Inspector pushed his way in.</p>

<p>As he did so Old Jacob dropped his hand against a spot
in the wall, and far away upstairs a tiny bell tinkled briefly.</p>

<p>“Quite so!” said Gretton, and as his men followed him
in, with Mr Dare behind them in no small discomfort of
mind,—“Secure the old boy, Swift,” and to his still greater
discomfort Mr Dare heard the click of handcuffs.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span></p>

<p>“Now quick,—upstairs!” and they followed him at
speed.</p>

<p>He seemed to go by instinct. Up two flights and they
came on a door which evidently led to a higher storey still.
A curious door—of stout oak, without a handle, and for
keyhole only the polished disc and tiny slit of a Yale lock.</p>

<p>The Inspector wasted not a moment. He was up to
every trick of his profession.</p>

<p>“Barnes,” he said quietly, and indicated the lock, and in
a trice Barnes inserted a thin stick of something into the
slit, and as the Inspector waved them all back there came
an explosion and the stout oak about the lock was riven into
splinters. Gretton swung open the door and ran up the
narrow stairs.</p>

<p>In the top passage they came on a short ladder leading
to a skylight through which the night air blew chilly. The
others climbed quickly up. Mr Dare stayed below. He
regretted having come. He did not quite know why he
had come. He had not of course known where he was
going when he accepted Inspector Gretton’s invitation.
Then the matter had developed too rapidly to permit of
him backing out.</p>

<p>Exclamations came down to him through the skylight—the
sound of a brief struggle, and presently Gretton came
down again obviously well-pleased with himself.</p>

<p>“Got him,—red-handed!” he said.</p>

<p>“Not Dr Rhenius?”</p>

<p>“If that’s his proper name. The man you’ve known
by that name anyway. And all his tackle. Two minutes
more and his poles would have been out of sight. He
lowers them down the chimneys.”</p>

<p>He kicked open a door in the passage, but the room
inside was empty and unfurnished. Two other rooms
yielded the same result.</p>

<p>Then the Inspector, searching about, discovered a trap-door,
such as might lead to cisterns, high up in one corner
of the passage, and shifting the ladder, he ran up, pushed
the trap open, and said, “Right—o!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span></p>

<p>“Come up and see for yourself, Mr Dare,” he said, as
he crawled out of sight; and Mr Dare followed him.</p>

<p>It was a long tent-shaped apartment formed by the
pitch of the roof, well-lit by electric lights and littered
with electric apparatus—a number of powerful accumulators,
spark coils, condensers, inductances, a heavily built
morse key, and so on,—everything necessary for sending
long-distance wireless messages.</p>

<p>Mr Dare gazed about him in amazement.</p>

<p>“There is no doubt about it then?” he jerked uncomfortably.</p>

<p>“Not a doubt. How many lives all this may have
cost us, God only knows. However, he’s scotched now,
and it’s one to me.”</p>

<p>“Rhenius!” jerked Mr Dare again. “I can hardly
credit it even yet. Such a good fellow he always seemed,
and we all liked him so! It’s amazing—and damnable.”</p>

<p>“Damnable it is, sir. And there’s too damned much of
it going on. We’re infants in these matters and altogether
too soft and lenient. However, this one won’t send out
any more news.”</p>

<p>“What is the penalty?”</p>

<p>“If it’s as bad as I believe, he’ll be shot. We shall
know better when all these papers and things have been
gone into. He’s been a centre for spy-news, unless I’m
very much mistaken, but this ought to end him, as far
as this world’s concerned anyway.”</p>

<p>They went down the ladder again and Gretton replaced
it below the skylight and hailed his men, “Bring him
along there.”</p>

<p>And presently, preceded by one stalwart and followed
by the other the prisoner was brought down.</p>

<p>The actual sight of this man who had been on such
friendly terms with him, had been admitted to every
house in the neighbourhood on the most intimate footing,
had doctored them all in the most skilful way possible,
who was even then in attendance on their good friend<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>
the Colonel,—and who all the time was playing the spy
for Germany, gave John Dare a most gruesome shock.
He felt absolutely sick at heart.</p>

<p>“Rhenius!” he gasped. “Is it possible?”</p>

<p>But Dr Rhenius looked at him without a sign of recognition
and spoke no word.</p>

<p>He was hurried away down the stairs. Inspector
Gretton left two of his men in charge of the house, and
with the rest and his prisoners went off in a taxi which
he called up by the Doctor’s telephone.</p>

<p>Mr Dare went back home feeling bruised and sore.
Duplicity and treachery such as this cut at the roots of
one’s faith in humanity. If he had been told this thing
he would not have believed it. Nothing less than what
he had seen with his own eyes and heard with his own
ears would have convinced him. But he was convinced
and saddened.</p>

<p>He went across to Oakdene first thing in the morning.
His wife had to be told. The Colonel’s welfare had to
be seen to—another medical attendant provided,—explanations
concocted.</p>

<p>“What is it, John?” asked Mrs Dare, as soon as she
set eyes on his face. “Bad news?”</p>

<p>“Yes, Meg,—bad news. But not touching any of
ours,”—at which the anxious strain in her face relaxed
somewhat.</p>

<p>“Dr Rhenius is in prison as a <span class="locked">spy——”</span></p>

<p>“John!”—and she sank aghast into the nearest
chair.</p>

<p>“It is true, Meg. I was there. His house is just one
big wireless station. They caught him in the act. It is
horrible to think of such treachery. I’ve hardly slept a
wink all night.”</p>

<p>“No wonder! But—is it possible? Is there no mistake?...
Dr Rhenius?... I would have trusted him
with my life.”</p>

<p>“Yes. It is beyond me. But there is no possible
doubt about it. They have taken him and Old Jacob<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span>
away, and the police are in charge of the house. They
say he will be shot.”</p>

<p>“How terrible! Not the shooting. If he has done
this he deserves to be shot. But ... our Dr Rhenius!
Oh, I cannot take it in yet.”</p>

<p>But in time she had to accept it, and they fell to discussion
of ways and means.</p>

<p>The Colonel was to be told that Rhenius had been
suddenly summoned from home,—which was grimly true,
and Mr Dare was to call at once on Dr Sinclair in the
village, give him the same explanation, and beg his
attendance on their patient.</p>

<p>As he expected, Dr Sinclair received him with a certain
amount of professional surprise at the irregularity of his
procedure. He hummed and hawed for a time, and put
such very pointed questions that Mr Dare was inclined
to believe that he must have had suspicions of his own—provoked
possibly, he thought, by professional jealousy
and Rhenius’s German-sounding name; all of which was
natural enough.</p>

<p>All he permitted himself was that Dr Rhenius had
been suddenly called away, and his return was so very
doubtful that they felt it necessary to call in another
doctor at once. And Dr Sinclair went. The Colonel was
much put out and not easily reconciled to this transfer
in which he had had no voice. It was so unlike Rhenius
to go off like that without so much as a good-bye. He
fumed weakly and fretted over it, and was barely civil
to Dr Sinclair, who shook his head doubtfully when he
went downstairs with Mrs Dare.</p>

<p>“He is very weak,” he said. “Keep on as you are
and above all things keep him quiet and free from disturbance
of mind.”</p>

<p>“It is not easy.”</p>

<p>“I see that. But it is absolutely essential. The fever
has pulled him down terribly and his heart is in a very
ticklish state.”</p>

<p>The following day the papers had the matter with bold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>
head-lines—“WELL-KNOWN WILLSTEAD DOCTOR
ARRESTED AS SPY, HOUSE FULL OF WIRELESS
APPARATUS,” and so on.</p>

<p>They did their best to keep the paper from the Colonel.
But the very attempt aroused his suspicions and sent
his temperature up again.</p>

<p>In despair he was allowed to glance at it—and the
mischief was done. He insisted on Lois reading every
word, and all the time he lay looking at her with a dazed
look on his white face.</p>

<p>“Rhenius!” was all he said, in a strange shocked
whisper, when she had finished, and then he lay back
among his pillows and turned his face as far away from
them as he could.</p>

<p>And—“Rhenius!”—they heard him murmur more
than once during the day, as though he were groping
painfully among his shadows after some understanding
of it all.</p>

<p>About tea-time, when Lois was sitting with him,—just
sitting quietly by his bed-side so that he should not feel
lonely, for he had declined to be read to, he turned quietly
to her and feebly extended his hand.</p>

<p>She took it in her two warm ones throbbing with
life and sudden fear. It felt very thin and cold,
and, with a great dread at her heart, it seemed to
her that his face was changed. It was gray, and very
weary.</p>

<p>“I am so glad, dear,—so very glad,” he whispered,—“about
you and Ray.... Good lad! ... he will come
back to you ... and Con—good lad too!... God bless
you all!—all!”</p>

<p>Lois had slipped on to her knees beside the bed,
and the tears were running down her face in spite of
herself.</p>

<p>“No!” he said. “Don’t cry!... Very tired.... I
shall be glad ... to rest.”</p>

<p>Then he suddenly raised himself in the bed, and looked
beyond her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span></p>

<p>“Last Post!” he said, quite clearly. “Thank God, I
have done my duty!” and then he sank back. And Lois
released one hand, from the thin cold hand which had no
longer any response in it, and beat upon the floor with it
to call the others.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI">XXVI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Almost</span> inevitable as it had more than once seemed,
in the crises of his illness, the Colonel’s death was
a great shock to them all.</p>

<p>At the sound of Lois’s hasty tattoo on the floor, the
others had hastened up to her. They found her still clasping
the one thin cold hand with one of hers and still beating
the floor with the other.</p>

<p>They thought at first that it might be a fainting fit—which
in itself, in the circumstances, would have been
ominous enough. But briefest examination showed them
that their old friend had answered The Call and was gone.</p>

<p>They were down again in the small sitting-room, discussing
it quietly and sadly, when Auntie Mitt, after staring
fixedly at Lois for a full minute, as though she had suddenly
detected something strange in her appearance, said
suddenly,</p>

<p>“My dear, you are Lady Luard now.”</p>

<p>And Lois stared back at them both with a startled look,
and gasped, “I never thought of that. Oh, I wish Ray
were here!”</p>

<p>They all wished that, but no amount of wishing will
bring men home from the war.</p>

<p>“We must send Alma word at once,” said Mrs Dare.
“I will write out a telegram.”</p>

<p>“It will be a shock to her,” said Auntie Mitt. “Perhaps,
my dear, a <span class="locked">letter——”</span></p>

<p>“Alma was prepared for the worst,” said Mrs Dare.
“Last time she was here she told me it would be a miracle
if he got through such an illness at his age. She would
like to know at once, I am sure,” and she sat down at the
writing table to prepare the telegram.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span></p>

<p>And while they were still in the midst of these agitations,
and Lois was wondering how she would ever be able to
reconcile herself to the inevitable changes, she happened
to glance vaguely through the window and saw Alma
coming quickly up the front path.</p>

<p>“Here she is,” she cried, and jumped up and ran to meet
her.</p>

<p>At sight of Lois at the door, Alma exultingly waved a
paper she carried in her hand and quickened her pace
almost to a run.</p>

<p>“Good news!” she cried. “Word of Con at last.”</p>

<p>“Oh, Al, I <em>am</em> so glad,” and she burst into tears.</p>

<p>“Why, Lo, dear, what’s up? It’s good <span class="locked">news——”</span></p>

<p>“Uncle Tony has just died. Mother was just writing a
telegram to send to you.”</p>

<p>“I am not surprised, dear,” said Alma, putting her arm
round her. “I had very little hope of his pulling through.
He was an old man, you see. I am sure he was not very
sorry to go; though he would have liked to see the end of
this war, I know. And I do wish he had heard about Con.
He would have been so glad. However, he knows more
about it all now than any of us, and that will please him
mightily,” and they went in together.</p>

<p>So the good news and the bad—nay, why call the news
of a good man’s promotion bad news?—let us say, the other
news tended to counteract one another in the hearts of
those who were left. Indeed the net result that remained
with them all was a sense of thankfulness,—for the peaceful
passing of the fine full life, and for the young life spared
for further work.</p>

<p>Alma’s letter was not from Con himself, which at first
sight was disturbing. But the contents explained. Lieutenant
Dare had been wounded—in the hand, the writer
said,—at Landrecies during the retreat from Mons. He
was now a prisoner in Germany—at Torgau, and was being
well looked after. He was making good recovery from his
wounds which had been severe, and they were all hoping
that something might presently be arranged in the way of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span>
an exchange of medical-staff prisoners. The writer signed
himself Robert Grant, R.A.M.C.</p>

<p>“I can’t tell you what a relief it is,” said Alma. “I
almost danced when I got it. It’s worry that kills, and
I was beginning to worry about the boy. What about
Ray?”</p>

<p>“It’s ten days since my last letter,” said Lois. “I’m
hoping for the next every minute.... Do you know, Al,
just at the very last, when Uncle Tony knew the end had
come, he said, ‘Good lad, Ray! He will come back to
you. And Con—good lad too! God bless you all!—all!’—that
was almost the last thing he said.”</p>

<p>“The dear old man!... We will take it as a good
omen.... I think, you know, that just at the last they
often have an outlook—a forelook—altogether beyond our
understanding. They see with other eyes than ours.”</p>

<p>“Undoubtedly!” agreed Mrs. Dare.</p>

<p>Alma’s stay, even under the circumstances, could not be
a long one. They had had forty-nine wounded officers
in, two days before, many of their nurses had gone to the
front, and they were very short-handed.</p>

<p>Lois walked down to the station with her, and they
talked in quiet sisterly fashion of the past, present, and
future.</p>

<p>“It is very curious how things seem to work together at
times,” said Lois.</p>

<p>“Always, maybe, if we knew more about it all,
dear.”</p>

<p>“Yes, I suppose so. Here have I been so taken up with
nursing Uncle Tony that I really have never had time to
get anxious about Ray.”</p>

<p>“Ray will be all right, you’ll see. I pin my faith to
Uncle Tony’s vision.”</p>

<p>“And yet, when one allows oneself to think about it all,
after reading the terrible accounts of the fighting—and he
would have me read them all to him—it seems almost impossible
that any of them can come back alive.”</p>

<p>“We had forty-nine of them the other day, and it’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span>
amazing how well they stand it. They’re as cheerful as
can be, laughing and chaffing and joking. And yet some
of them are pretty bad. It’s just as well for all of us to
take the cheerful view of things.”</p>

<p>“And then, just when Uncle Tony goes, and we were
feeling it so badly, you come in with your good news of
Con. I can’t tell you how glad I am, Al.”</p>

<p>“I know, dear. And I’ll be just as glad for you one of
these days. Pin your faith to Uncle Tony.”</p>

<p>And through the many dark days when no news came—and
in those days no news did not as a rule mean good
news—the thought of Uncle Tony’s last words held mighty
comfort for them all.</p>

<p>They would have liked to bury him quietly, with no great
outward show of the esteem and love in which they held
him. Their feelings were too deep for any outward expression
and the times hardly seemed suitable for making
parade of death. There was sorrow enough abroad without
emphasising it.</p>

<p>But Colonel Sir Anthony Luard, V.C., C.B., was a person
of consequence. He had died for his country as truly as
any man killed at the front. The higher powers decreed
him a military funeral, and the quieter-thinking ones at
home had to give way. And, after all, they believed it
would please him.</p>

<p>So, on a gun-carriage, escorted by a detachment from
the reserve battalion of his old regiment, with muffled
drums and mournful music, and the Last Post and the
crackle of guns, he was laid to rest. And the others picked
up the threads of life again and kept his memory sweet
by constantly missing him and remembering all his sayings
and doings.</p>

<p>His lawyer, Mr. Benfleet of Lincoln’s Inn, came out
immediately after the funeral and explained to all concerned—so
far as they were available—the remarkably
thoughtful provisions of his will.</p>

<p>It had been made—or remade—immediately after the
return of Ray and Lois from abroad, and it aimed at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span>
comfort and security of all his little circle, so far as he
could provide for these.</p>

<p>There were many wet eyes and brimming hearts as Mr.
Benfleet went quietly through the details.</p>

<p>To Miss Amelia Mitten—“my very dear and trusted
friend”—he left four hundred pounds a year for life.
And Auntie Mitt, with her little black-bordered handkerchief
to her eyes, sobbed gratefully.</p>

<p>To Margaret Dare—wife of John Dare of The Red
House, Willstead,—“in token of my very great love and
esteem,”—he left the sum of £20,000, settled inalienably
on herself, with power to will it at her death to whom she
chose.</p>

<p>“To my niece, Victoria Luard—who-might-have-been-Balaclava,”—it
was down there in the will in black and
white, and they came near to smiling at the very characteristic
touch,—the sum of £50,000 on attaining the age
of twenty-one.</p>

<p>To Dr Connal Dare—if still alive—the sum of £25,000;
and to his wife Alma, formerly Alma Luard, an equal
sum. In case of Dr Connal Dare’s death the whole £50,000
came at once to Alma.</p>

<p>To Lois Luard, formerly Lois Dare, the sum of £25,000
in her own right.</p>

<p>To Raglan Luard, the residue,—which, said Mr. Benfleet,
would amount to probably £100,000 or more when
the securities, in which it was all invested, appreciated
again after the war.</p>

<p>There were many little minor legacies and gifts to old
servants and so on. And Uncle Tony, if he was present
in the spirit at the reading of his will, must have been well
pleased with the effect of his generous forethought.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII">XXVII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Mrs Dare</span>, wise woman and excellent housekeeper,
had for some time past been doing her
best to cut down her proverbial coat to suit the
exigencies of the shrunken war-time cloth at her disposal.</p>

<p>In other words, she had been curtailing the running expenses
of The Red House so as to bear as lightly as possible
on the attenuated income from St Mary Axe. Income,
indeed, in actual fact, St Mary Axe had none. Mr Dare
was, of necessity, living on such remnants of capital as he
had been able to save from the stranded ship.</p>

<p>So Mrs Dare found another place for her housemaid,
prevailed on her cook, who was a treasure and had been
with her over five years, to remain as ‘general,’ with promise
of loss of title and reinstatement of position as soon as
times mended, and with Honor’s assistance and an occasional
helping hand from Mrs Skirrow, managed to get
along very well.</p>

<p>Mrs Skirrow had always been a source of amusement
at The Red House. She had a point of view of her own
and a sense of humour, and an almost unfailing cheerfulness
amid circumstances which drove many of her neighbours
to drink.</p>

<p>Mrs. Skirrow did not drink. She had too much hard-earned
common-sense, and she could not afford it. With
three men more or less on her hands, and mostly more,
it took every half-crown she could earn at her charing to
keep the home together.</p>

<p>But the war had marvellously altered all that. Not
only had she no men to keep but the boot was on the other
leg. Her men were actually helping to keep her. She
woke up of a night now and then and lay blissfully wondering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span>
if it was all a dream, or if she had died and gone to
heaven. To be kept by her lazy ones! It seemed altogether
too good to be true. And yet every Friday, when
she drew her money, proved that true it was. No wonder
she hoped with all her heart that it might go on for long
enough,—so long, of course, as none of them went and
got themselves killed. But men were as a rule so contrary
that she lived in daily expectation of one or other doing
that same.</p>

<p>For the first two months,—due possibly to some default
on her part in filling up and sending in the necessary but
bewildering papers,—or it might be to the general muddle
at Head-Quarters—she received no money at all. So she
kept steadily on with her own work, and having only herself
to keep, got along very nicely, meanwhile never ceasing
to push her claims with all her powers, and few were better
equipped in that way. And Mrs Dare was kept fully informed
of everything with racy comments on all and
sundry.</p>

<p>Then at last, to Mrs. Skirrow’s great satisfaction, the
matter was arranged, and by some extraordinary method
of calculation, promoted without doubt by herself and
argued with characteristic vehemence and possibly just
a trifle of exaggeration here and there, her money began
to come in.</p>

<p>She received nearly ten pounds of arrears in a lump
sum, and was to get twenty-three shillings a week.</p>

<p>She had never had ten pounds all at once in her life
before, nor an assured income of over a pound a week
without needing to lift her hand. And, strange to say—yet
not so very strange, seeing that she was Mrs Skirrow,—she
did not lose her head and go on the ramp as some
she knew had done.</p>

<p>In the first place she bought herself a new dress and
coat and hat, such as she had vainly imagined herself
in, any time this ten years, and fancied herself exceedingly
in them.</p>

<p>The choosing and buying of that dress and coat and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span>
hat, the going from shop to shop and from window to
window, comparing styles and prices, with the delicious
knowledge that the money was in her pocket and she
was in a position to pick and choose to her heart’s content,
was in itself one of the greatest treats she had ever known,
and she spread it over quite a considerable period.</p>

<p>And when she turned up one night in her new rig-out,
to explain to Mrs Dare that she would not be able to
come to her next week as she was going to the seaside,
Mrs Dare did not at first recognise her.</p>

<p>When she did she complimented her on her taste and
good sense in taking a holiday and hoped she would come
back all the better for it.</p>

<p>“I will that. You bet your life, mum! Fust reel
holiday I’ve had for twenty years an’ I’m going to enjoy
it. Seaside and decently dressed—that’s my idee of a
reel holiday. It’s not some folk’s though. There’s me
neighbour, Mrs Clemmens, now. She had no money for a
while, same as meself. Then she got twenty pound
all in one lump. She’s got a heap o’ boys at the war.
And what did she do with it? She gathered all her old
cronies—an’ a fine hot lot some of ’em are, I can tell you,
mum!—and she took ’em all up to London, and fed ’em,
and drank ’em, and music-halled ’em, till they was all
blind and th’ hull lot of ’em was run in at last, and in
the mornin’ she hadn’t enough left to pay the fines. A
fair scandal, I calls it!”</p>

<p>“Disgraceful!” assented Mrs Dare. “I’m rejoiced to
know that your common-sense condemns that kind of
thing, and I hope you’ll have a real good time and come
back all the better for it.”</p>

<p>“I will, mum. You bet your boots on that!”</p>

<p>And she did. She journeyed down to Margate in a
‘Ladies Only’ third-class carriage, and bore herself with
such dignity that her fellow-travellers were divided as
to whether she kept a stylish public somewhere in the
West End or a Superior Servants’ Registry Office. She
picked out a cheap but adequate lodging, she revelled in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span>
all the joys of Margate, ate many winkles, and went to
‘the pictures’ at least once each day, and the whole
grand excursion, fares included, totalled up to no more
than thirty shillings,—“an’ the best investment ever I
made in me life,” she told Mrs Dare over her scrubbing
brush, the following week, “an’ I’m thinkin’ I’ll run down
for th’ week end now and again, if so be’s this blessed war
keeps on a bit.”</p>

<p>Mrs Dare found it really refreshing, amid the abounding
troubles of the times, to come across someone
who had not only no fault to find with them, but was
actually, by reason of them, enjoying quite unexpected
prosperity.</p>

<p>For her own heart had been heavy enough in those
days, what with the Colonel’s illness and her husband’s
very natural depression as to the future outlook.</p>

<p>He had come in one night, some time before, in a state
of most justifiable exasperation. And yet the whole
thing was so amazingly impudent that in telling his wife
of it he could scarce forbear a grim smile. At the same
time it was an eye-opener as to the truculent immorality
of the firms he had been dealing with for years past in
the most perfect good faith, and he vowed he would
never forget it.</p>

<p>Two of his best customers, one at Hamburg and the
other at Frankfort, owing him between them close on
£5000 had coolly sent him word that, as no money could
be sent out of the country, they had invested the amounts
due to him in the German War Loan and would hold the
scrip, and the interest as it accrued, in his name. Both
principal and interest would be paid in due course, that
is to say—when victory crowned the German arms.</p>

<p>It took Mrs Dare some time to realise that it was not
merely a distorted German form of practical joke. But
her husband assured her that it was not.</p>

<p>“I had heard of it being done,” he said bitterly. “But
I never expected either Stein or Rheinberg would play
so low a game on me. I’ve turned over hundreds of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>
thousands of pounds with both of them, and now—this!
It’s damnable!”</p>

<p>“Perhaps the Government forced them to it.”</p>

<p>“It’s dirty low business anyway, and it won’t make
for German credit when things settle down again.”</p>

<p>But presently there came to him a bit of good fortune
which made him feel almost himself again.</p>

<p>Business men who travel daily to and from town by
train fall almost inevitably into sets, who occupy always
the same compartment and the same seats in it, and
among whom exists a certain good-fellowship and
friendliness.</p>

<p>In John Dare’s set was a certain John Christianssen,
of Norwegian extraction, long established in London in
the timber business, which his father had founded sixty
years before.</p>

<p>Christianssen was British born, his father having been
naturalised. He had two sons with him in the business,
and both had got commissions through the Officers’
Training Corps, and were heart and soul in their work
and eager for the front.</p>

<p>More than once he had lamented to Mr Dare his loss
in them just at this juncture. Not that he grudged them
to the service of his adopted country but that their going
made him feel, as he said, as if he had lost his right hand
and one of his feet.</p>

<p>Mr Dare sympathised with him but assured him it was
better to have a healthy body even with only one hand
and one foot than to have no body left. And Christianssen,
knowing the nature of the business in St Mary Axe, understood,
and thought the matter out.</p>

<p>And so it came to pass, one morning when they got
out at Cannon Street, that he said to Mr Dare, “I will walk
your way, if you don’t mind. I want to talk to you.”</p>

<p>And when they reached the office, where one small
office-boy now represented the busy staff of old, he sat down
in the second chair and lit a cigar, and said, “I know
pretty well, from what I have heard and from what you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span>
have told me, Dare, how you are situated here. I have
a proposal. I can’t go on without help. I want to be
across in Norway and I want to be here at the same time.
Now that Jack and Eric are away my hands are tied.
There is huge business to be done with all this hutting going
on, and I’m going to miss my share unless I make proper
provision. And that is you! What do you say?”</p>

<p>“It’s killing to be out of work, which I never have been
before for over thirty years. My business is gone, as you
know, and most of my capital. Some of it’s invested in
the German War <span class="locked">Loan——”</span></p>

<p>“No!”</p>

<p>“Yes! The low-scaled rascals, instead of remitting
what they owe me, write to say they have loaned my money
to their infernal government and it will be repaid with
interest when the war is over—meaning, of course, over in
the way they would like it.”</p>

<p>“That is low business!”</p>

<p>“Business! I call it simple dirty robbery. But it’s not
only the fact that they’ve done this, but—well, I just feel
that I would be glad never to have any dealings with any
German again as long as I live.”</p>

<p>“I do not wonder. But that is all the better for me.
We have known one another now, what is it—ten, fifteen
years? Come in with me. We can arrange satisfactory
terms. You see, my lads may come back, or they may
not. My wonder, when I read the papers, is that any
man of them all ever comes out of it alive. But even if
they are not killed I am doubting much if they will find
office-stools agreeable sitting for the rest of their lives.
If they do come back it will be the overseas part they will
want. So there it is. What do you say?”</p>

<p>“I can’t tell you what I feel, Christianssen. The very
thought of it makes a new man of me. But—I don’t
know the first thing about timber.”</p>

<p>“If you will relieve me of the office work and financing,
it will be good business all round. Details as to woods, etc.,
you can pick up by degrees. I have a good staff here, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span>
the best staff in the world is the better for being looked
after. If I can be free to get across to Norway and feel
quite safe in going, it will mean much to me and to the
business. You will say yes?”</p>

<p>“I’ll say yes with more in my heart than I can put into
words,” and they shook hands on it.</p>

<p>So John Dare took up a new lease of life and hope, and
was himself again and twenty years younger than he had
been any time this last three months.</p>

<p>And presently, for his still greater comfort and relief of
mind, came Uncle Tony’s unexpected legacy to Mrs Dare.
It was a veritable Godsend. For the heaviest part of his
burden, during these late months of no income and
vanishing capital, had been the fear of what might befall
his home-folks when the worst came to the worst.</p>

<p>The thought of it had kept him awake of a night and
plunged him into the depths. He had racked his tired
brain to find some way out of his difficulties. But it was
like trying to climb a huge black wall whose top shut out
even the sight of heaven. For always the grim fact remained
that his business was utterly gone and he saw no
prospect of its revival.</p>

<p>By the grace of God and Uncle Tony and John Christianssen
he was delivered from torment. The home-folk were
safe whatever happened, and he took up his new duties
with all the enthusiastic energy of a heart retrieved from
despair.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVIII">XXVIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Upon</span> none of them did the burden of these weighty
times lie so heavily as on Lois Luard and Alma Dare.</p>

<p>They both received occasional letters indeed, but
Ray’s, though always full of cheery hopefulness, were very
irregular and subject to lack of continuity through one and
another occasionally getting lost on the way. And, great
as was Lois’s joy and thankfulness when one arrived, telling
of his safety and good health eight or ten days before, she
could never lose sight of the terrible fact that five minutes
after he had written it the end might have come.</p>

<p>With what agonising anxiety she scanned each long,
fateful casualty list as it came out, only those who have
done that same can know. Sore, sore on wives and mothers,
and on all whose men were at the front, were those days
when the desperate German rush on Calais and the coast
was stayed by the still greater and more desperate valour
of our little army, fighting odds as David fought Goliath of
Gath. The mighty deeds done in those days will never
be told in full, for in full by one Eyewitness only were they
seen, and He speaks not.</p>

<p>But doings so Homeric are of necessity costly. Britain
and the world at large were delivered from the Menace,
but Sorrow swept through the land.</p>

<p>Alma continued to receive word of Con, but at irregular
intervals and always by the hand of Robert Grant, R.A.M.C.,
Con himself being still unable to put pen to paper.</p>

<p>Mr. Grant, however, wrote with a clerkly hand, and Alma
came to know it well and to like it. The words were Con’s
own for the most part, but the writer occasionally appended
as postscript a few remarks of his own, always hopeful
and encouraging, but neither of them at any time gave any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span>
clue to the nature of these troublesome wounds which prevented
the sufferer using his pen.</p>

<p>And this worried Alma not a little. She enquired as to
them more than once but received no explicit answers, and
the matter began to get somewhat on her nerves.</p>

<p>Fortunately they were almost run off their feet at the
hospital, and with the certainty that Con was at all events
alive she devoted herself heart and soul to her patients,
and that left her small time for her own personal anxieties.</p>

<p>Lois missed Uncle Tony dreadfully. Her assiduous
care of him had occupied her mind and kept her thoughts
off her own troubles. Her eyes were opened to the strange
guise in which blessings are sometimes vouchsafed
to us.</p>

<p>But now that Uncle Tony was gone her fears for Ray
loomed larger and larger. She envied Alma her over-hard
work and her knowledge of the worst. For herself—in spite
of herself—she lived in constant fear, and cast about for
some engrossing work that should constrain her mind in
other directions.</p>

<p>She spent much time on her knees these days,—when
not bodily, still in heart. And she came to recognise, as
never before, the wonderful applicability of the Psalms to
all the affairs of human life, especially to those who are in
trouble and fearful of the future. She could hardly open
her Bible at the Psalms without coming straight on some
verse that might have been written for herself and the
times. Even the damnatory passages satisfactorily fulfilled
her desires, since they obviously applied to the
Germans, against whom, as the causers of all the trouble
and the imperillers of what she held dearest, her feelings
grew ever more bitter.</p>

<p>The terrible waste of humanity’s best, this all-superfluous
sorrow thrust upon a world which never lacked for sorrows,
the inhuman savagery of this new German warfare, the
impossibility, as it seemed to her, of any single man coming
out alive, from the inferno of shot and shell described by
the papers, and those awful casualty lists,—all these lay<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span>
heavy on her soul in spite of all her utmost efforts after
hope and faith.</p>

<p>“Alma was right. I must get to work or I shall go
mad,” she said to herself.</p>

<p>And after consultation with Auntie Mitt and her mother,
they decided, with an eye to Uncle Tony’s wishes in the
matter, to offer the hospitality of Oakdene to the War
Office for any wounded they chose to send, either officers
or privates.</p>

<p>In due course an official came down, inspected the
premises, indicated the necessary preparations, and
presently the house was as busy as a hive with the ordered
doings of ten wounded officers and four nurses in charge.
And in face of the actual and urgent necessities of these
warmly-welcomed guests, neither Lois nor Auntie Mitt
nor Mrs Dare had a spare moment to waste on their own
anxieties and fears.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIX">XXIX</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap r"><span class="smcap1">Ray Luard</span> was sitting on a barrel in a little
station in the north-west of France, watching his
men unload railway trucks, when he received the
news of Uncle Tony’s death.</p>

<p>An escort just returned from Head-Quarters had
brought up the belated mail, and glancing quickly
at the envelopes, he hurriedly opened the one in Lois’s
handwriting, with a tightening of the lips at its narrow
black edging.</p>

<p>He was not altogether unprepared. In spite of the
Colonel’s desire that word of his illness should not add to
his nephew’s already mighty anxieties, they had not
judged it right to keep him entirely in the dark.</p>

<p>“Dear old chap!” murmured Ray to himself, as the news
broke on him. “Well ... he did his duty and died for
his country as surely as any of the rest of us.... (Steady
there, boys, or some of you will be getting smashed!)...
But they’ll miss him terribly.... I wish this cursed
business was all over.... Lois is Lady Luard ... I
wonder how she feels about it. I’ll bet she nearly had a
fit when the first person called her that. And I bet that
would be Auntie Mitt. She’s the one for giving folks
their proper titles. (“Knock off for a quarter-of-an-hour,
Mac!”—to his Sergeant. “That’s heavy work.”) Well,
well!—Lady Luard!—and a sweeter one there never could
be. Damn this business! It <em>would</em> be rough luck to be
knocked out right on top of this. However, Lois is all
right. That’s one comfort.”</p>

<p>He looked lean and fit. Since Lois watched them swing
away to the skirling of the pipes at Watford, they had
travelled far, though at the present moment they were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span>
nearer home than they had been any time this month or
more.</p>

<p>They had had a triumphal passage down the Solent,
greeted by cheers and whistles from all the neighbouring
boats, which at once blunted the edge of the parting from
England and put a still finer point to their patriotic zeal.
Some of them, they knew,—perhaps many of them—would
never see the green cliffs of Wight again. But they were
there on highest service, and their hearts were strong and
their spirits above normal. They had gone first to Le
Mans, then to Villeneuve St Georges, and finally to Paris—such
a different Paris from all Ray’s recollections of it!—and
yet in some ways a greater Paris than he had ever
known it. It was no longer the city of gaiety and light,
but the heart of a nation travailing in the birth of a new
soul.</p>

<p>France and Britain had had to fall back before the
tumultuous rush of the better-prepared German hosts,—from
Mons to Le Cateau,—to St Quentin,—to La Fère,—to
Compiégne,—to Chantilly,—very near Paris now.
But there the quarry turned and hurled itself at its pursuers.
The hunters became the hunted and were forced back to
the Marne, across the Ourcq, to the Aisne. And it was
while this was going on that the Scottish came to Paris
for the cheer and satisfaction of its citizens.</p>

<p>Bit by bit, each to prevent the other overlapping and
outflanking, the hostile lines had spread further and further
towards the coast. From the banks of the Aisne, by way of
Soissons and Compiégne and Amiens to St Omer, General
French’s eagle-eyed prevision had swept the British forces
round behind the French lines to that north-west corner of
France where Calais lay all open to the invader. From the
north came Sir Henry Rawlinson, with the 7th Division
and the 3rd Cavalry Division, covering the retreat of the
gallant but exhausted Belgian Army from the neighbourhood
of Antwerp, and held the wolves at bay till the gap
by the coast at Nieuport was closed and the long line locked
tight from the sea right round to Belfort in the east.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p>

<p>But, so far, the duties of the London Scottish, onerous
and important as they had been, had not taken them into
the actual fighting line. They were drawing nearer and
nearer to it, however, and were all looking forward with
keen anticipation and the very natural desire to be the
first Territorials actually in the mêlée alongside their comrades
of the regular army.</p>

<p>They had acted as body-guard to Sir John French;
they had served as military police and as railway-porters.
And they had done everything required of them, no matter
how unpleasant or how different from their usual avocations,
with the zest of men whose souls had risen to the
great occasion.</p>

<p>They had handled mountains of stores, and guns and
ammunition, and convoys of wounded and prisoners, and
had buried many dead.</p>

<p>They had travelled in cattle-trucks and on loaded coal-waggons.
They had slept in stations and barns and caves
of the earth. They had left all their kits behind them at
Southampton and possessed only what they carried on
their backs. They had washed when they could, and
shaved whenever opportunity offered.</p>

<p>They had stood-by ready to go anywhere and do anything
for anybody at any moment. All of which had
always so far petered out many miles to the rear of the
fighting, though they had more than once come within
sound of the guns. But it had all been to the good.
They gained new experiences every day; they grew hard
and fit under the taxing work, and each day now was
bringing them nearer to that for which they had left
home and friends and all that had hitherto made life
worth living. And not a man of them but was glad to
be there.</p>

<p>Ray had wondered much what it would actually feel
like to be in a red-hot fight. It had seemed at first as
though modern fighting must always be at long range,
with no slightest chance of seeing what killed you, or of
hitting back except at a venture, the results of which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span>
you could not see, and they were all agreed that this
was a most unsatisfactory and unsportsmanlike style of
business. But, from all they could hear, things were
changing in most amazing fashion and there had even been
bayonet-work and actual hand-to-hand fighting.</p>

<p>The huge German shells, which dug holes big enough to
bury an omnibus in, were diabolical, but apparently they
did less mischief than might have been expected, and one
even got used to them to the point of giving them sporty
nick-names and treating them with contempt.</p>

<p>He wondered how he and the rest would comport themselves
when the time came. They were fine fellows all,
but new at the actual red game of killing and being killed,
and it was bound to be terribly trying—the first time at all
events. He hoped they would bear themselves well and
come through it with credit.</p>

<p>Any moment they might be ordered to the front. Rumour
had it that there was terrific pressure against our long-drawn-out
line in places. The Germans wanted to get to
Calais and seemed determined to hack their way through
at any cost. Well, if it lay with the Old Scottish they
would make that cost heavy or they would know the reason
why.</p>

<p>He thought constantly, in sub-conscious fashion, while
his mind was actually dealing promptly and clearly with
the inevitable kinks in the day’s work, of them all at home,
especially of Lois. “Lady Luard!”—he murmured to himself
again, as he sat on his barrel in the station. Yes, it
would be a little harder still to leave it all before he had
even greeted her in her new estate. But her future was at
all events secured. He had made his will before leaving, and
old Benfleet had it safely stowed away in his big safe.
And, after all, every man in a regiment was not wiped out
as a rule, however hot the fighting.</p>

<p>When at last the job on which he was engaged was
finished, he knocked his men off, got them bucketsful of
hot coffee and dashed it with rum, since it had come on to
rain and they were all very damp. Then he saw them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span>
safely into the old barracks allotted to them as sleeping
quarters, made his way back to the station, and took
possession of an empty first-class carriage, scribbled a
brief note to Lois,—scrappy little letters they were, in
pencil, and the paper at times got soiled, but she valued
them more than jewels of price,—and then he lay down
and was sound asleep in two minutes.</p>

<p>Their time seemed to have come the next afternoon.
Orders came to move forward at three o’clock. Rumour,
with a score of tongues, was on the ramp. Kitchener had
sent word that they were not to go into the firing-line.
Hard-pressed Generals all round were clamouring for them.
Half-a-dozen other Territorial Regiments were coming up
and they were all to go on together. They were not
wanted. They were badly wanted. The So-and-Sos
had been practically wiped out. And the Etceteras had
had to fall back before three whole army-corps.</p>

<p>At half-past four, motor-buses by the score came rolling
up—from Barnes and Putney, from Cricklewood and
Highgate,—and the old familiar look of them made them
all feel almost at home. There were no conductors, no
tickets, no tinkling bell-punches. Everything was free
on the road to death. They climbed on board and whirled
away between the poplar trees, over roads that were cobbled
in the centre only and all the rest mud. Now and again
a bus would swerve from dead-centre and skid down into
the mud and have to be shoved bodily back into safety.
Now and again one would succumb to such unusual experiences,
and its occupants would storm the next that
came along and crush merrily in on top of its already full
load.</p>

<p>But whatever their actual feelings—and when did a
Scot ever show his actual feelings?—they treated it all as
the best of jokes, and sang and laughed and chaffed as
though it were a wedding they were going to. And so
indeed it was, the greatest wedding of all—the wedding of
Life and Death on the Field of Duty, whose legitimate
offspring is Glory and Honour—of this world or the next.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span></p>

<p>Not one of them there, I suppose, though they bore
themselves so cheerfully, had any desire for fighting for
fighting’s sake. They were men of peace,—lawyers,
barristers, students, merchants, clerks. They had come
away from comfortable homes and good prospects. They
had left parents and wives, lovers and friends, at the
highest Call Life’s bugles sound for any man. They did
well to be merry while they might. It is better to be
merry than to mope, though your name be cast for death
while the laugh is on your lips. They laughed and joked,
but the White Fire burned within them. They were
answering The Call.</p>

<p>It was the longest ride any of them had ever had in a
Putney bus, and those on top got very wet, as it rained
hard all night. They were dumped down, in the raw of
the morning just before daybreak, at the pretty little town
of Ypres, in Belgium, and rejoiced greatly at the feel of
solid earth under their feet once more. They crowded for
shelter into the Cathedral, into the station, into cover
wherever they could find it, and in time they got something
to eat.</p>

<p>In the morning they marched out to a wood, where a
British battery was hard at work and German shells came
whistling back in reply. And all the way along the road
wounded men were passing in an endless stream to the
rear, while the shot and shell from other British batteries
hurtled over their heads, and not far away was the rattle
of heavy musketry firing.</p>

<p>There was less light-hearted laughter now and little
joking,—just one jerked out now and again as outlet for
over-strain. But most of the clean-shaven faces were
tense and hard-set, for this looked like the real thing and
Death was in the air.</p>

<p>Then it was found that they were not needed there, and
as the German shells seemed to have a quite uncanny
tendency in their direction, they were ordered back into
the town.</p>

<p>And presently, about nightfall, their motor-buses came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span>
rolling up again and carried them off to the little village of
St Eloi, and the sounds of heavy fighting drew nearer.</p>

<p>The village seemed deserted, so they took possession
and made themselves as comfortable as the big guns and
their big thoughts would permit. To-morrow, they knew,
must surely see them into it and the thought was sobering.</p>

<p>Rations were issued and tongues were loosed again, but
conversation was spasmodic and joking somewhat at a discount.
They were all very tired; to-morrow would be a
heavy day, and one by one they fell asleep—for some of
them the last sleep they were to know. And Ray, finishing
a hasty scribble to Lois, lay down also and slept as soundly
as any.</p>

<p>They were up with the dawn, and rations and more ammunition
were served out. Ray managed to get a rifle
and bayonet and found the feel of them comforting.
Nothing but a revolver—and a dirk in his stocking—had
made him feel very naked and unprotected when bullets
would be flying. Now he felt very much more his own
man, and ready to repay in kind anything that came
his way, except “coal-boxes” and shrapnel which were
beyond arguing with.</p>

<p>They moved on to another small village—Messines,—where
there was a large convent, and not far away, a
pumping-mill. The pumping-mill began to turn as soon
as they showed face, and instantly German shells began
falling thickly about them.</p>

<p>Then came the final order to fling themselves into a gap
between a regiment of Hussars on the right and of Dragoons
on the left, to dig themselves in as close to the enemy as
possible, and hold them at all costs. There was an unprotected
spot there, and the keen-eyed Germans had spied it
and were heading for it in a torrential rush.</p>

<p>“Forward, boys! And Steady! Scottish!—Strike
sure!”—and they were into it up to the neck.</p>

<p>It was a magnificent demonstration of mind over matter.
These boys, who had never faced red hell before, went in,
keen-faced, tight-lipped, tensely-tuned to Death and Duty.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span>
All their long training, all their hardening and hardships,
all that mattered in this world and the next centred for
every man of them into this mighty moment, this final
fiery trying of their faith and courage.</p>

<p>And neither failed them. It might have been Wimbledon
Common with the canteen and lunch awaiting them
in the hollow behind the old Windmill, so calm and steady
was their advance, so admirably calculated their extended
order.</p>

<p>For a quarter of a mile or so the shells which were pulverising
the village behind passed over their heads. Then
came an open field swept by heavy rifle-fire and machine-guns.
One of the machine-guns was in a farmhouse on
the left. Ray ordered bayonets and they tore across the
field to stop it, yelling like wild Highland rievers.</p>

<p>It was hot work and men were falling thick. They got
to a hedge and along it to the house, but the Germans had
bolted, and shells were raining in.</p>

<p>Back to the cover of the hedge, where a ditch gave them
time to breathe. And as they lay there panting, with
their hearts going like pumps, they found the bushes thick
with blackberries and they were mighty cooling to parched
throats.</p>

<p>But, presently, shells and the devilish machine-guns discovered
them again, so they crawled along till they saw a
haystack and made a rush for it, and lay down flat behind
it as tight as sardines in a tin. Then, a short distance
ahead, they saw a trench, and took their lives in their
hands and dived into it and for the time being were
safe.</p>

<p>The trench was being held by regulars—Carabineers—and
they gave the kilts most hearty welcome.</p>

<p>“Hot hole, sir,” said a Sergeant cheerfully—though he
put it very much more picturesquely.</p>

<p>“Bit warmish,” Ray agreed. “What’s next on the
menu?”</p>

<p>“Just sit tight till it’s dark, and if they come on biff ’em
back and tell ’em to keep to their own side. —— —— —— ’em!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span>
They don’t seem to care a —— how they get
wiped.”</p>

<p>“Germans are cheap to-day,” grinned another.</p>

<p>“I —— well wish some o’ their —— officers would come
on. I’m ’bout fed up plugging privates.”</p>

<p>So they made themselves comfortable there, while the
shells screamed overhead and shrapnel and bullets plugged
into their modest earthwork. And surreptitiously they
took stock of one another to see who was left. Many
well-known faces were missing. Some they had seen go
down in the rush. But there was always the hope that
wounds might not be fatal.</p>

<p>They scanned the ground they had covered. It was
dotted with little heaps of hodden gray and their hearts
went out to them. Some lay quite still. One raised his
head slightly.</p>

<p>“That’s Gillieson!” jerked Ray, and in a moment had
crawled out of the trench and was worming his way to the
fallen one.</p>

<p>The others watched breathlessly, for a moment, then began
to follow here and there, wherever a pitiful gray heap lay
within possible reach.</p>

<p>They dragged in a round dozen in this way, bound up
their damages as well as they could with the little rolls of
first-aid bandages stitched inside their tunics, gave them
rum and water from their bottles, and rejoiced exceedingly
over them without showing any slightest sign of it.</p>

<p>All afternoon—and never surely was so long a day
since Joshua stayed the sun while he smote the Amorites
at Beth-horon—they lay in their trench with Death
whistling shrilly overhead. They chatted with their new
chums and got points from them, heard what had been
doing, and learned what was to be done.</p>

<p>And as soon as it was dark they all crept out over the
front and forward, till word came to dig in and hold tight;
and they dug for their lives as they had never dug in their
lives before, with bullets singing over them in clouds, and
the much-shelled village burning furiously on their right.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span></p>

<p>It was hot work in every sense of the word and their
bottles were empty. Someone collected an armful and
crept along to a farmhouse in the rear to try for water.
He came sprinting back in a moment with word that the
place was full of Germans.</p>

<p>A guffaw greeted his news as a number of their own
kilties came running out towards them, waving their arms
triumphantly. But there was something about them Ray
did not like. They did not somehow look London Scottish
to him. Perhaps it was their unweathered knees.</p>

<p>“Who are you?” he shouted.</p>

<p>“Scottish Rifles!”—with an accent that any Scot
would have died rather than use.</p>

<p>“Down them!” he yelled, and let fly himself, and the
‘Scottish Rifles’ withered away, some to earth and some
into the smoke.</p>

<p>It was when they were well under cover and were congratulating
themselves on being fairly safe—as things
went!—that a burly figure nearly fell in on top of Ray
as he crawled about behind his men.</p>

<p>“Hello there?” he shouted.</p>

<p>“London Scottish? You’re to clear out of here and
fall back.”</p>

<p>“What the deuce——” and then a star-shell blazed out
in front, and Ray, raking him with one swift glance from
his white knees upwards, plucked his feet from under him
and brought him down into the trench in a guttural swearing
heap.</p>

<p>“Treacherous devils! There’s no end to their tricks.”</p>

<p>He fingered the revolver at his belt, but he could
not do it so. The fellow deserved it, but it felt too like
murder.</p>

<p>He kicked the recumbent one up on to his feet. They
prodded him over the parapet in front, and as he started to
run a dozen rifles cracked and he went down.</p>

<p>These things, and the incessant rain of heavy shells which
blew craters in the earth all about them, began to get on
their nerves somewhat, but especially this masquerading of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>
the enemy in their own uniform. It produced a feeling of
insecurity all round and a diabolical exasperation.</p>

<p>If for a second the storm, of which they seemed the
centre, lulled, they heard the terrific din of battle on either
side. Heavy fighting seemed going on all along the line.</p>

<p>And soon after midnight came their hottest time of all.
It looked as though the enemy had got word where the new
raw troops were, and had decided that that would be the
weakest spot, and so hurled his heaviest weight against
them.</p>

<p>“Here they come! Thousands of ’em!” shouted someone.</p>

<p>The moon had come out and they could see that it
was so. Ray had no time to think of Lois or anyone else.
His whole being was concentrated on the dark masses
rolling up against them. They had got to be stopped.
He had no slightest idea of what depended on it. All he
knew was that they had got to be stopped, though every
man of themselves died for it.</p>

<p>“Steady, boys, and give it them hot,” and they blazed
away point blank into the serried ranks.</p>

<p>They fell in heaps. The rest wavered and then came
on. Ray saw a furious officer thrashing at them with his
sword to urge them forward. He sighted him as though he
had been a pheasant and the furious one fell. The rest
came on—some of them. But the Scottish fire was excellent.
The boys were strung to concert pitch. Flesh
and blood could not stand their record rapid. The dark
masses melted away.</p>

<p>While they were still congratulating themselves a furious
fusillade opened on them from one side,—Maxims, Ray
judged,—and almost at the same moment came a volley
from the rear. There seemed to be Germans all round
them.</p>

<p>“Bayonets! This way, boys!” and he tumbled up out
of the trench and led the way against the assault from the
rear. Obviously if they were surrounded that must be the
way out.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span></p>

<p>He stumbled on the rough ground and his rifle jerked out
of his hand. The others thought he was done. But it
was only a trip and he was up and off in a moment, leaving
his rifle on the ground behind.</p>

<p>He dashed on unarmed, the others yelling at his heels.
In front a row of Germans was blazing away at them, the
moonlight and the flash of the discharges playing odd tricks
with the bristling line of bayonets.</p>

<p>Ray felt himself horribly naked to assault again. But
there was a wild, insensate rage in his heart against these
men who were dropping his boys as they leaped and yelled
behind him. He wanted to tear and rend, to smash them
into the earth, to end them one and all.</p>

<p>The wavering gleam of the bayonets was deadly close.
He had tried to haul out his revolver as he ran. It was
gone—his stumble had jerked it out of its case and broken
the lanyard. But he had not played Rugger for nothing.</p>

<p>At the very edge of the bristling line he hurled himself
down and under it along the ground, plucked at the first
stolid legs he could grab, and brought two heavy bodies
down on top of him in a surprised and cursing heap. It
helped to break the line too, and the boys were in on them
in a moment, jabbing and stabbing and yelling like fiends
out of the pit. They were all mad just then. It was their
first actual taste of blood at close quarters, and it was
very horrible. None of them cared very much to recall
the actual details later on. But it had the desired effect.
Such of the enemy as had any powers of locomotion left
used them, and the panting Scots were for the moment
masters of the field,—but the cost had been heavy. How
heavy they did not yet fully know.</p>

<p>The machine-gun on their flank had been rushed and
was silent. Their rear seemed clear of the enemy. The
Scottish picked up all they could find in the dark of their
wounded and returned to their trench, and pounded away
again at anything that showed in front. This, after the
hot mêlée behind, was child’s play and it gave them time
to recover themselves.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span></p>

<p>In the dim light of the dawn they took stock again,
grieved silently over their losses, and set their faces harder
than ever to avenge them if the chance offered.</p>

<p>And the chance came quickly. All along the front as
far as they could see, the Germans came on again in dense
gray masses,—hundreds to one, they seemed, and the
prospect hopeless. There was only one thing to be done,
and that was to make the enemy foot the bill beforehand
and to make it as big a bill as possible. And the clips of
cartridges snapped in merrily, and the gray ones in front
went down in swathes, and Ray’s rifle barrel grew so hot
that he flung it aside and looked about for another. And
as he did so, he discovered with a shock that he and his
handful were alone in the trench. The order had come to
retire but had never got their length.</p>

<p>“Give them blazes, boys!—then follow me!” he shouted,
and they gave them a full minute of extra rapid, and then
stooped and scurried along the trench as fast as they
could go.</p>

<p>Glancing about for cover in the rear, he saw a haystack
a hundred yards away across the open.</p>

<p>“There you are!” he panted, and started them off one
after the other across the field, and followed himself last
of all.</p>

<p>“Miracles still happen,” he panted again, as they lay
flat for breath behind the stack. “Never thought we’d
manage it.”</p>

<p>Further to the rear were farm buildings and a glimpse of
hodden gray kilts hovering about. So, with a fresh stock
of breath, and an amazing new hope of life, they dashed
across one by one, with the bullets hailing past in sheets
and ripping white splinters off a gate they had to go
through.</p>

<p>How any man got through alive, they never knew.
But they did somehow. Only two men got hit. Ray,
last man as a matter of duty, saw young MacGillivray
just in front stagger suddenly and nearly fall. He slipped
his arm through the boy’s with a cheery “Keep up!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span>
and raced him into safety, and they bound him up so that
he could go on.</p>

<p>The other man got it in the shoulder just as he whirled
through the gate. He made light of it, but they tied him up
also and prepared for the next move.</p>

<p>For the farm was after all only one stage on the road.
There were Germans all round them, they were told, except
for one possible opening in the rear. And that they instantly
took. First, another minute of rapid-firing by
every available man to give the enemy pause, then off
through a wood, across a beet-field on which machine-guns
were playing for all they were worth, across another field
of mixed rifle and machine-gun fire, and so at last to a
road up which British troops and guns and Maxims were
racing to thrust a stopper into the gap.</p>

<p>The Hodden-Grays just tumbled into the ditch behind
the guns and thankfully panted their souls back. They
were still alive—some of them! They could hardly
realise it.</p>

<p>Ray dropped his humming head into his folded arms as
he lay full length on his face. The homely smell of earth
and grass was like new life. He chewed some grass with
relish. After the smoke and taste of blood it was delicious.
To be alive after all that! It was amazing—incredible
almost. He thought of Lois and thanked God fervently
for them both.</p>

<p>He did not know what they had done. He only knew
that it had been a hot time and that somehow, by God’s
grace, he was still alive. He hoped they had given a good
account of themselves. They had certainly had to fall
back—but in face of such tremendous odds it had been
inevitable and he thought no one could blame them. Anyway
they had done their best. But he felt just a trifle
despondent about it all. Falling back was not a Scottish
custom.</p>

<p>He was sitting by the roadside smoking a cigarette to
settle the jumpy feeling inside him and soothe his ruffled
feelings, when the Adjutant came along.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span></p>

<p>“You had a hot time, Luard.”</p>

<p>“It was a trifle warm. They were too many for us, but
we did the best we could under the circumstances.”</p>

<p>“You did magnificently. The General said the Scottish
had done what two out of three Regular Battalions would
have failed to do. The Staff are saying they saved the
situation last night.”</p>

<p>“You don’t say so!” said Ray, cocking his bonnet, and
feeling five times the man he was a minute before. “Well,
I’m glad they appreciate us. You can always count on the
Scottish doing its level best.”</p>

<p>And later on came a telegram from Sir John French himself,
conveying his “warmest congratulations and thanks
for the fine work you did yesterday at Messines,”—and
saying, “You have given a glorious lead and example to
all Territorial troops who are going to fight in France.”</p>

<p>So from that point of view all was as well as it possibly
could be, and proud men were they who answered the roll-call
at the edge of the wood. Dishevelled and torn and
shaken,—and very sober-faced at the heavy tale of missing,—but
uplifted all the same, with the knowledge that the
record of the old corps had not suffered at their hands.</p>

<p>They had a few days out of the firing line to let their
nerves settle down and within a week were back in the
trenches.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXX">XXX</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> news of the London Scottish charge at Messines,
and their success in holding back the enemy at that
time and point of terrific pressure, was made public
by the Censor almost at once. And great was the jubilation
at Head-Quarters and throughout the Second Battalion,
and grievous the anxiety in many a home over the tardy
casualty lists, for it was recognised that the losses must
necessarily be heavy.</p>

<p>Lois suffered only one day of acutest mental distress,
thanks to Ray’s precious bits of pencilled notes, three of
which—addressed to “Lady Luard”—arrived all together
the day after the news was made known.</p>

<p>But that one long day taught her to the full what long-drawn
agonies thousands of other anxious hearts must be
suffering until all the details were published.</p>

<p>Ray’s latest note, scribbled by the roadside just after
his elevating chat with the Adjutant, was very short and
very scrawly in its writing. But it told that he was alive
and that was all she cared for.</p>

<p>“Can’t write much,” he said in it, “for my hand’s got
the jumps yet. We’ve just come through hell and I haven’t
a scratch. I live and marvel. God’s great mercy. They
say we’ve done well. It was certainly hot. Going to have
a bit off-time, I believe, and we need it. Keep your heart
up. I can’t imagine anything worse than we’ve come
through.”</p>

<p>Noel and Gregor MacLean swelled visibly with pride in
the prowess of their First Battalion,—so the girls asserted,—and
certainly in their at-length-completed uniforms they
looked unusually big and brawny and ready for anything.</p>

<p>A draft was preparing for the front to fill up the gaps<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span>
in the depleted First, and they enthusiastically put in for
it. And, as they were about the two fittest men in the
regiment, thanks to their own arduous preliminary training,
they were accepted, and—again according to the girls—forthwith
became so massive in their own estimation that
it was as much as one’s place was worth for ordinary mortals
to venture to address them.</p>

<p>But the keenness of the draft for the front could not
prevent a certain heaviness of heart in those at home.
The very necessity and the urgency of the call induced
forebodings as to the future. The First Battalion had
made a record. The draft would be emulous to live up
to it. Not one of them, as they helped the happy warriors
in their preparations and kept strong and cheerful faces
over it all, but felt that they were most likely parting with
the boys for good, and that when the good-byes were said
they might well be the last ones.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare especially felt bruised to the heart’s core.
Con gone, and lying wounded somewhere,—and undoubtedly
sorely wounded, for they had never had a line
from himself yet. Ray out there in the thick of it, and any
moment might bring word of his death. And now Noel
plunging into the mêlée with a joyous zest such as he had
never shown for anything in life before. And Alma and
Lois on the tenterhooks of ceaseless anxiety. It was a time
that kept the women-folk much upon their knees, and their
hearts welled with unuttered prayers as they went about
their daily work.</p>

<p>A time, however, that was not without its compensations.
If anxieties filled the air, all hearts were opened to one
another in amazingly un-English fashion. Men with whom
Mr Dare had had no acquaintance, made a point of coming
up to him and congratulating him on his son-in-law’s
safety in that hot night at Messines.</p>

<p>They expressed their sympathy in the matter of Con and
hoped he would soon have better news, and spoke admiringly
of Noel’s pluck in volunteering so speedily for the
front.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span></p>

<p>And everywhere Mrs Dare and Lois and the girls went
it was the same. The frigid angularities of the British
character were everywhere broken down. The touch of
common feeling evoked a new spirit of national kinship.
What touched one touched all. But in varying degree.
Pleasant and helpful as it was to experience this new
feeling of kindliness and sympathy in the air, the hearts
most vitally affected alone knew how sorely the war was
bruising them.</p>

<p>But, as Alma said, whenever she could rush away from
her patients for a breath of home, “Work is the only
thing to keep one’s thoughts off one’s troubles, and it
doesn’t pay to dwell on them. Here’s another letter from
Robert Grant. He says Con is progressing and hints that
there is a chance of his being exchanged as soon as he can
travel. I do wish we could hear from himself, if it was only
just a word. I can’t help fearing he’s more hurt than Mr
Grant tells us.”</p>

<p>“It’s a great comfort to know that he’s alive, my dear,”
said Mrs Dare, “—when so many have gone for good.”</p>

<p>“Oh, it is. I assure you I am grateful, Mother. And
yet I can’t help longing for just that one word from
himself. If he only signed his letters even, it would be
something.”</p>

<p>“We must be thankful for the smallest sparing mercy
in these days. It seems incredible that any of them should
come back alive when one reads the accounts of the
fighting.”</p>

<p>“I don’t believe it helps one to read about it,” said
Lois, who had sat listening quietly.</p>

<p>“I’m sure it doesn’t,” said Alma. “I’m glad to say
I have very little time for reading. On the other hand one
cannot help hearing our men talk about it, and perhaps
that’s worse, for they were in the thick of it and know what
they’re talking about. And, oh, if only the slackers and
shirkers at home could hear how the others think of them!
Their ears would tingle red for the rest of their lives. You
hear pretty regularly from Ray, Lo?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span></p>

<p>“Every two or three days. I’ll get you his last ones,”
and she slipped quietly away.</p>

<p>“She is on the rack too,” said Mrs Dare with a sigh.
“Any day may bring us ill news. I dread the postman’s
ring. And in a few days Noel will be in it too. It’s hard
on those who sit at home and wait.”</p>

<p>“But the boys are just splendid,” said Alma cheerfully.
“They’re doing their duty nobly. Just think how you,
and we all, would have felt if Noel had kept out of it.
Why, we couldn’t have held our heads up, Mother, and you
know it.”</p>

<p>“I know,” nodded Mrs Dare. “I try to look at it
that way, but the other side will insist on being looked at
also.”</p>

<p>“If any of them never come back,—well, we know that
they will be infinitely better off. They will have attained
the very highest. No man can do more than give his
life for his country, and these boys are giving themselves
splendidly. I tell you my heart is in my throat at thought
of it all whenever I meet a regiment in the street. I could
cheer and cry at the same time. They are splendid!—splendid!—and
you can see in their eyes and faces that
they understand. War is very terrible, Mother, but I
cannot help feeling that as a people we are on a higher
level than we were six months ago. There’s a new and
nobler spirit abroad.”</p>

<p>“To think—that it had to come in such a way!”</p>

<p>“That is one of the mysteries.”</p>

<p>Lois came quietly in with her precious letters.</p>

<p>“I envy you, dear,” said Alma, when she had read
them. “Just one little precious scrawl like those would
be worth more to me than all Mr Grant’s letters, glad as I
am to get them.”</p>

<p>“But you know Con is safe,” said Lois softly.</p>

<p>“I have Mr Grant’s word for it, but I don’t know him
from Adam. All I’ve been able to learn is that he was an
R.A.M.C. man and was taken at the same time as Con.
He is not a doctor, just one of the helpers.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span></p>

<p>“I think I would be glad to have Ray wounded and a
prisoner—if it wasn’t very bad,” said Lois. “Though I’m
sure he wouldn’t like to know I feel like that.”</p>

<p>“And I——” began Mrs Dare. “No, it’s no good talking
about it,” and then almost in spite of herself, she said what
was in her mind. “I really cannot help feeling that if—if
the worst had to come to any of them, it would be better
to be killed outright than shattered and useless for life.
Oh, it is terrible to think of. And so many will <span class="locked">be——”</span></p>

<p>“I would sooner have them back in pieces than not at
all,” said Lois quickly.</p>

<p>“So would I,” said Alma. “Half a man is better than
no man when he’s all you’ve got. Especially when the
other half has been given to his country. No, indeed!
Let us get back all we can and be thankful.”</p>

<p>They were kept very busy at Oakdene with their wounded.
In search of extra help Mrs Dare had sent for Mrs Skirrow.
But Mrs Skirrow had risen on the wings of the storm.</p>

<p>She came, indeed, but it was only to explain why she
could not come as formerly.</p>

<p>“You see, mum, I got me ’ands as full as they’ll ’old at
present. When I heard they was goin’ to billet some o’
the boys in Willstead, I says to myself, ‘That’s your
ticket, Thirza Skirrow. Billeting’s your job. You’re
a born billeter.’ So I did up my place a bit, and made it
all nice an’ tidy and clean as a new pin. An’ I got four
of ’em. Big lads too an’ they eats a goodish lot. But we
get on together like a house afire. They calls me ‘Mother,’
an’ I makes thirty bob a week and me keep off ’em, and
feeds ’em well too. It’s better’n charing an’ more to me
taste, and it’s helping King and Country. An’ for me, I
don’t mind how long it lasts.”</p>

<p>“I’m glad you’ve been so sensible,” said Mrs Dare.
“Perhaps you know of someone else who could lend us a
hand?”</p>

<p>“Know of plenty that’s needing it,—spite o’ the money
they’re drawin’ from Government. But most o’ them
that could if they would’s too happy boozing in the pubs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span>
to do anything else. I’ll try and find you someone, mum,
an’ if I can I’ll send her along—or bring her by the scruff.”</p>

<p>“I hope you have good news of your own boys and Mr
Skirrow.”</p>

<p>“Never a blessed word, mum, not since they left.
They’ll be all right, I reckon, or I’d heard about it. We’re
not a family that worries much so long as things is goin’
right. They’ll look after themselves out there, wherever
they are. And I’m doin’ me little bit at ’ome and quite
’appy, thank ye, mum!” and Mrs Skirrow, looking very
solidly contented with life, sailed away to buy in for her
boys, and round up some help for Mrs Dare if she could
lay hands on it.</p>

<p>Out of that came the idea—already essayed in other
parts of the country—of opening rooms where the wives
of the men who had gone to the front could meet and
talk, and spend their spare time in better surroundings
than the public-houses offered. And another channel
for helpful ministry, and another distraction from brooding
thought, was opened to them.</p>

<p>The boys were waiting in hourly expectation of orders
to proceed to the front, in the highest of spirits, and with
a gusto not entirely explicable to their womankind. By
processes of severe elimination they had reduced their
absolutely necessary baggage to official requirements
and the restricted proportions of their new stiff green-webbing
knapsacks. They were now going up and down
each day in full campaigning kit, and looked, as Noel
said, like blooming Father Christmases, so slung about were
they with bulging impedimenta of all kinds. They looked
bigger and burlier than ever,—‘absolutely massive,’ said
Honor.</p>

<p>Then at last the call came. They were to parade at
Head-Quarters and remain there ready to go on at a
moment’s notice.</p>

<p>Farewells to the elders were said at home. Neither Mrs
Dare nor Mrs MacLean would venture on them in public.
Lois knew what it would be like, having been through it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span>
already, and she stayed with them. Auntie Mitt wept
unashamedly, though she pretended it was only the beginning
of a cold. And when they had gone, all four
shut themselves up for a space in their bedrooms and betook
themselves to their knees.</p>

<p>Honor and Vic, however, went up with them to Head-Quarters,
to see the impression they created in the trains
with such loads on their backs, to share in their reflected
glory, and to delay the parting by that much.</p>

<p>And the impression was highly satisfactory to all concerned.
For all minds were full still of the gallant work
of the First Battalion at Messines, and all knew that these
young stalwarts were off presently to fill the gaps. Appreciative
glances followed their bumping progression in
and out of trains and stations, and the girls really felt it
an honour to be in such high company.</p>

<p>At Head-Quarters they—being connected with the draft—were
admitted to the floor of the house and found themselves
in a bewildering maelstrom of circulating Scots.</p>

<p>“I never saw so many bare knees in all my life,” whispered
Vic.</p>

<p>“Aren’t they all splendid?” said Honor, sparkling all
over, but not referring entirely to brawny knees.</p>

<p>And splendid they were, though there were many eyes
that saw them but mistily—whereby they doubtless looked
more splendid still. And obtrusive lumps had to be
forcibly choked down many throats, as fathers and mothers,
and sisters and other fellows’ sisters, tried their best to
keep brave and cheerful faces while they watched—knowing
only too well that they might be looking for the last time
on the clear fresh faces and bright eyes and stalwart forms.</p>

<p>It was dreadful to think that within a day or two these
eager upstanding boys, with their swinging kilts and cocked
bonnets and cheery looks, might be lying stiff and stark,
rent into bloody fragments by German shells. It did not
do to think of it.</p>

<p>Honor and Vic went up into the gallery and watched the
multifarious crowd below.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span></p>

<p>“It makes me think of one of those colonies of ants
you buy at Gamage’s in a glass case at Christmas,” murmured
Vic. “I had one once, but the glass got broken
and they all got out and got lost.... I suppose they all
know what they’re supposed to be doing, but they’re
awfully like those ants pushing about every which <span class="locked">way——”</span></p>

<p>“They’ll get out soon. But I hope they’ll not get lost,”
said Honor, with a glimpse of the chill foreboding.</p>

<p>“Do you know, Nor, those boys walk quite differently
since they got their kilts,” said Vic, as they watched their
two down below.</p>

<p>“I know. They fling out their toes with a kind of free
kick as though the world was at their feet. See that man—he
does it beautifully. He’s a sergeant or something. He
looks as if he’d done it all his life.”</p>

<p>“It’s rather like the way cats walk on wet grass,” said
Vic.</p>

<p>And then, suddenly, sharp words of command down
below,—the floor cleared as if by magic of all but the draft
for the front, and they formed up in two long lines, and a
General came along and inspected them and said a few
cheery words to them.</p>

<p>The girls thrilled at the general silence, the concentration
on the draft. They watched their two absorbedly, and to
both it came right home with almost overwhelming force
that the parting that was upon them might well be the
final one. They would march proudly away with their
swinging kilts and skirling pipes, and then—they might
never see them again.</p>

<p>“Look at their faces!” whispered Honor. “Are those
two really our boys?”</p>

<p>“They’re ours right enough. That’s their fighting-face.
They’re splendid.”</p>

<p>More words of command, they formed up in fours, the
big doors swung open, the pipes shrilled a merry tune,
and with heavy tread of ordered feet they passed out into
the gray November day.</p>

<p>“Are they going?” gasped Honor, and turned to follow.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span></p>

<p>“Only to Central Hall,” said a Second Battalion man
who was leaning on the rail alongside them. “They’re
to come back here for lunch presently. They’ll go on
later,—that is if they go on to-day at all. Somebody was
saying the transports aren’t ready.”</p>

<p>“They say there’s a German submarine dodging about
the Channel waiting for them,” said another next to him.</p>

<p>“This place breeds a fresh rumour every five minutes
on an average. You’re never sure of anything till it’s
happened.”</p>

<p>So the girls waited hopefully, and criticised the setting of
the tables down below by obviously ’prentice hands; and
in due course they were rewarded by the draft marching
in again, without kits this time, and they all sat down
at the tables and ate and drank in apparently jovial
humour.</p>

<p>But to the girls, subdued in spirit somewhat by the pertinacious
intrusion of the future possibilities which took
advantage of this long-drawn farewell, the rough-and-ready
banquet had in it something of the solemn and
portentous,—something indeed of a sacrament, though
the apparently jovial ones down below did not seem to
regard it so. It was a farewell feast. It was hardly
possible that all those stalwart diners would return. And
as their eyes wandered over them, returning oftenest to
their own two, they wondered who would be taken,—who
left to return to them.</p>

<p>“I couldn’t eat to save my life,” said Vic.</p>

<p>“Nor I. And I don’t believe they’re eating much
either. They’re just pretending to.”</p>

<p>When the feasting was over the place became a maelstrom
again, with much hearty wringing of hands, and good
lucks, and good wishes, and parting gifts of plethoric
boxes of matches and cigars and cigarettes. And then
they were all formed up into two long lines again, and
the girls sped down the narrow stone staircases to be near
them at the last.</p>

<p>They were just in time to march alongside their own two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span>
as far as the Central Hall, but it was only when the
hodden-gray mass was slowly making its way down the
dark stairway that they had the chance to speak.</p>

<p>“We’ve got to sleep in this hole to-night, they say,” said
Noel. “Rotten!”</p>

<p>“When do you think you’ll go?” asked Honor.</p>

<p>“Dear knows. We never know anything till we’re
doing it.”</p>

<p>“We shall come up in the morning to see if you’re still
here.”</p>

<p>“That’ll be nice. But don’t bother!”</p>

<p>“We may be here for days,” said Gregor. “We’ve got
used to hanging on and waiting orders. It’s the weariest
part of the work.”</p>

<p>“Well, we’ll keep on coming up till you go. We’d like
to see the last of them, wouldn’t we, Vic?—I mean,” with a
quick little catch of the breath that nearly choked her,
“the last till you come back.”</p>

<p>“Rather! You see, we wouldn’t be sure you really
had gone unless we saw it with our own eyes.”</p>

<p>“Think we’d bolt?—Or want to get rid of us?” grinned
Noel.</p>

<p>“Oh—neither. Just to know, you know.”</p>

<p>And then the boys had to go below, and the girls went
away home, and hardly spoke a word all the way.</p>

<p>They went up again next day and found the draft still
standing-by in huge disgust at the delay.</p>

<p>And again the next day—and the next,—and the next;
and each time found the boys growling louder and deeper.</p>

<p>“Got us out of Head-Quarters and forgotten us, the
bally idiots!” was Noel’s opinion. “You might just trot
round and ask ’em what they jolly well mean by it. Tell
’em we’re not going to put up with it much longer.”</p>

<p>“All going to desert for a change,” said Gregor. “It’s
a sight harder work than fighting.”</p>

<p>Then one morning when the girls arrived at the Hall
it was lonely and deserted. The draft had gone.</p>

<p>“Just as well, maybe,” said Honor philosophically, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span>
she had got her face quite straight again. “I believe
I should have cried at the last, and I hate crying in
public.”</p>

<p>“Crying’s no good,” said Vic valiantly. “I’m glad
they’re away at last. It was beginning to tell on all
of us.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXI">XXXI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">For</span> a week after that hot night at Messines the
Hodden-Grays had a fairly easy time, and they
deserved and needed it.</p>

<p>They marched back to Bailleul and found billets in the
farmhouses round about, and there they had the chance
to clean up and refit, to recover themselves generally, and
to grieve over their heavy losses,—though you would not
have thought it, perhaps, by the look of them.</p>

<p>Simply to be sleeping once more beyond the reach of
sudden death was a mental tonic, and its effects showed
quickly in a universal bracing up to concert-pitch and
anything more that might be required of them.</p>

<p>The pressure on their special front was still heavy and
continuous, however, and the end of the week’s holiday
saw them back in the fighting-line, with their hearts set
dourly on paying back some of the heavy score if opportunity
offered.</p>

<p>They were moved from point to point, but finally settled
down in a wood, the trees of which, so much as was left
of them, told their own grim story of fiery flagellations.
The German trenches were in the same wood about three
hundred yards away but were invisible on account of fallen
tree-tops and branches.</p>

<p>There Ray’s company remained for five whole days,
shelled incessantly and so harassed with attacks between
times that rest was impossible, and through sheer strain
and weariness their nerves came nigh to snapping. But
they held tight and slogged on, and longed for relief and a
heavenly night’s rest out of the sound and feel of bursting
shells.</p>

<p>Even well-seasoned regulars—and they had a very crack<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span>
battalion on their left—found it overmuch of a bad thing,
and some got ‘batty in the brain-pan,’ as Ray put it in his
letters to Lois, and had to be sent back to hospital. It was
amazing that men accustomed to experiences so different
could stand it. But they did, and held their own with the
best, and suffered much.</p>

<p>The weather was horrible. Some days it poured without
ceasing. At night the rain turned to hail, and they
had fierce gales which brought the remnants of the wood
down on their heads, so that between whirling hail and
falling branches they could not see five yards ahead. They
were soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone all day and
all night, and the only thing that kept them alive was the
incessant attacks of the German hordes which had to be
beaten back at any price,—and were.</p>

<p>But it was bitter hard work and only possible by reason
of urgent and final necessity. Never were more grateful
men on this earth when at last the reliefs came up, and they
trudged off through nine inches of mud to a village in the
rear where they got hot tea,—the first hot thing they had
had for a week.</p>

<p>Then followed a short spell in the reserve trenches, which
were full of water and still subject to shell-fire, but just a
degree less racking than the actual fighting-line in as much
as the enemy could not get at them without ample warning.</p>

<p>Still, they were ‘standing-by’ all the time, ready to
supplement the front at any moment, so there was little
rest and constant strain. They dozed at times, sitting
in the mud and more than half frozen with the bitter cold.
Their sopping clothing stuck clammily to their chilled
skins. They dreamed of beds and hot baths, and now and
again they fed on bully beef and bread and jam, washed
down with hot tea laced with rum, and blessed the commissariat
which did its level best for them under very trying
circumstances.</p>

<p>Then at last,—since human nature can stand only a
certain considerable amount of affliction without being
the worse for it, and they had done their utmost duty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span>
and had about reached the limit—they were ordered to
the rear for a proper rest, and right gladly they took the
muddy road and left the sound of the guns behind them.</p>

<p>There followed a few days of recuperative rest, interrupted
only, but more than once, by orders to ‘stand-by’
to reinforce the front, which was enduring much tribulation
from overwhelming odds. The front held firm,
however, and their tension relaxed again.</p>

<p>They cleaned themselves up and did some parades and
route marches to keep their muscles from cramping, and
then, one heavenly day, Ray, hearing that the officers of
other battalions were getting short leave for home, put in
for the same, and got it, and twelve hours later walked up
the drive at Oakdene and Lois rushed out and flung herself
into his arms.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII">XXXII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">What</span> a home-coming that was!</p>

<p>They counted him almost as one returned from
the dead, and Mrs Dare and Lois could hardly
let him out of their sight for a moment. He was gift of
the gods and prized accordingly.</p>

<p>And they talked and talked, though of course it was
Ray who did most of the talking, and held them spell-bound
and shivering with the mere telling of the things he had seen.</p>

<p>Auntie Mitt suspended her work to gaze at him with
eyes like little saucers, and finally expressed the opinion
that it sounded worse even than the Crimea.</p>

<p>“And you saw nothing of the boys?” asked Honor
disappointedly.</p>

<p>“They hadn’t arrived when I left. General opinion is
that they’ve got mislaid en route, but they’ll probably
have turned up by the time I get back. We’re needing
them badly to make up our strength. Losses were very
heavy at Messines, and there’s a certain wastage going on
all the time, of course.”</p>

<p>“Wastage indeed!” sighed Mrs Dare, thinking of her
own. “You speak as if they were no more than goods and
chattels, Ray. Every wasted one means a sore sore heart
at home.”</p>

<p>“I know, Mother dear. One gets to speak of it so. War
is horribly callousing. If it were not no man could stick
it out. But we think of them differently, I assure you, and
nothing is left undone that we can do for them. You’ve
heard from the boys, of course.”</p>

<p>“We’ve had several letters, just hasty <span class="locked">scraps——”</span></p>

<p>“That’s all one has time for, and we’re not allowed to
say much, you see.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span></p>

<p>“How long can it possibly go on, do you think?”</p>

<p>“I can’t imagine how it’s ever going to come to an
end. You see they’re dug in and we’re dug in, and neither
of us can make any advance. Seems to me an absolute
stalemate and as if it might go on so for ever.”</p>

<p>“How awful to think of!” said Vic. “Can’t you get
round them somehow and turn them out of their holes?”</p>

<p>“We haven’t a quarter enough men. That’s why it’s
been so rough on those that were there. We can beat
them at fighting any day, even at three to one odds, but
they outnumber us many times more than that. How’s
Kitchener’s new lot getting on?”</p>

<p>“They’ve come in splendidly, and they’re working hard
and look very fit—those that have got their uniforms.
The rest look like convicts, but they’ll be all right when
they’re decently dressed.”</p>

<p>“Well, I tell you,—we want every man of them, and as
quickly as possible. Our long thin line is terribly pressed,
and our losses are heavier in consequence. It’s rough on
the nerves, you see. One day in and one day out of the
trenches would be all right. But five days and nights on
end is a bit tough. Lots have been invalided home almost
dotty with the strain.”</p>

<p>He had a great time and savoured every second of it.
He had hot baths till he felt respectable, and got a cold in
the head as a consequence, and went up and had a Turkish
bath in town and thought of the icy water of the trenches
as he sat in the hottest room.</p>

<p>He went up to Head-Quarters, and saw the new chiefs
there and some old chums who had been unable for various
good reasons to go out with the rest.</p>

<p>But most of his time he spent with Lois—golden hours
which both felt might possibly be the last.</p>

<p>Three days later he was back at Brigade Head-Quarters,
and one of the first things he saw was Noel Dare kicking a
fine goal in a game of soccer, Draft <i>v.</i> Veterans, and Gregor
MacLean, who was better at golf than at footer, cheering
him for all he was worth.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span></p>

<p>They all three forgathered when the game was over
and the crowd had finished booing the referee, and Noel,
in the pride of his goal and brimful of youthful eagerness,
broke out, “I say, Sir Raglan, can’t you get them to get a
move on? We chaps came out to fight and we’ve done
nothing yet but play footer and route-march. It’s almost
as bad as being at home.”</p>

<p>“You wait till you get five days and nights in the
trenches, my son, with water up to your knees and the
rest of you nothing but mud, and you’ll be wishing you
were back here having a holiday.”</p>

<p>“Bet you I won’t! We’re just aching to have a slap at
those beastly Boches, aren’t we, Greg?”</p>

<p>“Rather!—Sickening, hanging about round here.”</p>

<p>“You’ll find war’s mostly hanging about round somewhere,
with an occasional scrap thrown in, and overmany
shells all the time. You get used to them, of course, but
you’ll come to be grateful to get away from the sound of
them for a bit.”</p>

<p>“Everybody all right at home?” asked Noel. “Suppose
you got a sight of them!”</p>

<p>“Yes, I got all the sight of them I could cram into the
time. They were all first rate, but full of anxieties for all
of us. I suppose you write now and again.”</p>

<p>“Oh, occasionally. But you see there’s really been
nothing to tell them so far.”</p>

<p>“You can’t write often enough to please your mothers.
They’re feeling it sorely.”</p>

<p>The days dragged on and found them still ‘fooling
about,’ as Noel put it,—footer, route-marches, parades,
alarm-parades, church-parades, an occasional sudden
order to ‘stand-by’ in case of need, now and again a bit
of musketry-drill, and some educational manœuvering and
trench-digging. But it was all very far short of what the
fire-eating newcomers had looked forward to, and strung
themselves up to, and felt very much let down through
the lack of.</p>

<p>Then they heard the King was coming to have a look<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span>
at them, and they were set to scraping a foot or so of the
surface mud off the road so that his motor should be
able to get through somehow.</p>

<p>And they did it merrily enough. It was a change anyway
and all in the day’s work. But, said Noel,</p>

<p>“Hanged if I ever expected to get down to road-scraping.
I feel like one of the old duffers that pretend to sweep the
roads at home, with W.U.C. in brass letters on their caps,
and mouch about most of the time with their brooms over
their shoulders.”</p>

<p>The King duly came and went, which passed one day,
and they had more drills, new double-company drills, more
route-marches, more parades, and came at last to doubt if
any real fighting was to the fore at all.</p>

<p>The news of Admiral Sturdee’s sinking of the German
Fleet off the Falklands cheered them up, and later on came
word of the bombardment of Scarborough and Whitby,
and they were inclined to think that would help Kitchener
in his recruiting.</p>

<p>It rained most days and they got accustomed to the
constant living in wet clothes. And rumour, as of old,
had fine times of it—a fresh ’cert’ each day, but the most
persistent and long-lived that they were presently to go to
Egypt;—at which Master Noel growled, “Rotten luck!”</p>

<p>They were constantly ‘standing-by,’ hopeful that it
meant business at last, but the order was always cancelled
and they stayed where they were.</p>

<p>Then, right in the middle of a game of footer, peremptory
orders came and they were really off at last, full of fight
and jubilant at the prospect of fresh fame for the Battalion
in the near future.</p>

<p>And presently Noel and Gregor found themselves in a
real fighting-trench, with mud and water almost up to their
knees, and the roaring of big guns and the rattle of musketry
somewhere on in front.</p>

<p>It was a reserve trench, and between them and the
enemy the front line men were doing their best to retake a
trench that had been lost, and behind them were several<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span>
companies in support, so that the new men were as yet in
no great danger.</p>

<p>They felt terribly warlike and anxious to get at them.
Huge shells came hurtling through the darkness and exploded
all too close, with terrific noises and ghastly blasts
of lightning.</p>

<p>“Bully!” jerked Noel, with his teeth set tight. “Bit
of the real thing at last, old Greg! Wonder when we do
anything?”</p>

<p>“It’s dam damp to the feet,” said Gregor. “I’d jolly
well like a run to get warm.”</p>

<p>There was no chance of a run just then, but presently
they were all ordered out into the open to dig a new trench,
and the Germans sent up star-shells and found them out
and gave it them hot.</p>

<p>Bullets pinged past them and over them like clouds
of venomous insects swept along by a gale. Shrapnel
burst with vicious claps over their heads. Life seemed
impossible and yet to their surprise they lived, and, whatever
their private feelings, the new men stuck valiantly
to their work and dug for dear life.</p>

<p>Noel and Gregor were alongside one another delving like
navvies, while sweat and shivers chased one another up
and down their backs which felt horribly naked to damage.</p>

<p>“Keep as low as you can, boys,” was their lieutenant’s
order, as he paced the line behind, preaching better than
he practised.</p>

<p>“Navvies,” jerked Noel, through his teeth to Gregor,
so strung up with it all that he must speak or burst. “Just
jolly old navvies and grave-diggers and road-scrapers!
That’s what we are, my son.”</p>

<p>And then—a gasp alongside him, and a groan, and
Gregor was down.</p>

<p>“Greg, old man! What’s it?” and he was down on
his knees beside him. But Gregor did not speak.</p>

<p>Noel rose and hauled him up into his arms and began
to stagger back with his burden towards the rear. A
machine-gun somewhere on the flank opened on them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span>
A hail of bullets swept into them. They both went down
with a crash.</p>

<p>“Stretchers here!” shouted the lieutenant, and then
fell himself in a crumpled heap.</p>

<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>

<p>Let Ray’s letter tell the rest.</p>

<p>Lois had rushed to meet the postman, as they used to do
at The Red House, but never so eagerly as now.</p>

<p>He handed her the letters with a grin. He wished all
the houses he went to had a similar practice. It made him
feel himself a universal benefactor.</p>

<p>It was sleeting and the letters were sprinkled with
drops—like tears. Lois picked out her own special, tossed
the rest—none of which were of the slightest consequence
compared with this one—onto the table in the breakfast-room
and sped upstairs. She always read Ray’s letters
first in sanctuary.</p>

<p>She sliced it open very neatly, for even envelopes from
the front were precious. And then as she glanced over it,
with eyes trained and quickened to the vitalities, her face
blanched and her lips tightened, and then the tears streamed
down without restraint.</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>
“<span class="smcap">Lois dearest</span>,
</p>

<p>I have bad news for you, but you will bear it
bravely and help the mothers. Our two dear lads are
gone. They were doing their duty nobly and their
end was quick and I believe painless,—a grand death
for any man to die.</p>

<p>They were trenching at the front on Tuesday
night with the rest. The Germans located them in the
dark by star-shells and directed a heavy fire on them.
I was sent to order them to withdraw as the enemy
had crept up on the flank with machine-guns. I met
bearer-parties coming in and they said casualties were
pretty heavy. One stretcher I passed as I returned
had two bodies on it, and one of the bearers explained
that they found them locked together like that.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span>
‘This one had been trying to carry the other, I reckon,’
he said, and I flicked my torch on them and found to my
great grief that it was Noel and Gregor. Gregor had
been shot dead and Noel had evidently been trying to
get him to the rear.</p>

<p>“We may not mourn overmuch. It is hard to
lose the boys but it was a grand death to die. Gregor
died for his country. Noel died for his friend as well.</p>

<p>Break it to the mothers. It will be a sad task,
but tell them how bravely the boys did their part.
They were always cheerful and happy—anxious only
to get to the real work for which they had prepared
themselves so well.</p>

<p>I am very well and fit and have not had a scratch
so far. God be thanked, for both our sakes!...”</p>
</div>

<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>

<p>Break it to the mothers! What a task for any girl!</p>

<p>She fell on her knees by the bed and buried her streaming
face in her hands, and prayed for help for them all and
especially for the mothers.</p>

<p>Her own mother, she knew, would bear it bravely. She
had many left. But poor Mrs MacLean!—her only one!—her
all! And she ageing and frail.</p>

<p>And Honor! Oh, Death cut wide swathes in these
times. It would be very sad for Honor. She would get
over it in time, no doubt. She was young. But now it
would darken her life and leave a terrible blank in it.</p>

<p>And Vic! She was not quite sure if there had been
anything between Vic and Noel. She had imagined the
possibility at times. Oh, Death was cruel, and War was
hateful and horrible.</p>

<p>These dear boys, with no ill-feeling for anyone—done to
their deaths by the evil machinations of the war-makers!
In the depth of her sorrow her anger burned. She prayed
God vehemently to requite it in full to those who had
brought all these horrors on the world for their own evil
ends.</p>

<p>But nothing would bring back their boys. And upon her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span>
lay the dreadful task of breaking the news to the rest.
She prayed now for strength and guidance, and they were
given to her.</p>

<p>She got up and bathed her face and eyes, and went
downstairs.</p>

<p>Vic met her expectantly.</p>

<p>“Any news, Lo?... Why—what is it?” at sight of
her eyes, which swam in spite of herself.</p>

<p>“Very bad news, dear. Come in here,—to the library,”
and she closed the door behind them.</p>

<p>“Noel and Gregor,” she said, with a break in her voice—“They
are both <span class="locked">gone——”</span></p>

<p>“Oh, Lo!”—with a sharp agony which Lois understood.
“Not both!”</p>

<p>“Yes, dear, both. It is terrible, but you must help us
to bear it.”</p>

<p>Vic gave her one woeful glance, which haunted her for
months, and then put her arms round her neck and broke
into sobs. “Oh, Lo! Lo!” and Lois put her arms round
her understandingly and patted her soothingly. No
further word was said between them, and presently Vic
disengaged herself and bowed her head and ran up to her
room.</p>

<p>Lois just told the news to Auntie Mitt, whose old face
worked and broke, and then, slipping on her Loden cloak
with the hood over her head, she went across to The Red
House.</p>

<p>They knew in a moment by the sight of her face that
she brought bad news. Mrs Dare had all along, while
relaxing nothing of her faith and hope, been prepared for
such. Many times a day she had said to herself, “How is
it possible that they can come back alive out of such
horrors? God’s will be done!”</p>

<p>Now she asked quickly, “Who is it, dear?”—as one
who was prepared.</p>

<p>“It is the boys, Mother dear.”</p>

<p>“Not both?” with a gasp in spite of herself.</p>

<p>“Both,” said Lois sadly, and dared not look at Honor,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span>
who sat rigid and stricken. “I will read you Ray’s
letter.”</p>

<p>“Ray is safe?”</p>

<p>“Thank God, he is safe—so far,” and she read them his
letter.</p>

<p>When it was all told, Mrs Dare gave a great sigh as
though part of her very life had gone out of her.</p>

<p>“The—poor—dear—lads!” she said softly.</p>

<p>“We must remember that they are infinitely better off,
Mother dear,” said Lois quietly. “They did their duty
and they died nobly.”</p>

<p>Mrs Dare sighed again. “I did not think it possible
they could all come back. How could we expect it when so
many are gone? But—oh, how we shall miss them!—the
dear lads!—the dear lads!”</p>

<p>“Who will break it to Mrs MacLean?” said Honor,
in a low, strained voice tremulous with tears. “It will
be terrible for her!”</p>

<p>“Perhaps I had better go,” said Lois. “But it will be
very <span class="locked">trying——”</span></p>

<p>“I think I will go, Lo,” said Honor, very quietly but very
firmly. “He was very dear to me too. We must comfort
one another.”</p>

<p>“Can you stand it, Nor, dear?”</p>

<p>“Yes, I can stand it. We’ve all got to stand it.
You will lend me Ray’s letter? I will be very careful of
it,” and Lois handed it to her.</p>

<p>“She is very brave,” said Lois, when Honor had gone off
to put on her things. “I don’t think I could bear it so
well if Ray were taken from me. Oh, Mother, how terrible
it all is! It all seems like a horrible nightmare. I stand
and ask myself sometimes—‘Is it real? Is this really
Christmas of 1914,—or shall I wake presently and find it
all an evil dream?’”</p>

<p>“Ah—if it only were!” said Mrs Dare, with the tears
running unheeded down her cheeks. “We must try to
bear it as bravely as Honor does. It will be a great blow
to your father too. But we have forecasted it. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span>
seemed impossible that all of them should come back
to us....”</p>

<p>They heard the front door close quietly as Honor let
herself out.</p>

<p>“... My heart is very sore for Gregor’s mother,” she
said softly. “He was all she had. I am still rich. She
loses all. But if anyone can comfort her it is Honor.”</p>

<p>“And to think—that a million, perhaps many million,
women are feeling as we are, and suffering as we are—and
all because of a little handful of evil ambitious men!
Mother,—it is terrible that any men should have such evil
power. I cannot help wishing they may suffer in their
turn. But they can never suffer enough.”</p>

<p>“They will suffer,” said Mrs Dare quietly. “Since God
is a just God. We may leave them to Him, dear,—and
trust the outcome to Him too.... It is sad to think of
our dear lad cut off so soon. But—I have thought much
in the night, when I could not sleep for thinking of them
all,—he is better so, Lois, than growing up like some we
know. Oh, far better so.”</p>

<p>“Yes, indeed, dear!”—It was good, she felt, for her
mother to talk. She would have all the rest of her life for
thinking.</p>

<p>“Your father was telling me, a night or two ago, how
he came down in the train with young Nemmowe,—you
know,—of ‘The Hollies.’ He had been drinking, but he
was not drunk—only assertive. Someone in the carriage
asked him when he was going to the front. And he
chuckled and said, ‘Not me! Not my line at all. I’m
a man of peace. Besides we’ve got too much on. Can’t
spare me at this end.’ They’re big army contractors,
you know, and are making a huge fortune out of the war,
it is said. And the man who had asked him, said, ‘If I
was as young as you, and as strong as you, I’d sooner die
out there ten times over than stop rotting here. If England
came to grief you’d wring a profit out of it some way, I
presume.’ And the Nemmowe boy laughed and said,
‘Shouldn’t wonder if you’d like some of the pickings yourself.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span>
And since then no one will pass a word with him.
Better to be lying dead in French soil than like that, dear.”</p>

<p>“Far, far better, Mother dear. It is well with our boys.
But—oh, it is sad to have them go! And any day Ray
may be with them,” and she fell on her knees and laid her
head in her mother’s lap as she had done when a child.</p>

<p>“It is in God’s hands,” said her mother, gently stroking
her hair. “But, thanks be to Him, our boys are proving
themselves men.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIII">XXXIII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Honor</span> walked quickly, with bent head to keep the
sleet out of her eyes. She despised umbrellas and
enjoyed braving the weather, when circumstances
permitted her, as now, to wear a knitted toque and a rainproof.
The bite of the sleet was in accord with her feelings.
She would have liked to tramp against it for hours.</p>

<p>Noel gone! Gregor gone! It seemed incredible. Those
two dear boys so full of bounding life and energy. Gone!—lying
dead and cold under the French mud. She could
not quite realise it yet. She felt numbed with the shock
of it. Dead! Never to return to them! Never to see
them in this life again! Oh, Gregor, Gregor!</p>

<p>But she must be brave, for, just across the Common
there, was Gregor’s mother in happy unconsciousness of
the blow that had befallen them. Oh, it would hurt her.
It would bruise her. It might break her. She, Honor,
must be brave and strong and help her to bear it.</p>

<p>And as she breasted the wind, and the sleet bit at her
face, her mind began to work again with acute clarity
of understanding. It carried her above herself. She saw—as
though scales had fallen from the eyes of her spirit—that
this fearsome Death which seemed so dreadful was
not the end but the beginning. Their boys were possibly—probably—nearer
to them even than they had been in life.
The dear bodies might be lying there in France, but all that
had been really <em>them</em> was living still and might be—would
be, she thought, watching them now, near at hand,
nearer than ever before.</p>

<p>So full was her mind of the thought that she actually
found herself glancing upwards into the sleety sky as if she
might catch sight of them.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span></p>

<p>There was only gray sky and whirling sleet up there,
but the belief was strong in her and she went on comforted.</p>

<p>The maid greeted her with her usual bright smile, and
helped her off with her dripping coat. They all knew
how things stood between Mr Gregor and her and cordially
approved.</p>

<p>“Is Mrs MacLean down yet, Maggie?” she asked.</p>

<p>“Not yet, Miss Honor. She was feeling the cold, so she
said she would have her breakfast in bed,”—as she showed
her into the morning-room at the back, where a wood fire
was burning brightly with cheerful hissings and spittings
and puffs of smoke, and everything spoke of comfort and
the quiet joy of life.</p>

<p>“Will you please ask her if I can see her at once,
Maggie?”</p>

<p>“Yes, Miss Honor. Not bad news, I do hope, Miss,”
but she knew that it was, for Honor’s face was tragic in
spite of herself.</p>

<p>“Don’t hint it, Maggie. Just tell her I must see her,”
and Maggie went quietly, as though she savoured the
coming news already.</p>

<p>A table with newspapers and books and magazines was
drawn up near the fire alongside Mrs MacLean’s favourite
chair. On it was a photograph of Gregor in his uniform,
in a massive silver frame. He looked bravely out at her.
Just his own dear look as she knew him best. Quiet,
reserved, but with the smiles just below and ready to break
through on smallest provocation.</p>

<p>And it was all over. He was gone,—lying under the
blood-stained soil across there. No,—she was to remember—he
was more alive than ever, nearer to them than ever,—but—ah
me!—they would never see him again on this side.</p>

<p>She was still bending over the photograph when Maggie
came in, with a quiet, “Will you please to come up, Miss
Honor?”</p>

<p>She turned the handle of the bed-room door, with her
eyes anxiously seeking the extent of the news in Honor’s
face. And Honor went into the room.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span></p>

<p>It was a full hour before she came out again. What
had passed was between them and God. We may not
trespass.</p>

<p>But her face had lost and gained in that hour inside
with Gregor’s mother, and her eyes were red with weeping.</p>

<p>Maggie had been dusting within earshot of that door
ever since it closed. She came now to meet Honor, and
they went into the morning-room together.</p>

<p>“Is he wounded, Miss Honor?” she asked anxiously.</p>

<p>“He is dead, Maggie,—” and there was a sob in her
voice as she said it. “And my brother also. They died
together,” and Maggie burst into tears and nearly choked
with the effort to do it quietly.</p>

<p>“Oh, Miss Honor!—Dead!—and him so fine and strong
and only just got there! Oh, Miss!—And the mistress?
Is she—will <span class="locked">it——”</span></p>

<p>“I am going home now to get some things, and then I am
coming back to stay with her for a time. She wishes it,
and it will comfort her.”</p>

<p>“And your poor mother <span class="locked">too——”</span></p>

<p>“It is very terrible for us all, but worst of all for Mrs
MacLean. He was all she had. We must all do what we
can to comfort her. They died splendidly, one helping
the other. And Ray says it was instantaneous and so they
did not suffer. Tell the others, Maggie, and don’t any of
you give way—more than you can help—before Mrs
MacLean.”</p>

<p>“We’ll do our best, Miss Honor, but it’ll no be easy.
It’s too awful,” and Honor passed out into the sleety
morning.</p>

<p>Mrs Dare quite understood and fully approved. Her old
friend’s need was greater than her own. She gave Honor
loving words for her right out of her heart, helped her to
get ready the things she must take back with her, and
promised to come over to see Mrs MacLean very shortly,
when the freshness of their wounds should have had a little
time to heal.</p>

<p>Mr Dare’s grief was great when he came home that night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span>
to such news. But, like his wife, he had forecasted the
possibility, and as they talked together of their boy, he
said again, “Better so, dear, than growing up like some one
knows—like that Nemmowe fellow for instance.... He
did all he could and no man could do more.”</p>

<p>“He would never have turned out like young Nemmowe,”
said Mrs Dare confidently.</p>

<p>“I don’t believe he would, seeing that he was your boy.”</p>

<p>Lois came over while they were still quietly talking of it
all, and she brought with her a suggestion that made for
their comfort all round.</p>

<p>In Honor’s absence Mr and Mrs Dare would find The Red
House very empty, whereas for want of room at Oakdene
they had reluctantly been compelled to refuse several
fresh patients lately. So Lois’s idea was to transfer
herself and Vic and Auntie Mitt, if she would come, to The
Red House and so form a more complete family party
there. They could then leave Oakdene entirely to their
guests and the nursing staff, and could still do their own
part in the way of providing and superintendence from
next door.</p>

<p>“These trying times make one inclined to draw closer
together,” she urged, and it seemed to them good, and the
matter was decided on.</p>

<p>Vic, usually so light-hearted and full of talk, had become
the silent member of the household. She had suffered a sore
wound, and it was the harder to bear because it was more
or less of a hidden wound and not to be spoken of or sympathised
with.</p>

<p>She went for days like a stricken thing, scarcely speaking
to any of them and preferring solitude. Then Mrs Dare
ventured on her privacy and got her to talk about Noel,
and they cried together over their loss and both felt the
better for it. And presently she and Mrs Dare went across
to see Mrs MacLean and Honor, and in their efforts to cheer
and comfort Gregor’s mother they found some consolation
themselves.</p>

<p>Mrs MacLean begged so anxiously to be allowed to keep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span>
Honor with her still that Mrs Dare could not find in her
heart to say no. They were like mother and daughter, and
Mrs MacLean’s only hope for the future was that the relationship
which might have been should be realised as
nearly as possible—as though Honor and Gregor had been
married before he went out.</p>

<p>“I have thought sometimes when I saw in the papers
about young people getting married like that that it was not
very wise,” said the old lady. “But now I see it differently.
It is the best thing to do, for it puts everything
on a proper and legal footing. But, my dear, I know how
very dear you were to him, and you are just as dear to me
as if you had been married. Stay with me as long as you
can put up with me. My heart would be very empty
without you.”</p>

<p>And Honor kissed her and promised to stay.</p>

<p>“You see, my dear,” said the old lady, another time, to
Honor’s very great surprise, “I have no one very near to
me in kin, and I know just what our boy would have wished
me to do. That large blue letter that came this morning
was from Mr Worrall, the solicitor to the firm, and it contained
a copy of Gregor’s will, which he had the good
thought to make before he left. The bulk of his father’s
money came to me, of course, and would have passed
on to him when my time came. God has willed that
otherwise, but I can still do what I know would have
pleased him—which I know will still please him if he is
still concerned with us below here, as both you and I rejoice
to believe. Mr Worrall tells me he left all he had to you, and
it may be somewhere about twenty thousand <span class="locked">pounds——”</span></p>

<p><span class="locked">“Oh—but——”</span></p>

<p>But the old lady’s tremulous white hand constrained her
to hear her out.</p>

<p>“And when I go, my dear, there is no one in the world
he would have desired the rest—or most of it—to go to but
yourself.”</p>

<p>But Honor’s head was down in the motherly lap and she
was sobbing heart-brokenly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span></p>

<p>“I know, my dear. Sooner himself than all the money
in the world,” and she stroked the shaking head tenderly.
“But God saw differently, and He knows best. We will
treasure our memories together, you and I.... Oh, my
boy! my boy!” and the white head bowed upon the brown,
and the great burden of their sorrow was easier for the
sharing.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIV">XXXIV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> was on a bleak afternoon in the middle of January
that the quiet little circle at The Red House was
surprised by the sudden irruption of Alma in a state
of intensest excitement.</p>

<p>She had come down at once when their sorrowful news
about the boys reached her, but that had had to be a short
visit as they were terribly busy at St Barnabas’s and shorter-handed
than ever.</p>

<p>“He’s coming home. He’s in England,” and she
showed them a telegram she had received an hour before,
which <span class="locked">said—</span></p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“Just landed. Will go straight to Willstead. Hope
find you all well. <span class="smcap">Con.</span>”</p>
</div>

<p>“It’s from Folkestone and he may be here any time,”
she cried, radiant with hopeful excitement. “Isn’t it
delightful to see his own name again, even at the end of a
telegram. The dear boy! He must be better or he
couldn’t have come. I wonder how he got released. Anyway
it’s splendid to have him back,” and she looked at her
watch every second minute to make the time go quicker.</p>

<p>“I wonder which house he will try first?” said Mrs
Dare.</p>

<p>“We’ll soon settle that,” said Alma. “A sheet of paper,
Lo, and a couple of drawing-pins!”—and she hauled out
her fountain-pen and printed in big letters—“THIS WAY,
CON!” and ran out in the rain and fixed it on The Red
House gate-post, and opened the gate wide.</p>

<p>“He’s bound to see that, coming from the station,”
she panted. “I’d go there and wait for him, but it’s
such a bitterly cold place and I’d hate for his first sight of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span>
me to be chiefly red nose and watery eyes. That wouldn’t
make for a cheerful welcome to the returned exile.”</p>

<p>“He would sooner find you here, my dear. The Dares
are never very effusive in public, and it has been a very
trying time for you both,” said Mrs Dare quietly.</p>

<p>Never did minutes drag so slowly. They could none
of them settle down even to soothing knitting, except
Auntie Mitt, who went quietly on with a body-belt
which was child’s play that she could have done in her
sleep.</p>

<p>“The trains are very much out of order, you know,
with the passage of troops,” said Mrs Dare, as Alma
prowled restlessly about but turned up at the window at
least once each minute.</p>

<p>“If he had wired from Boulogne I’d have been afraid
of submarines or mines. But surely nothing could go
wrong just between Folkestone and here! That would
be too cruel.”</p>

<p>“He’ll be all right, Al,” said Lois. “There’s hardly
been time for him to get here yet since he sent off the
telegram. I wish Ray was coming too, but he says there
is no chance of leave again for a good while yet.”</p>

<p>“His news is good?”</p>

<p>“Wonderfully good. He seems to be living in mud and
water all the time. It makes one shiver to think of it this
weather. But he says he’s keeping very well so far, in
spite of it all.”</p>

<p>“It’s amazing to me how they stand it. One of our men
was telling me—— Here he is!”—as the peremptory hoot
of a motor was heard in the road, and she dashed out just
in time to see a long gray car, driven by a man in khaki,
and bearing O.H.M.S. in big red letters on its wind-screen,
sweep up the Oakdene drive.</p>

<p>It had come the other way, down the road, and so had
missed the notice on the gate. She was just about to rush
after it when it came scudding back down the drive,
backed up the road towards the station, and then leaped
forward, missed the gate-post by half an inch and came<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span>
whirling up to the door, and she saw Con’s face looking out
from under the hood.</p>

<p>“Oh, my dear! How thankful I am to see you again!”
she cried ecstatically, and wrenched open the door.</p>

<p>A lean-faced young man, with bright eyes and a quiet
face, had got out at the other side and come quickly round
to assist. He gave his arm to Con and helped him out,
and Con put both his arms on Alma’s shoulders and kissed
her warmly again and again.</p>

<p>His face showed something of what he had gone through.
It was thinner and older looking. There were none of the
old laughter-creases in it. Instead—a soberness—almost
sombreness—as of one still haunted by the shock of untellable
things, and in his once-merry eyes memories of honors
and a curious almost imperceptible sense of doubt and
recoil. It was very slight, but Alma’s eager eyes, as she
took him all in at a glance, discerned it in a moment as
something quite new in him.</p>

<p>And as his arms rested on her shoulders she was conscious
of a strange lack in the feel of them. His hands should
have clasped her to him. Her whole being should have
leaped to the thrilling touch of them as their two beings
came into contact once more.</p>

<p>But these things were lacking. His arms indeed lay on
her shoulders, and it was good to feel them there again.
He had not had time to take off his gloves, but one can
clasp one’s wife to one’s heart even with gloves on, though
it was not like Con to do so.</p>

<p>But there was something more than that,—something
undefinable, something in the unresponsiveness of the
arms on her shoulders akin to that other new something in
him, of which her first quick glance had apprised her, and
a throb of fear tapped at her heart.</p>

<p>Con lifted his arms from her shoulders and turned to the
khaki-clad chauffeur.</p>

<p>“You’ll have time for a cup of tea and a bite of something
to eat before you go back?” he asked quietly, and
the man saluted and intimated his readiness, and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span>
Con and Alma went up to the others who stood waiting
in the doorway.</p>

<p>He kissed his mother warmly, and Lois, and Vic, and
Auntie Mitt, and introduced the lean-faced young man
who was lagging quietly behind.</p>

<p>“This is my very good friend, Robert Grant. If it
hadn’t been for him I should never have seen any of you
again.” And they turned on Robert Grant and put him to
confusion with the volume and warmth of their welcome,
and then they all went on into the parlour.</p>

<p>Grant was for eliminating himself again, but they would
not have it. Mrs Dare took him by the arm and led him
in, murmuring her gratitude again for his care of their
boy. Auntie Mitt went off to see the chauffeur properly
provided for.</p>

<p>And when they were inside the room Con turned quietly
and said, with a little break in his voice, which was deeper
than they had known it, and that new strange look in his
eyes, “It’s good to be home again, but ... Alma dear,
they’ve sent me back a cripple. They cut off my hands.”</p>

<p>And if there had been some lurking fear, born of the long
months of suffering and brooding, that that would make
any difference in her love for him, it fled on the instant.</p>

<p>She understood it all in a moment,—his doubts as to the
wisdom of their hasty marriage,—his fears for the future,—all
the black clouds that had weighed on him during these
bitter months of pain and exile.</p>

<p>But if there had been in him one smallest doubt as to her
love for him, she scattered it and all the rest by the feel of
her arms about his neck and the cry that came right out of
her heart.</p>

<p>“Oh, my love! My love! You are dearer to me
than ever. I thank God for His great goodness in giving
you back to me!”</p>

<p>And Con, who had suffered more than most, both in
mind and body, without wincing, though he could not
hide the effects, hid his face on her breast and shook with
sobs that he could not choke down.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span></p>

<p>Their faces all showed the shock and strain of the distressing
news, except Robert Grant’s. His shock had
come five months before and he had had time to get over it.</p>

<p>“Tell them how it was, Bob,” said Con, in a muffled
voice, as he lifted himself again. “You know more about
it than I do. And give me a cigarette before you begin.”</p>

<p>Grant pulled out a cigarette-case and put a cigarette
into his lips and lit it, and started on his story.</p>

<p>“Well, it was like this. We were up near Landrecies—in
the retirement from Mons, you know,”—his north-country
speech, with its sympathetic inflections and
ringing r’s, admitted him right into Mrs Dare’s heart.—“It
was bad times for our men and our hands were overfull,
trying to pick up the wounded, for the Germans were
rolling along after us ten to our one. It was said they were
behaving very badly to any who fell into their hands.
But, you must remember, things were moving so quickly
that they really hadn’t much time for anything but the
fighting. It was life and death all round, and a man who
went down was out of it and not of much account.</p>

<p>“We were at the corner of a wood and our men were
fighting splendidly and seemed to be holding them for a bit.
But casualties were very heavy and we could not pick them
up fast enough. Then, on a sudden, there came a great
rush of Germans in close formation. It was like a bore
going up a river. They simply swept over our men and
rolled them back, and we were left in a kind of backwater.</p>

<p>“Dr Dare told us to stick to business, and we went on
with our work. Then an officer who was running past
caught sight of us. I cannot say he knew what we were.
There was great confusion. Anyway, he saw the Doctor’s
uniform and levelled a revolver at him and shouted in
English, ‘Hands up!’ and we put our hands up above
our heads.</p>

<p>“And just then, as evil luck would have it, a squadron
of cavalry—hussars—came galloping round the wood to
take our men in flank. And one of them, on our near side,
as he passed behind us, just slashed at the Doctor’s lifted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span>
hands with his sword, as he would have done at a turnip
on a pole in the practice field. It was sheer devilment and
without reason. And when he saw the Doctor’s hands
fall to the ground he turned up his face and laughed, and
they all laughed. The wicked devils!—if you’ll pardon
me.”</p>

<p>The faces of all his hearers were pale as they pictured the
horror in their own minds.</p>

<p>“What utter fiends!” jerked Alma, white with anger at
thought of the ruthless savagery of it.</p>

<p>“It is just the German war-spirit at its worst,” said
Con quietly. His lips had puckered on the cigarette as
Grant told the story. But he had recovered himself.
“The spirit of absolute selfishness and indifference to
others. I really felt very little at the moment. Just the
sharp cut, then a numbness, and I saw my hands lying
on the ground. They looked awfully queer. I just remember
thinking, ‘Good God! Those are my hands!’
Then everything began to go round and I fell. Proceed,
Robert!”</p>

<p>“The officer who had actually caused the mischief by
holding us up had been staring very hard at Dr Dare.
When he saw what happened he went white in the face
and swore hard in German at the hussars. Then he turned
to me and said, in English, ‘Bind him up quickly! Will
he die?’ I told him I did not know. But with another
fellow’s help I bound the Doctor’s wrists very tightly to
stop the bleeding, and put on tourniquets above each elbow
and twisted them as tight as I could. Then he handed us
over to a sergeant and half-a-dozen men,—there were eight
of us altogether;—he gave him some very particular orders
and then went on after the battle. The sergeant presently
collared a stretcher and bearers, and marched us to the
rear of their advance, and the numbers of men we saw
there, pressing on to the pursuit, was an eye-opener.
They seemed endless,—moving torrents of gray. I never
saw so many men in my life. The sergeant found a doctor,
and the doctor looked very grave over the matter. But he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span>
was clever. Dr Dare was coming round. He anæsthetised
him and sent him off again and made a very good job of
the wrists. If he’d been a bungler we would not be
here. We were sent off to the rear and eventually into
Germany.”</p>

<p>“The man who held us up, and so was the real cause of
the trouble, was Von Helse——” said Con.</p>

<p>“Ludwig?—Oh, Con!” gasped Lois, horrified.</p>

<p>“He was not to blame for the rest. In fact he was
dreadfully cut up about it, and took to himself blame which
did not really lie. He has done all he could to make
amends. He got permission for me to keep Bob with me
all the time, and most of the time we have been on parole
at Frau von Helse’s house in Leipsic, and she and Luise
have done everything they could for me. And it is von
Helse who arranged for our release;—how, I cannot
imagine, but here we are and it’s thanks to him. That’s
the whole story. As to what I’ve felt about it all—well,
perhaps the less said the better. At first, the only thing I
wanted was to die and have done with it all. The thought
of going through life handless was too awful. But Bob
here won me back to a braver mind. It’s really due to him,
in a dozen different ways, that I pulled through. And
<span class="locked">now——”</span></p>

<p>“We can never thank you properly, Mr Grant,” said
Alma, reaching for his hand and shaking it warmly in both
hers.</p>

<p>“We’ll do our best, however,” said Mrs Dare, patting
him on the shoulder in motherly fashion.</p>

<p>“He’s been just absolutely everything to me,” said
Con, “and he’s going to stop on with me and continue
his good work. He was studying for a medical, you see,
up in Edinburgh, so we get on fine together. But it would
be a queer sort that couldn’t get on with Bob Grant. He’s
a white man all through.”</p>

<p>Robert Grant’s lean cheek responded briefly to the genial
warmth of the atmosphere which enveloped him.</p>

<p>“That is very good hearing, Mr Grant,” said Mrs Dare<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span>
heartily. “We could wish nothing better. It will be a
joy to have you among us.”</p>

<p>The maid came to the door with word that the chauffeur
was ready to go.</p>

<p>“Give him half a sovereign, Bob, and my best thanks.—No,
I’ll thank him myself. He brought us up from Folkestone
in fine style. He was driving a motor-bus before the
war and he’s having the time of his life now with no speed
limit,” and he and Grant went out together to start their
jovial Jehu back to Folkestone in the highest of spirits.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXV">XXXV</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Alma</span> managed to make an exchange with one of
the nurses at Oakdene, so that she herself could
be with Con and be doing duty at the same time and
yet not leave St Barnabas’s any shorter-handed than it was.</p>

<p>It was a bit irregular, perhaps, but it was either that or
giving up nursing altogether, which she had no wish to do
till the war was over.</p>

<p>But be with Con, now that she had got him back from the
dead, so to speak, she vowed she would, cost what it might.</p>

<p>“If anyone needs me it is my husband,” she told Mrs
Matron, “and I’m going to stick to him no matter who else
suffers.” At which the Matron smiled indulgently and
arranged matters as she wished.</p>

<p>“It is dreadful for Dr Dare,” she said. “And we must
do all we can to help. I saw about it in the papers.”</p>

<p>“He was very much put out about that. He can’t
imagine where they got hold of it.”</p>

<p>“He’s to have the D.S.O. too, I see. And I’m sure he
deserves it. What is he going to do?”</p>

<p>“He’s going on with his own work. Young Grant, who
saved his life, and stuck to him all through, and brought
him home, is just splendid. He’s a medical, you know,
though he hadn’t quite finished his courses. He’s to stop
and be Con’s hands, but I imagine his head will do good
service as well. They did a certain amount of study
while they were in Germany, to keep their minds off other
matters, and they’re setting to work again at once.”</p>

<p>“That’s fine—for both of them.”</p>

<p>But before that week was out they had another surprise
in a visit from Sir James Jamieson, the Harley Street
brain-specialist.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span></p>

<p>He was a tall, white-haired man, with a forehead like
the dome of St Paul’s, only much whiter. He knew more
about brains than any man in Great Britain, and, in spite
of a life devoted to other people’s aberrations, was of a most
genial and jovial disposition, and of a very tender heart.</p>

<p>“Well?”—was his surprising greeting to Con. “When
are you going to be ready to start work with me?”</p>

<p>And Con gazed at him in incredulous amazement, behind
which sprang up and fluttered a wild incredible hope.</p>

<p>Sir James, he knew, loved a joke. But he was the last
man in the world to spin a joke against a man left handless
against the world.</p>

<p>“Do you mean it, sir?” gasped Con, shaken out of his
natural politeness by so stupendous an instant levelling of
all the barriers he had seen in front of him.</p>

<p>“Mean it, my dear boy?—of course I mean it. Do you
suppose I’ve wasted precious hours coming down into the
wilds of Willstead to say things I don’t mean? I wanted
you before and I want you more than ever now. Those
miserable devils didn’t chop off any of your brain, did
they? Well, it’s your good, sound, searching brain I
want. We’ll find hands for you all right. There is no
lack of hands in the world, but brains are sadly lacking,
I’m sorry to say, and what there are are not all what they
might be.”</p>

<p>He had talked on, like the perfect gentleman he was, to
give Con time to recover himself.</p>

<p>And now Con looked at him with shining eyes,—eyes in
which the light of a new great hope in life shone mistily
through the excitation of his feelings, like stars shining
up out of the sea,—and he said, “You make a new man of
me, Sir James.... I feared ... and now——” and Sir
James, being a Scotchman himself, understood better than
all the words in the world could have told him.</p>

<p>“Now I want a cup of tea,” said the great man jauntily,
“and if the two Mrs Dares are available it would be a
pleasure to me to make their acquaintance.”</p>

<p>Con, without moving, touched a button under the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span>
carpet with his foot and Robert Grant, who had fixed it
up for him only that morning, came in.</p>

<p>“This is my good friend, Robert Grant, Sir James,”
and the old man and the young one, in acknowledging the
introduction, glanced keenly at one another for a moment
and appeared mutually satisfied. “Would you beg my
mother to join us, Robert, and tell them to send in tea at
once. And then if you’d slip across and ask my wife to
come over for a few minutes I’d be much obliged.”</p>

<p>“Who’s he?” asked Sir James, as Grant vanished.</p>

<p>“He saved my life out there and has been everything to
me these last five months. He’s a medical, and the best
fellow alive. He’s consented to be my hands.”</p>

<p>“Good! I like the looks of him.”</p>

<p>“He’s better even than he looks and his brain is quite
all right. He’s one of the exceptions. We’ve drawn very
close together these months out there. He’s consented to
stop with me, but he’s got ambitions of his <span class="locked">own——”</span></p>

<p>“Of course,—being a Scotchman.”</p>

<p>“And I’m hoping that he won’t really be sacrificing
himself entirely by devoting himself to me. We did a
certain amount of study out there and he’s getting quite
keen on the brain.”</p>

<p>“We’ll find him his place all right. Keen men are none
too plentiful—especially on the brain.”</p>

<p>Mrs Dare came in, and Alma a few minutes after her,
and when they had been made to understand the wonderful
news, while Sir James drank his tea, they were almost
as much overcome as Con himself had been.</p>

<p>When they tried to express a little of what they felt
about it, Sir James genially stopped them with, “You
see, I want him. I don’t know any other youngster whose
ideas chime with my own as his do. And I like that Grant
boy. And I like you two. I’m inclined to think we shall
all get along uncommonly well together. You have lost
a son out there, Mrs Dare.”</p>

<p>“Our youngest. He was just nineteen.”</p>

<p>“I saw about it. It is sad for us to lose them so young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span>
and in such a way. But the gain is all theirs when they
die as your boy did, and we may not mourn unduly. My
dear lad died in South Africa and in very much the same
way—trying to save a friend. After all—it’s a noble
death to die. And you are nursing, my dear?”—to Alma.</p>

<p>“Wounded officers at Oakdene, next door. I was at
St Barnabas’s but I made an exchange. You see, I hadn’t
seen my husband since the morning we were married.”</p>

<p>“Quite right! Your experience will at all events bring
sympathy to his work.”</p>

<p>“That’s why I took up nursing, four years ago.”</p>

<p>“Good girl! You’re the right kind for a doctor’s wife,”
and then he shook hands with them, patted Con on the
shoulder and bade him get ready for the move into town,
shook hands cordially also with Robert Grant and told
him they would know one another better before long, and
then hurried into his impatient motor and whirled away
back to town.</p>

<p>“Now isn’t that wonderful?” said Con, with a happier
face than he had worn since Landrecies.</p>

<p>“He’s splendid,” said Alma. “I love him already.”</p>

<p>“For your sake I am very thankful, my dear boy,” said
his mother. “God is very gracious to us. If He takes,
He also gives, and His ways are very wonderful.”</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVI">XXXVI</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap r"><span class="smcap1">Ray Luard</span> was having the time of his life out
there, in the sodden fields and soggy mud-holes
which did duty for trenches in north-west France.—The
time of his life, but not in most respects as the term is
usually applied.</p>

<p>It was a perpetual amazement to him that anything
human and non-amphibious could stand it. That boys,
brought up to the comforts and amenities of life, could not
only stand it but could and did maintain exceeding cheerfulness
under it, provoked his profoundest admiration.
And regarding himself aloofly, and from the outside as it
were, he shared in his own amazement at his own share
in it, and took no little credit to himself, for he certainly
never would have believed himself capable of it.</p>

<p>But they all kept in mind, and constantly chuckled over,
the vehement exhortation of a certain well-known General,
who had inspected them shortly after that ghastly-glorious
night at Messines.</p>

<p>“Keep your billets clean! Keep your bodies clean!
Cock your bonnets! And, for God’s sake, smile!”—was
what he asked of them; and there had been no more-smiling
faces or perkier fighters along that sorely-pressed
Western front than the boys with the bare knees and
swinging kilts since he said it.</p>

<p>They splashed and floundered along roads a foot deep in
slime to get to their advance trenches, where the mud and
water were at times up to their waists.</p>

<p>They sank and stuck bodily in affectionately glutinous
mixtures which would not let them go till at times they
paid toll of shoes and almost of the feet inside them.</p>

<p>For ten days at a time, on occasion, they never had their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span>
boots off—unless the mud took them by force,—nor their
sodden clothes.</p>

<p>They were plastered with mud from head to foot. Their
kilts, water-logged and frozen and tagged with mud, scored
their bare legs. They ate in mud, they slept in mud.
And when their off-time came, if they could find a blanket
to wrap round their muddy bodies before depositing them
on a stony floor in the rear, they thanked God for it and
accounted themselves rich, and slept like troopers.</p>

<p>Circumstances rendered full compliance with the
vehement General’s exhortations impossible, but what
they could they did,—they cocked their bonnets, and for
God’s sake and their country’s, they smiled.</p>

<p>It was the most wonderful and soul-bracing exhibition
of the power of mind over matter that Ray Luard had
ever seen, and he would not have missed his share in it for
any money.</p>

<p>At times they had a few days’ rest in the rear,—for the
time being no longer actual targets for shells though an
occasional one came closer than was necessary to their
comfort, but the sound of the guns was never out of their
ears, and at all times they were liable to sudden urgent
summons to stiffen the front against unexpected assault.</p>

<p>It snowed, and it sleeted, and it rained and froze, and the
trampled mud of the highways and byways got deeper and
deeper and ever more tenacious in its grip on them.</p>

<p>At the rear they slept off their first dog-tiredness and
had hot baths and an occasional impromptu concert.
They ate and drank in peace and comparative comfort,
and always, for God’s sake and their country’s, they smiled.
And now and again,—impressive under such circumstances
even to the most frivolous,—they had Church Parade
and Communion. Then, rest-time over, away back to
the water-logged trenches and all the stress and strain,
and the ever-present chance of sudden death.</p>

<p>Ray’s great time came about the end of January, when
the Hodden-Grays were sent to hold some trenches in a
brickfield, and they had barely taken possession when, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span>
the early morning, the enemy made a dead set all along that
portion of the line and succeeded in denting it in places.
They had quietly sapped up close to the advance trench and
mined it. They fired their mines, threw in smoky bombs,
and in the confusion got in under cover of the smoke with
the bayonet.</p>

<p>The Scots gave them a warm welcome, and there was
some very pretty fighting in the dark, and many a fine deed
done of which none but the doers and the done ever heard
a word.</p>

<p>But, as it chanced, Ray’s doings stood out somewhat
prominently.</p>

<p>When he raced with his company into the brickfield,
floundering all of them in the dark over piles of bricks and
into shell-craters full of water, they found the late occupants
of the trench holding a brick-kiln as a defensive work against
the irrupting Huns who seemed all over the place.</p>

<p>A Sergeant was in charge and gave Ray hasty word of
what had happened. Their officers were down, and the
enemy’s onrush had been so sudden and overwhelming
that it had been impossible to bring in either them or the
machine-gun which was on a small platform at this end of
the trench.</p>

<p>Ray saw his obvious work. He mustered his men
behind the kiln, ordered bayonets, explained in two words
what was required of them, and then with a cheery, “Strike
sure, boys!”—they were off, with a Scottish yell that told
the Huns their time was up and their presence there no
longer desired.</p>

<p>A volley as they ran, and then quick work with the
bayonet, and they were at the trench and across it, and
that section was momentarily cleared.</p>

<p>Hasty search with electric torches—the wounded, including
two officers, picked up and sent back,—the machine-gun
and ammunition-boxes lifted and carried to the kiln,
and as supports for the enemy came piling up and massed
in front for another assault, they raced back to cover to
prepare his welcome.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span></p>

<p>Ray, strung to concert pitch, flung his orders sharply.</p>

<p>“Wounded, down under!—Take those other kilns
some of you,—lie flat,—make cover with the bricks! Don’t
fire till they’re at the trench. Some of you up here! The
rest where you can, and lie low! Up with that Maxim,
Mac, and build a bit of a screen! Hand up those boxes,
there!”</p>

<p>They toiled desperately, piling up little heaps of bricks
on top of the kiln, and on the ground bricks, clay, mud,
anything for cover, and then they lay flat, with their eyes
glued to the parapet of the trench beyond.</p>

<p>“Here they come! Now, boys, give them blazes!”
and rapider fire than the Hodden-Grays had ever produced
in their lives before poured point-blank into the solid dark
masses in front.</p>

<p>They went down in heaps before the pitiless hail. The
rest came floundering over them and went down in turn.</p>

<p>On top of the kiln, Ray, with Mac’s good help, kept the
Maxim going full blast. He pressed hard on the double
button so that the trigger was held back out of the tumbler,
and while Mac fed in the feed-belts for dear life, he slowly
turned the muzzle from side to side so that the ceaseless
stream of bullets met the stumbling line in front like a fiery
fan. Nothing human could possibly stand so deadly a
flailing. The floundering line yelled and cursed and
withered away. That little fight was won.</p>

<p>Some of the boys, overstrung and mad with the blood-thirst,
were for leaping out after them with the bayonet.
But Ray sternly called them back.</p>

<p>They had won and he would take no risks.</p>

<p>Stretcher-bearers came hurrying up from the rear. The
wounded were picked up and carried back, and Ray and
Mac set the rest to work to strengthen their kiln-forts in
case any further attempt should be made. Later, if the
enemy’s guns found them out they would have to take to
their trench again, but, for the time being, fairly dry bricks
were better than eighteen inches of mud and water.</p>

<p>Before dawn a field kitchen came up to the rear within<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span>
reach, and they got hot coffee and bread and bully beef,
and ate with the gusto of men who have fought a good
fight and won.</p>

<p>As soon as they could distinguish anything in the glimmering
light, they crept out to pick up any of their wounded
who might have been overlooked in the mêlée. And then
they turned their attention to their fallen foes.</p>

<p>They lay in heaps, piled two and three on top of one
another,—grim enough by reason of their numbers but,
shot mostly in the body, not so ghastly as if they had been
ripped to fragments by shell-fire.</p>

<p>Ray and his trusty Sergeant were prowling about when
they came on an officer, buried all but his head under a pile
of bodies. His eyes, straining and bloodshot with impotent
fury, showed still plenty of life and ill-feeling in him,
however sore his wounding.</p>

<p>Ray called up a couple of bearers and they all set to work
to free him from his lugubrious load, and all the while he
scowled at them like a vicious dog and said no word of
thanks.</p>

<p>As they lifted off the last body, and bent to raise him, he
drew his hand out of the breast of his unbuttoned greatcoat,
and, before they knew what he was at, let fly with a large
automatic pistol full at Ray. One bullet took off the lobe
of his ear, the rest went crashing into his left shoulder.
Before the vicious wretch could do any more mischief,
Sergeant Mac brained him with a rifle-butt and hissed as
requiem, “Ye dirrrty snake!” and then turned his attention
to Ray.</p>

<p>“I’ll have to get back, Mac,” he said quietly, and started
off at a quick walk.</p>

<p>“Ye’ll no!” and caught him as he reeled, and laid him
gently on the stretcher.</p>

<p>“Look to things, Mac,” as he felt suddenly very tired
and inclined to sleep.</p>

<p>“Go quick, boys!” ordered Mac. “His shoulder’s in
rags and he’ll bleed out unless you get him tied up.”</p>

<p>One of them pulled out bandages and hastily padded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span>
and bound the ragged shoulder, and then they set off as
fast as the broken ground would let them.</p>

<p>“During the night the enemy made a violent assault
on our advanced trenches. It was repulsed with loss.
Our positions are maintained,”—said the despatches.</p>

<hr />

<div class="chapter">
<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVII">XXXVII</h2>
</div>

<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Lois</span> had had no letter from the front for four days,
which was a day longer than the longest between-time
for a long while now, and she was feeling somewhat
anxious.</p>

<p>“But,” she reassured herself, “delays must happen at
times, and letters may even get lost. I have been wonderfully
fortunate so far, and I will not be over-anxious or
upset. If I have any belief at all in the efficacy of prayer
I must keep my heart up and keep on hoping.”</p>

<p>And she prayed as she had never prayed before, but
found herself bewildered at times when she thought that
millions of other women were praying just as earnestly
for their own dear ones, and it was impossible that all
those prayers should be answered by the safe return of those
they prayed for. Women in millions were praying and
men in thousands were falling. Still she would go on
praying and hoping. For there was nothing else she
could do.</p>

<p>She prayed straight for Ray’s safe deliverance. She
wondered at times if it were quite right to do so. But
she went on praying for it, and as the days passed letterless
spent much time upon her knees in great agony of mind, in
spite of all her efforts after equanimity.</p>

<p>Why should he be spared when so many were taken?
Yet, “Oh, deliver him from danger and send him back to
me!” was the burden of her prayers, and at times she
caught herself remonstrating with God against any smaller
answer.</p>

<p>But by degrees she came to higher thought and sobbed,
“I do not know what to ask for, Lord. Have him in Thy
Care and do what is best for us.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span></p>

<p>And it was while she was on her knees so praying one
day, that there came a hasty tap on her door, and her
mother’s voice—like the voice of an angel,—“Lois—a
letter—from Ray,” and she thanked God fervently and
ran to open the door.</p>

<p>There was no mistaking the handwriting. She kissed it
delightedly, tore it open, and savoured its news almost
at a glance.</p>

<p>“He is wounded,” she jerked, as she skimmed it rapidly
for her mother’s benefit. “Getting over it all right....
Will be sent home shortly ... may be out of it for the rest
of the war.... Oh, I can’t help wishing he might! Surely
we have done our share, Mother!”</p>

<p>“Thank God, he is safe!” said Mrs Dare fervently.</p>

<p>“Now suppose you come downstairs and tell us all about it.
Auntie Mitt is in a fever to know, and Vic is like a ghost.”</p>

<p>“I’ll follow you in one minute, dear,”—and on her knees
she read her precious letter carefully through once more,
then bowed her head in gratitude for its good news, and
ran downstairs like herself again.</p>

<p>“I am glad, my dear,” said Auntie Mitt, with watery
sparkles in her eyes, as Lois kissed her exuberantly, “—very
glad indeed. Now we would like to hear all about it.”</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“Sorry to have missed a mail or two, as I know it
will have made you anxious,” Ray wrote, “but there
was no help for it. We had a rather rough scrap with
the Boches, the other night, and I got it at last in the
arm,—the left fortunately, as you see. They attacked
in force and we held them with the help of some brick-kilns
and finally drove them off. One line in the papers,
I expect,—if that!—but it was tolerably hot work. It
was afterwards that I got my little jag. We were
picking up wounded and came on an officer—a Prussian
captain. He was under a pile of his own dead, and as
we released him he pulled out an automatic and gave
it me in the shoulder. Took off a bit of my ear also,
but that’s a <span class="locked">trifle——”</span></p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span></p>

<p>“The horrid brute!” raged Lois.</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“—He didn’t get much satisfaction out of it, however,”—said
the letter—“for Sergeant Mac who was with
me picked up a rifle and brained him on the spot.”</p>
</div>

<p>“Served him right!” said Lois, and then remembered
that two minutes ago she was on her knees thanking God
for Ray’s safety. “It’s horrible. It makes one blood-thirsty
to think of it.”</p>

<p>“It must be awful to be in it,” said Mrs Dare. “No
wonder they do dreadful things at times, when simply
hearing of a treachery like this makes our blood boil because
it happens to come so close home to us.”</p>

<p>“It seems to me things are getting worse in war instead
of better,” said Auntie Mitt plaintively.</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“—They got me to the dressing station and tied
me up, and eventually sent me down on the ambulance
train to Boulogne, where I now am,—being very nicely
attended to and as comfortable as can be. It is
heavenly to be clean again and between clean sheets.
It is not easy to know how we stood the trenches so
well;—now that I’m out of them the conditions seem
perfectly horrible. And yet we lived—and ‘for God’s
sake smiled!’ They are saying that our stand that
night saved a critical position. Several top-notties
have called to congratulate me, and it’s said both Mac
and I are to have the V.C. You see, we were lucky
enough to bring in quite a respectable bag of wounded
from the trench,—and so if I come back with only one
arm <em>and</em> the V.C., you’ll have to try and put up with
me as best you can.”</p>
</div>

<p class="in0">“Won’t I?” said Lois rapturously.</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“—Don’t think of coming out, dear. I know that
would be your first <span class="locked">thought——”</span></p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span></p>

<p>“Of course it was!”</p>

<div class="blockquot">

<p>“—Everything is being done for me excellently well,
and as soon as I am fit again, and properly rested, I
shall be sent over. Your minds may be quite easy on
my account.”</p>
</div>

<p>“Thank God, it is no worse!” said Mrs Dare fervently.</p>

<p>“Amen!” said Lois.</p>

<div class="tb">* * * * *</div>

<p>And there this brief glimpse into the home-side of the
war-clouds may very well stop for the time being.</p>

<p>In this six short months, Life and Death have been
busier among us all than ever before in the history of the
world.</p>

<p>Old and young have lived mightily and died nobly. They
have died like men and fallen like princes. Not one of the
lives so freely given for The Great Idea has been wasted—not
one. The life of the community at large, brought so
closely into touch with death, has been quickened and
raised to higher levels.</p>

<p>But the earth is full of mourning, for War is an evil evil
thing, and its fiery trail is strewn with broken lives and
broken hopes and broken hearts.</p>

<p class="newpage p4 center smaller vspace">
<i>Printed by</i><br />
<span class="smcap">Morrison &amp; Gibb Limited</span><br />
<i>Edinburgh</i>
</p>

<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>

<p><a href="#toc0">Table of Contents</a> added by Transcriber.</p>

<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made
consistent when a predominant preference was found
in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p>

<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced
quotation marks were remedied when the change was
obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.</p>

<p>This book contains many words in dialect, and they are not
always spelled or punctuated in the same way.</p>
</div></div>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 66846 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-01-04 02:08:37 +0000