第4章

Everycarriagewindowwasfullofthosebrownfiguresandred—brownfaces，handswerewavingvaguely，voicescallingvaguely，hereandthereonecheered;someoneleaningfaroutstartedtosing:"Ifauldacquaintance——"ButNoelstoodquitestillintheshadowofthemilk—cans，herlipsdrawnin，herhandshardclenchedinfrontofher;andyoungMorlandathiswindowgazedbackather。

2

HowshecametobesittinginTrafalgarSquareshedidnotknow。

Tearshadformedamistbetweenherandallthatseething，summer—

eveningcrowd。Hereyesmechanicallyfollowedthewanderingsearch—

lights，thosenewmilkyways，quarteringtheheavensandleadingnowhere。Allwaswonderfullybeautiful，theskyadeepdarkblue，themoonlightwhiteningthespireofSt。Martin’s，andeverywhereendowingthegreatblacked—outbuildingswithdream—life。Eventhelionshadcometolife，andstaredoutoverthismoonlitdesertoflittlehumanfigurestoosmalltobeworththestretchingoutofapaw。Shesatthere，achingdreadfully，asifthelongingofeverybereavedheartinallthetownhadsettledinher。Shefeltittonightathousandtimesworse;forlastnightshehadbeendruggedonthenewsensationoflovetriumphantlyfulfilled。Nowshefeltasiflifehadplacedherinthecornerofahugesilentroom，blownouttheflameofjoy，andlockedthedoor。Alittledrysobcamefromher。Thehay—fieldsandCyril，withshirtunbuttonedattheneck，pitchinghayandgazingatherwhileshedabbledherforkinthethinleavings。Thebrightriver，andtheirboatgroundedontheshallows，andtheswallowsflittingoverthem。Andthatlongdance，withthefeelofhishandbetweenhershoulder—blades！Memoriessosweetandsharpthatshealmostcriedout。ShesawagaintheirdarkgrassycourtyardintheAbbey，andthewhiteowlflyingoverthem。Thewhiteowl！Flyingthereagainto—night，withnoloversonthegrassbelow！ShecouldonlypictureCyrilnowasabrownatominthatswirlingbrownfloodofmen，flowingtoahugebrownsea。Thosecruelminutesontheplatform，whenshehadsearchedandsearchedthewalkingwoodforher，onetree，seemedtohaveburnedthemselvesintohereyes。Cyrilwaslost，shecouldnotsinglehimout，allblurredamongthosethousandothershapes。Andsuddenlyshethought:’AndI

——I’mlosttohim;he’sneverseenmeathome，neverseenmeinLondon;hewon’tbeabletoimagineme。It’sallinthepast，onlythepast——forbothofus。Isthereanybodysounhappy？’Andthetown’svoices—wheels，andpassingfeet，whistles，talk，laughter—

seemedtoanswercallously:’Notone。’Shelookedatherwrist—

watch;likehis，ithadluminoushands:’Half—pastten’wasgreenishlyimprintedthere。Shegotupindismay。Theywouldthinkshewaslost，orrunover，orsomethingsilly！Shecouldnotfindanemptytaxi，andbegantowalk，uncertainofherwayatnight。Atlastshestoppedapoliceman，andsaid:

"WhichisthewaytowardsBloomsbury，please？Ican’tfindataxi。"

Themanlookedather，andtooktimetothinkitover;thenhesaid:

"They’relinin’upforthetheatres，"andlookedatheragain。

Somethingseemedtomoveinhismechanism:

"I’mgoin’thatway，miss。Ifyoulike，youcanstepalongwithme。"

Noelsteppedalong。

"Thestreetsaren’twhattheyoughttobe，"thepolicemansaid。

"Whatwiththedarkness，andthewarturningthegirlsheads——you’dbesurprisedthenumberofthemthatcomesout。It’sthesoldiers，ofcourse。"

Noelfelthercheeksburning。

"Idaresayyouwouldn’thavenoticedit，"thepolicemanwenton:"butthiswar’safunnything。ThestreetsaregayerandmorecrowdedatnightthanI’veeverseenthem;it’safairpicnicallthetime。

Whatwe’regoin’tosettledowntowhenpeacecomes，Idon’tknow。I

supposeyoufinditquietenoughupyourway，miss？"

"Yes，"saidNoel;"quitequiet。"

"NosoldiersupinBloomsbury。YougotanyoneintheArmy，miss？"

Noelnodded。

"Ah！It’sanxioustimesforladies。WhatwiththeZeps，andtheirbrothersandallinFrance，it’s’arassin’。I’velostabrothermeself，andI’vegotaboyoutthereintheGardenofEden;hismothercarriesondreadfulabouthim。Whatweshallthinkofitwhenit’sallover，Ican’ttell。TheseHunsareawickedtoughlot！"

Noellookedathim;atallman，regularandorderly，withoneofthoseperfectlydecentfacessooftenseenintheLondonpolice。

"I’msorryyou’velostsomeone，"shesaid。"Ihaven’tlostanyoneverynear，yet。"

"Well，let’s’opeyouwon’t，miss。Thesetimesmakeyoufeelforothers，an’that’ssomething。I’venoticedagreatchangeinfolksyou’dneverthinkwouldfeelforanyone。AndyetI’veseensomewickedthingstoo;wedo，inthepolice。SomeoftheseEnglishwivesofaliens，and’armlesslittleGermanbakers，an’Austrians，andwhat—not:theygetacrooltime。It’stheirmisfortune，nottheirfault，that’swhatIthink;andthewaytheygetserved——well，itmakesyouashamedo’bein’Englishsometimes——itdoesstraight:Andthewomenaretheworst。Isaidtomywifeonlylastnight，Isaid:

’TheycallthemselvesChristians，’Isaid，’butforallthecharitythat’sin’emtheymightaswellbeHuns。’Shecouldn’tseeit—notshe！’Well，whydotheydropbombs？’shesays。’What！’Isaid，’thoseEnglishwivesandbakersdropbombs？Don’tbesilly，’Isaid。

’They’reasinnocentaswe。’It’stheinnocentthatgetspunishedfortheguilty。’Butthey’reallspies，’shesays。’Oh！’Isaid，’oldlady！Nowreally！Atyourtimeoflife！’Butthereitis;youcan’tgetawomantoseereason。It’sreadin’thepapers。Ioftenthinktheymustbewrittenbywomen——beggin’yourpardon，miss——butreely，the’ystericsandthe’atred——they’reafairknockout。D’youfindmuchhatredinyourhousehold，miss？"

Noelshookherhead。"No;myfather’saclergyman，yousee。"

"Ah！"saidthepoliceman。Andintheglancehebestowedonhercouldbeseenanaddedrespect。

"Ofcourse，"hewenton，"you’reboundtohaveasenseofjusticeagainsttheseHuns;someoftheirwaysofgoin’onhavebeenabovethelimit。ButwhatIalwaysthinkis——ofcourseIdon’tsaythesethings——nousetomakeyourselfunpopular——buttomeselfIoftenthink:Take’emmanforman，andyou’dfind’emmuchthesameasweare，Idaresay。It’stheviciouswaythey’rebroughtup，ofactin’

inthemass，that’smade’emsuchacroollot。Iseeagoodbitofcrowdsinmyprofession，andI’veaverylowopinionofthem。Crowdsarethemostblunderin’blightedthingsthateverwas。They’relikeanangrywomanwithabandageoverhereyes，an’youcan’thaveanythingmoredangerousthanthat。TheseGermans，itseems，arealwaysinacrowd。Theygetastateo’mindreadouttothembyBillKaserandallthatbloody—mindedlot，an’theyneverstoptothinkforthemselves。"

"Isupposethey’dbeshotiftheydid，"saidNoel。

"Well，thereisthat，"saidthepolicemanreflectively。"They’vebroughtdisciplinetoan’ighpitch，nodoubt。An’ifyouaskme，"——

heloweredhisvoicetillitwasalmostlostinhischin—strap，"we’llberunnin’’emagoodsecond’ere，beforelong。Thethingswe’avetoprotectnowaregettin’beyondajoke。There’stheCityagainstlights，there’sthestreetsagainstdarkness，there’sthealiens，there’sthealiens’shops，there’stheBelgians，there’stheBritishwives，there’sthesoldiersagainstthewomen，there’sthewomenagainstthesoldiers，there’sthePeaceParty，there’s’orsesagainstcroolty，there’saCabinetMinistereverynowan’then;andnowwe’vegottheseConchies。And，mindyou，theyhaven’traisedourpay;nowarwagesinthepolice。SofarasIcansee，there’sonlyonegoodresultofthewar——theburglariesareoff。Butthereagain，youwaitabitandseeifwedon’thaveaprizecropof’m，ormyname’snot’Arris。"

"Youmusthaveanawfullyexcitinglife！"saidNoel。

Thepolicemanlookeddownathersideways，withoutloweringhisface，asonlyapolicemancan，andsaidindulgently:

"We’reusedtoit，yousee;there’snoexcitementinwhatyou’reusedto。Theyfindthatinthetrenches，I’mtold。Takeourseamen——

there’slotsof’embeenblownupoverandoveragain，andtheretheygoandsignonagainnextday。That’swheretheGermansmaketheirmistake！Englandinwar—time！Ithinkalot，youknow，onmygo;

youcan’t’elpit——themindwillwork——an’themoreIthink，themoreIseethefightin’spiritinthepeople。Wedon’tmakeafussaboutitlikeBillKaser。Butyouwatchalittleshopman，oneo’thosefellowswho’shadhishousebombed;youwatchthewayhelooksatthemess——sortofdisgusted。Youwatchhisface，andyouseehe’sgothisteethintoit。YouwatchoneofourTommieson’iscrutches，withthesweatpourin’offhisforeheadan’’iseyesallstrainy，stumpin’along——thatgivesyouanidea！IpitythesePeacefellows，reelyIpitythem;theydon’tknowwhatthey’reupagainst。Iexpectthere’stimeswhenyouwishyouwasaman，don’tyou，miss？I’msurethere’stimeswhenIfeelI’dliketogointhetrenches。That’stheworsto’myjob;youcan’tbeahumanbein’——notinthefullsenseoftheword。Youmustn’tletyourpassionsrise，youmustn’tdrink，youmustn’ttalk;it’sanarrowwalko’life。Well，hereyouare，miss;

yourSquare’sthenextturnin’totheright。Goodnightandthankyouforyourconversation。"

Noelheldoutherhand。"Goodnight！"shesaid。

Thepolicemantookherhandwithaqueer，flatteredembarrassment。

"Goodnight，miss，"hesaidagain。"Iseeyou’vegotatrouble;andI’msureIhopeit’llturnoutforthebest。"

Noelgavehishugehandasqueeze;hereyeshadfilledwithtears，andsheturnedquicklyuptowardstheSquare，whereadarkfigurewascomingtowardsher，inwhomsherecognisedherfather。Hisfacewaswornandharassed;hewalkedirresolutely，likeamanwhohaslostsomething。

"Nollie！"hesaid。"ThankGod！"Inhisvoicewasaninfiniterelief。"Mychild，wherehaveyoubeen？"

"It’sallright，Daddy。Cyrilhasjustgonetothefront。I’vebeenseeinghimofffromCharingCross。"

Piersonslippedhisarmroundher。Theyenteredthehousewithoutspeaking……

3

Bytherailofhistransport，asfar——abouttwofeet——ashecouldgetfromanyone，CyrilMorlandstoodwatchingCalais，adreamcity，brightenoutoftheheatandgrowsolid。Hecouldhearthegunsalready，thevoiceofhisnewlife—talkinginthedistance。Itcamewithitsstrangeexcitementintoabeingheldbysoftandmarvellousmemories，byonelongvisionofNoelandthemoonlitgrass，underthedarkAbbeywall。Thismomentofpassagefromwondertowonderwasquitetoomuchforaboyunusedtointrospection，andhestoodstaringstupidlyatCalais，whilethethunderofhisnewlifecamerollinginonthatpassionatemoonlitdream。

VII

AftertheemotionsofthoselastthreedaysPiersonwokewiththefeelingashipmusthavewhenitmakeslandfall。Suchreliefsarenatural，andasaruledelusive;foreventsareasmuchtheparentsofthefutureastheywerethechildrenofthepast。Tobeathomewithbothhisgirls，andresting——forhisholidaywouldnotbeoverfortendays——waslikeoldtimes。NowGeorgewasgoingonsowellGratianwouldbeherselfagain;nowCyrilMorlandwasgoneNoelwouldlosethatsuddenyouthfullovefever。PerhapsintwoorthreedaysifGeorgecontinuedtoprogress，onemightgooffwithNoelsomewhereforone’slastweek。Inthemeantimetheoldhouse，whereinwasgatheredsomuchremembranceofhappinessandpain，wasjustasrestfulasanywhereelse，andthecompanionshipofhisgirlswouldbeassweetasonanyoftheirpastramblingholidaysinWalesorIreland。Andthatfirstmorningofperfectidleness——fornooneknewhewasbackinLondon——pottering，andplayingthepianointhehomelydrawing—roomwherenothingtospeakofwaschangedsincehiswife’sday，wasverypleasant。Hehadnotyetseenthegirls，forNoeldidnotcomedowntobreakfast，andGratianwaswithGeorge。

Discoverythattherewasstilla，barrierbetweenhimandthemcamebutslowlyinthenexttwodays。Hewouldnotacknowledgeit，yetitwasthere，intheirvoices，intheirmovements——ratheranabsenceofsomethingoldthanthepresenceofsomethingnew。Itwasasifeachhadsaidtohim:"Weloveyou，butyouarenotinoursecrets——andyoumustnotbe，foryouwouldtrytodestroythem。"Theyshowednofearofhim，butseemedtobepushinghimunconsciouslyaway，lestheshouldrestrainoralterwhatwasverydeartothem。Theywerebothfondofhim，buttheirnatureshadsetfootondefinitelydivergingpaths。Theclosertheaffection，themorewatchfultheywereagainstinterferencebythataffection。Noelhadalookonherface，halfdazed，halfproud，whichtouched，yetvexedhim。Whathadhedonetoforfeitherconfidence——surelyshemustseehownaturalandrighthisoppositionhadbeen！Hemadeonegreatefforttoshowtherealsympathyhefeltforher。Butsheonlysaid:"Ican’ttalkofCyril，Daddy;Isimplycan’t！"Andhe，whoeasilyshrankintohisshell，couldnotbutacquiesceinherreserve。

WithGratianitwasdifferent。Heknewthatanencounterwasbeforehim;astrugglebetweenhimandherhusband——forcharacteristicallyhesetthechangeinher，thedefectionofherfaith，downtoGeorge，nottospontaneousthoughtandfeelinginherself。Hedreadedandyetlookedforwardtothisencounter。Itcameonthethirdday，whenLairdwasup，lyingonthatverysofawherePiersonhadsatlisteningtoGratian’sconfessionofdisbelief。Exceptforputtinginhisheadtosaygoodmorning，hehadnotyetseenhisson—in—law:Theyoungdoctorcouldnotlookfragile，thebuildofhisface，withthatlawandthoseheavycheekboneswastoomuchagainstit，buttherewasabouthimenoughofthelookofhavingcomethroughahardfighttogivePierson’sheartasqueeze。

"Well，George，"hesaid，"yougaveusadreadfulfright！IthankGod’smercy。"Withthathalf—mechanicalphrasehehadflunganunconsciouschallenge。Lairdlookedupwhimsically。

"SoyoureallythinkGodmerciful，sir？"

"Don’tletusargue，George;you’renotstrongenough。"

"Oh！I’mpiningforsomethingtobiteon。"

PiersonlookedatGratian，andsaidsoftly:

"God’smercyisinfinite，andyouknowitis。"

LairdalsolookedatGratian，beforeheanswered:

"God’smercyissurelytheamountofmercymanhassucceededinarrivingat。Howmuchthatis，thiswartellsyou，sir。"

Piersonflushed。"Idon’tfollowyou，"hesaidpainfully。"Howcanyousaysuchthings，whenyouyourselfareonlyjustNo;Irefusetoargue，George;Irefuse。"

Lairdstretchedouthishandtohiswife，whocametohim，andstoodclaspingitwithherown。"Well，I’mgoingtoargue，"hesaid;"I’msimplyburstingwithit。Ichallengeyou，sir，toshowmewherethere’sanysignofaltruisticpity，exceptinman。Motherlovedoesn’tcount——motherandchildaretoomuchone。"

Thecurioussmilehadcomealready，onboththeirfaces。

"MydearGeorge，isnotmanthehighestworkofGod，andmercythehighestqualityinman？"

"Notabit。Ifgeologicaltimebetakenastwenty—fourhours，man’sexistenceonearthsofarequalsjusttwosecondsofit;afterafewmoreseconds，whenmanhasbeenfrozenofftheearth，geologicaltimewillstretchforaslongagain，beforetheearthbumpsintosomething，andbecomesnebulaoncemore。God’shandshaven’tbeenparticularlyfull，sir，havethey——twosecondsoutoftwenty—fourhours——ifmanisHispetconcern？Andastomercybeingthehighestqualityin，man，that’sonlyamodernfashionoftalking。Man’shighestqualityisthesenseofproportion，forthat’swhatkeepshimalive;andmercy，logicallypursued，wouldkillhimoff。It’sasortofaluxuryorby—product。"

"George！Youcanhavenomusicinyoursoul！Scienceissuchalittlething，ifyoucouldonlysee。"

"Showmeabigger，sir。"

"Faith。"

"Inwhat？"

"Inwhathasbeenrevealedtous。"

"Ah！Thereitisagain！Bywhom——how？

"ByGodHimself——throughourLord。"

AfaintflushroseinLaird’syellowface，andhiseyesbrightened。

"Christ，"hesaid;"ifHeexisted，whichsomepeople，asyouknow，doubt，wasaverybeautifulcharacter;therehavebeenothers。ButtoaskustobelieveinHissupernaturalnessordivinityatthistimeofdayistoaskustowalkthroughtheworldblindfold。Andthat’swhatyoudo，don’tyou？"

AgainPiersonlookedathisdaughter’sface。Shewasstandingquitestill，withhereyesfixedonherhusband。Somehowhewasawarethatallthesewordsofthesickman’swereforherbenefit。Anger，andasortofdespairrosewithinhim，andhesaidpainfully:

"Icannotexplain。TherearethingsthatIcan’tmakeclear，becauseyouarewilfullyblindtoallthatIbelievein。Forwhatdoyouimaginewearefightingthisgreatwar，ifitisnottoreestablishthebeliefinloveastheguidingprincipleoflife？"

Lairdshookhishead。"Wearefightingtoredressabalance，whichwasindangerofbeinglost。"

"Thebalanceofpower？"

"Heavens！——no！Thebalanceofphilosophy。"

Piersonsmiled。"Thatsoundsveryclever，George;butagain，Idon’tfollowyou。"

"Thebalancebetweenthesayings:’MightisRight，’and’RightisMight。’They’rebothhalf—truth，butthefirstwasbeatingtheotheroutofthefield。Alltherestofitiscant，youknow。Andbytheway，sir，yourChurchissolidforpunishmentoftheevildoer。

Where’smercythere？EitheritsGodisnotmerciful，orelseitdoesn’tbelieveinitsGod。"

"Justpunishmentdoesnotprecludemercy，George。"

"ItdoesinNature。"

"Ah！Nature，George——alwaysNature。GodtranscendsNature。"

"ThenwhydoesHegiveitafreerein？Amantoofondofdrink，orwomen——howmuchmercydoeshegetfromNature？Hisoverindulgencebringsitsexactequivalentofpenalty;lethimpraytoGodasmuchashelikes——unlesshealtershiswayshegetsnomercy。Ifhedoesalterhisways，hegetsnomercyeither;hejustgetsNature’sduereward。WeEnglishwhohaveneglectedbrainandeducation——howmuchmercyarewegettinginthiswar？Mercy’saman—madeornament，disease，orluxury——callitwhatyouwill。Exceptthat，I’venothingtosayagainstit。Onthecontrary，Iamallforit。"

OncemorePiersonlookedathisdaughter。Somethinginherfacehurthim——thesilentintensitywithwhichshewashangingonherhusband’swords，theeagersearchofhereyes。Andheturnedtothedoor，saying:

"Thisisbadforyou，George。"

HesawGratianputherhandonherhusband’sforehead，andthought——

jealously:’HowcanIsavemypoorgirlfromthisinfidelity？Aremytwentyyearsofcaretogofornothing，againstthismodernspirit？’

Downinhisstudy，thewordswentthroughhismind:"Holy，holy，holy，MercifulandMighty！"Andgoingtothelittlepianointhecorner，heopenedit，andbeganplayingthehymn。Heplayeditsoftlyontheshabbykeysofthisthirty—yearoldfriend，whichhadbeenwithhimsinceCollegedays;andsangitsoftlyinhiswornvoice。

Asoundmadehimlookup。Gratianhadcomein。Sheputherhandonhisshoulder，andsaid:

"Iknowithurtsyou，Dad。Butwe’vegottofindoutforourselves，。

haven’twe？AllthetimeyouandGeorgeweretalking，Ifeltthatyoudidn’tseethatit’sIwho’vechanged。It’snotwhathethinks，butwhatI’vecometothinkofmyownaccord。Iwishyou’dunderstandthatI’vegotamindofmyown，Dad。"

Piersonlookedupwithamazement。

"Ofcourseyouhaveamind。"

Gratianshookherhead。"No，youthoughtmymindwasyours;andnowyouthinkit’sGeorge’s。Butit’smyown。Whenyouweremyageweren’tyoutryinghardtofindthetruthyourself，anddifferingfromyourfather？"

Piersondidnotanswer。Hecouldnotremember。Itwaslikestirringastickamongstadriftoflastyear’sleaves，toawakenbutadryrustling，avaguesenseofunsubstantiality。Searched？Nodoubthehadsearched，buttheprocesshadbroughthimnothing。Knowledgewasallsmoke！Emotionalfaithalonewastruth——reality"Ah，Gracie！"hesaid，"searchifyoumust，butwherewillyoufindbottom？Thewellistoodeepforus。YouwillcomebacktoGod，mychild，whenyou’retiredout;theonlyrestisthere。"

"Idon’twanttorest。Somepeoplesearchalltheirlives，anddiesearching。Whyshouldn’tI。

"Youwillbemostunhappy，mychild。"

"IfI’munhappy，Dad，it’llbebecausetheworld’sunhappy。Idon’tbelieveitoughttobe;Ithinkitonlyis，becauseitshutsitseyes。"

Piersongotup。"YouthinkIshutmyeyes？"

Gratiannodded。

"IfIdo，itisbecausethereisnootherwaytohappiness。"

"Areyouhappy;Dad？"

"Ashappyasmynaturewillletmebe。Imissyourmother。IfI

loseyouandNoel——"

"Oh，butwewon’tletyou！"

Piersonsmiled。"Mydear，"hesaid，"IthinkIhave！"

VIII

1

Somewag，withabitofchalk，hadwrittentheword"Peace"onthreesuccessivedoorsofalittlestreetoppositeBuckinghamPalace。

ItcaughttheeyeofJimmyFort，limpinghometohisroomsfromaverylatediscussionathisClub，andtwistedhisleanshavenlipsintoasortofsmile。Hewasoneofthoserolling—stoneEnglishmen，whoseearlylivesarespentinallpartsoftheworld，andinallkindsofphysicalconflict——amanlikeahickorystick，tall，thin，bolt—upright，knotty，hardasnails，withacurvedfightingbacktohisheadandastraightfightingfronttohisbrownface。Hiswasthetypewhichbecomes，inagenerationorso，typicallyColonialorAmerican;butnoonecouldpossiblyhavetakenJimmyFortforanythingbutanEnglishman。Thoughhewasnearlyforty，therewasstillsomethingoftheboyinhisface，somethingfrankandcurly—

headed，gallantandfullofsteam，andhissmallsteadygreyeyeslookedoutonlifewithasortofcombativehumour。Hewasstillinuniform，thoughtheyhadgivenhimupasabadjobafterkeepinghimninemonthstryingtomendawoundedlegwhichwouldneverbesoundagain;andhewasnowintheWarOfficeinconnectionwithhorses，aboutwhichheknew。Hedidnotlikeit，havinglivedtoolongwithallsortsandconditionsofmenwhowereneitherEnglishnorofficial，acombinationwhichhefoundtrying。Hislifeindeed，justnow，boredhimtodistraction，andhewouldtentimesratherhavebeenbackinFrance。Thiswaswhyhefoundtheword"Peace"soexceptionallytantalising。

Reachinghisrooms，hethrewoffhistunic，towhosestiffregularityhestillhadarootedaversion;and，pullingoutapipe，filleditandsatdownathiswindow。

Moonshinecouldnotcoolthehottown，anditseemedsleepingbadly——thesevenmillionsleepersintheirmillionhomes。Soundlingeredon，neverquiteceased;thestaleodoursclunginthenarrowstreetbelow，thoughalittlewindwascreepingabouttosweetentheair。

’Cursethewar！’hethought。’Whatwouldn’tIgivetobesleepingout，insteadofinthisdamnedcity！’Theywhosleptintheopen，neglectingmorality，wouldcertainlyhavethebestofittonight，fornomoredewwasfallingthanfellintoJimmyFort’shearttocoolthefretofthatceaselessthought:’Thewar！Thecursedwar！’Intheunendingrowsoflittlegreyhouses，inhugecaravanserais，andthemansionsofthegreat，invillas，andhighslumtenements;inthegovernmentoffices，andfactories，andrailwaystationswheretheyworkedallnight;inthelonghospitalswheretheylayinrows;inthecampprisonsoftheinterned;inbarracks，work—houses，palaces——nohead，sleepingorwaking，wouldbefreeofthatthought:’The，cursedwar！’Aspirecaughthiseye，risingghostlyovertheroofs。

Ah！churchesalone，voidofthehumansoul，wouldbeunconscious！

Butfortherest，evensleepwouldnotfreethem！Hereamotherwouldbewhisperingthenameofherboy;thereamerchantwouldsnoreanddreamhewasdrowning，weightedwithgold;andawifewouldbeturningtostretchoutherarmsto—noone;andawoundedsoldierwakeoutofadreamtrenchwithsweatonhisbrow;andanewsvendorinhisgarretmutterhoarsely。Bythousandsthebereavedwouldbetossing，stiflingtheirmoans;bythousandstheruinedwouldbegazingintothedarkfuture;andhousewivesstrugglingwithsums;andsoldierssleepinglikelogs——fortomorrowtheydied;andchildrendreamingofthem;andprostituteslyinginstalewonderatthebusynessoftheirlives;andjournalistssleepingthesleepofthejust。Andoverthemall，inthemoonlightthatthought’Thecursedwar！’flappeditsblackwings，likeanoldcrow！"IfChristwerereal，"hemused，"He’dreachthatmoondown，andgochalking’Peace’withitoneverydoorofeveryhouse，alloverEurope。ButChrist’snotreal，andHindenburgandHarmsworthare！"AsrealtheywereastwogreatbullshehadonceseeninSouthAfrica，fighting。Heseemedtohearagainthestampandsnortandcrashofthosethickskulls，toseethebeastsrecoilinganddrivingateachother，andthelittleredeyesofthem。Andpullingaletteroutofhispocket，hereaditagainbythelightofthemoon:

"15，CamelotMansions，"St。John’sWood。

"DEARMR。FORT，"IcameacrossyourClubaddressto—night，lookingatsomeoldletters。DidyouknowthatIwasinLondon？IleftSteenbokwhenmyhusbanddied，fiveyearsago。I’vehadasimplyterrifictimesince。

WhiletheGermanSouthWestcampaignwasonIwasnursingoutthere，butcamebackaboutayearagotolendahandhere。Itwouldbeawfullynicetomeetyouagain，ifbyanychanceyouareinEngland。

I’mworkinginaV。A。D。hospitalintheseparts，butmyeveningsareusuallyfree。Doyourememberthatmoonlitnightatgrapeharvest？Thenightsherearen’tscentedquitelikethat。Listerine！

Oh！Thiswar！

"Withallgoodremembrances，"LEILALYNCH。"

Aterrifictime！Ifhedidnotmistake，LeilaLynchhadalwayshadaterrifictime。Andhesmiled，seeingagainthestoepofanoldDutchhouseatHighConstantia，andawomansittingthereunderthewhiteflowersofasweet—scentedcreeper——aprettywoman，witheyeswhichcouldputaspellonyou，awomanhewouldhavegotentangledwithifhehadnotcutandrunforit！Tenyearsago，andhereshewasagain，refreshinghimoutofthepast。Hesniffedthefragranceofthelittleletter。Howeverybodyalwaysmanagedtoworkintoaletterwhattheyweredoinginthewar！Ifheansweredherhewouldbesuretosay:"SinceIgotlamed，I’vebeenattheWarOffice，workingonremounts，andadulljobitis！"LeilaLynch！Womendidn’tgetyounger，andhesuspectedherofbeingolderthanhimself。