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。