thisfairyprincessofachildalreadytohavesomeone！Hewonderedifshewentaboutaskingeveryonethesequestions，withthatsomeoneinherthoughts。Poorchild！Andquicklyhesaid:
　　"Afterall，lookatme！Iwasoutthereayear，andhereIamwithonlyhalfagameleg;timeswerealotworse，then，too。IoftenwishIwerebackthere。Anything’sbetterthanLondonandtheWarOffice。"Butjustthenhesawthepadrecoming，andtookherhand。
　　"Goodnight，MissPierson。Don’tworry。Thatdoesnogood，andthereisn’thalftheriskyouthink。"
　　Herhandstirred，squeezedhisgratefully，asachild’swouldsqueeze。
　　"Goodnight，"shemurmured;"thankyouawfully。"
　　And，inthedarkcabagain，herememberedthinking:’Fancythatchild！Ajollyluckyboy，outthere！Toobad！Poorlittlefairyprincess！’
　　PARTII
　　I
　　1
　　Towashupisnotanexcitingoperation。TowashupinAugustbecameforNoelaprocesswhichtaxedherstrengthandenthusiasm。Shecombineditwithotherformsofinstructionintheartofnursing，hadverylittleleisure，andintheeveningsathomewouldoftenfallasleepcurledupinalargechintz—coveredchair。
　　GeorgeandGratianhadlonggonebacktotheirrespectivehospitals，andsheandherfatherhadthehousetothemselves。ShereceivedmanylettersfromCyrilwhichshecarriedaboutwithherandreadonherwaytoandfromthehospital;andeveryotherdayshewrotetohim。Hewasnotyetinthefiringline;hislettersweredescriptiveofhismen，hisfood，orthenatives，orreminiscentofKestrel;hersdescriptiveofwashingup，orreminiscentofKestrel。Butinboththerewasalwayssomelittlewordofthelongingwithinthem。
　　ItwastowardstheendofAugustwhenshehadtheletterwhichsaidthathehadbeenmovedup。Fromnowonhewouldbeinhourlydanger！
　　Thateveningafterdinnershedidnotgotosleepinthechair，butsatundertheopenwindow，clenchingherhands，andreading"PrideandPrejudice"withoutunderstandingaword。Whileshewassoengagedherfathercameupandsaid:
　　"CaptainFort，Nollie。Willyougivehimsomecoffee？I’mafraidI
　　mustgoout。"
　　Whenhehadgone，Noellookedathervisitordrinkinghiscoffee。Hehadbeenoutthere，too，andhewasalive;withonlyalittlelimp。
　　Thevisitorsmiledandsaid:
　　"Whatwereyouthinkingaboutwhenwecamein？"
　　"Onlythewar。"
　　"Anynewsofhim？"
　　Noelfrowned，shehatedtoshowherfeelings。
　　"Yes！he’sgonetotheFront。Won’tyouhaveacigarette？"
　　"Thanks。Willyou？"
　　"Iwantoneawfully。Ithinksittingstillandwaitingismoredreadfulthananythingintheworld。"
　　"Except，knowingthatothersarewaiting。WhenIwasoutthereI
　　usedtoworryhorriblyovermymother。Shewasillatthetime。Thecruelestthinginwaristheanxietyofpeopleabouteachother——
　　nothingtouchesthat。"
　　ThewordsexactlysummedupNoel’shourlythought。Hesaidnicethings，thismanwiththelonglegsandthethinbrownbumpyface！
　　"IwishIwereaman，"shesaid，"Ithinkwomenhavemuchtheworsttimeinthewar。Isyourmotherold？"Butofcourseshewasoldwhyhewasoldhimself！
　　"ShediedlastChristmas。"
　　"Oh！I’msosorry！"
　　"Youlostyourmotherwhenyouwereababe，didn’tyou？"
　　"Yes。That’sherportrait。"Attheendoftheroom，hangingonastripofblackvelvetwasapastel，veryfaintincolouring，asthoughfaded，ofayoungwoman，withaneager，sweetface，darkeyes，andbentalittleforward，asifquestioningherpainter。Fortwentuptoit。
　　"It’snotabitlikeyou。Butshemusthavebeenaverysweetwoman。"
　　"It’sasortofpresenceintheroom。IwishIwerelikeher！"
　　Fortturned。"No，"hesaid;"no。Betterasyouare。Itwouldonlyhavespoiledacompletething。"
　　"Shewasgood。"
　　"Andaren’tyou？"
　　"Oh！no。Igetadevil。"
　　"You！Why，you’reoutofafairy—tale！"
　　"ItcomesfromDaddy——onlyhedoesn’tknow，becausehe’saperfectsaint;butIknowhe’shadadevilsomewhere，orhecouldn’tbethesaintheis。"
　　"H’m！"saidFort。"That’sverydeep:andIbelieveit’strue——thesaintsdidhavedevils。"
　　"PoorDaddy’sdevilhasbeendeadages。It’sbeenstarvedoutofhim，Ithink。"
　　"Doesyourdevilevergetawaywithyou？"
　　Noelfelthercheeksgrowingredunderhisstare，andsheturnedtothewindow:
　　"Yes。It’sarealdevil。"
　　VividlytherehadcomebeforeherthedarkAbbey，andthemoonbalancingoverthetopofthecrumblingwall，andthewhiteowlflyingacross。And，speakingtotheair，shesaid:
　　"Itmakesyoudothingsthatyouwanttodo。"
　　Shewonderedifhewouldlaugh——itsoundedsosilly。Buthedidnot。
　　"Anddamntheconsequences？Iknow。It’sratherajollythingtohave。"
　　Noelshookherhead。"Here’sDaddycomingback！"
　　Fortheldouthishand。
　　"Iwon’tstay。Goodnight;anddon’tworrytoomuch，willyou？"
　　Hekeptherhandratheralongtime，andgaveitahardsqueeze。
　　Don’tworry！Whatadvice！Ah！ifshecouldseeCyriljustforaminute！
　　2
　　InSeptember，1916，SaturdaystillcamebeforeSunday，inspiteofthewar。ForEdwardPiersonthisSaturdayhadbeenastrenuousday，andevennow，atnearlymidnight，hewasstillconninghisjust—
　　completedsermon。
　　Apatriotofpatriots，hehadoftenapassionatelongingtoresignhisparish，andgolikehiscurateforachaplainattheFront。Itseemedtohimthatpeoplemustthinkhislifeidleandshelteredanduseless。EvenintimesofpeacehehadbeensensitiveenoughtofeelthecolddraughtyblastswhichtheChurchencountersinamaterialage。Heknewthatninepeopleoutoftenlookedonhimassomethingofaparasite，withnorealworkintheworld。Andsincehewasnothingifnotconscientious，healwaysworkedhimselftothebone。
　　To—dayhehadrisenathalf—pastsix，andafterhisbathandexercises，hadsatdowntohissermon——for，evennow，hewroteanewsermononceamonth，thoughhehadthefruitsoftwenty—sixyearstochoosefrom。True，thesenewsermonswererathercompiledthanwritten，because，bereftofhiscurate，hehadnottimeenoughforfreshthoughtonoldsubjects。AteighthehadbreakfastedwithNoel，beforeshewentofftoherhospital，whenceshewouldreturnateightintheevening。Ninetotenwashishourforseeingparishionerswhohadtroubles，orwantedhelporadvice，andhehadreceivedthreeto—daywhoallwantedhelp，whichhehadgiven。Fromtentoelevenhehadgonebacktohissermon，andhadspentfromeleventooneathischurch，attendingtosmallmatters，writingnotices，fixinghymns，holdingthedailyhalf—hourServiceinstitutedduringwartime，towhichbutfewevercame。Hehadhurriedbacktolunch，scampingitsothathemightgettohispianoforanhourofforgetfulness。Atthreehehadchristenedaverynoisybaby，andbeendetainedbyitsparentswhowishedforinformationonavarietyoftopics。Athalf—pastfourhehadsnatchedacupoftea，readingthepaper;andhadspentfromfivetosevenvisitingtwoParishClubs，andthosewhosewar—pensionmattershehadinhand，andfillingupformswhichwouldbekeptinofficialplacestillsuchtimeasthesystemshouldbechangedandafreshsetofformsissued。
　　>Fromseventoeighthewasathomeagain，incasehisflockwantedtoseehim;to—dayfoursheephadcome，andgoneaway，hewasafraid，butlittlethewiser。Fromhalf—pasteighttohalf—pastninehehadspentinchoirpractice，becausetheorganistwasonhisholiday。
　　Slowlyinthecooloftheeveninghehadwalkedhome，andfallenasleepinhischairongettingin。Atelevenhehadwokenwithastart，and，hardeninghisheart，hadgonebacktohissermon。Andnow，atnearlymidnight，itwasstilllessthantwentyminuteslong。
　　Helightedoneofhisrarecigarettes，andletthoughtwander。Howbeautifulthosepalepinkroseswereinthatoldsilverbowl—likealittlestrangepoem，orapieceofDebussymusic，oraMathieuMarispicture—remindinghimoddlyofthewordLeila。WashewronginlettingNoelseesomuchofLeila？Butthenshewassoimproved——
　　dearLeila！……Thepinkroseswerejustgoingtofall！Andyethowbeautiful！……Itwasquietto—night;hefeltverydrowsy……DidNolliestillthinkofthatyoungman，orhaditpassed？Shehadneverconfidedinhimsince！Afterthewar，itwouldbenicetotakehertoItaly，toallthelittletowns。TheywouldseetheAssisiofSt。Francis。TheLittleFlowersofSt。Francis。TheLittleFlowers！……Hishanddropped，thecigarettewentout。Hesleptwithhisfaceinshadow。Slowlyintothesilenceofhissleeplittlesinistersoundsintruded。Shortconcussions，dragginghimbackoutofthatdeepslumber。Hestartedup。Noelwasstandingatthedoor，inalongcoat。Shesaidinhercalmvoice:
　　"Zeps，Daddy！"
　　"Yes，mydear。Wherearethemaids？"
　　AnIrishvoiceansweredfromthehall:"Here，sir;trustin’inGod;
　　but’tisbetteronthegroundfloor。"
　　Hesawahuddleofthreefigures，queerlycostumed，againstthestairs。
　　"Yes，Yes，Bridgie;you’resafedownhere。"ThenhenoticedthatNoelwasgone。HefollowedheroutintotheSquare，alivewithfacesfaintlyluminousinthedarkness，andfoundheragainstthegardenrailings。
　　"Youmustcomebackin，Nollie。"
　　"Oh，no！Cyrilhasthiseveryday。"
　　Hestoodbesideher;notloth，forexcitementhadbeguntostirhisblood。Theystayedthereforsomeminutes，strainingtheireyesforsightofanythingsavethelittlezaggedsplashesofburstingshrapnel，whilevoicesbuzzed，andmuttered:"Look！There！There！
　　Thereitis！"
　　ButtheseershadeyesofgreaterfaiththanPierson’s，forhesawnothing:Hetookherarmatlast，andledherin。Inthehallshebrokefromhim。
　　"Let’sgoupontheroof，Daddy！"andranupstairs。
　　Againhefollowed，mountingbyaladder，throughatrapdoorontotheroof。
　　"It’ssplendiduphere！"shecried。
　　Hecouldseehereyesblazing，andthought:’Howmychilddoesloveexcitement——it’salmostterrible！’
　　Overthewide，dark，star—strewnskytravellingsearchlights，werelightingupthefewlittleclouds;thedomesandspiresrosefromamongthespread—outroofs，allfineandghostly。Thegunshadceasedfiring，asthoughpuzzled。Onedistantbangrumbledout。
　　"Abomb！Oh！IfwecouldonlygetoneoftheZeps！"
　　Afuriousoutburstoffiringfollowed，lastingperhapsaminute，thenceasedasifbymagic。Theysawtwosearchlightsconvergeandmeetrightoverhead。
　　"It’saboveus！"murmuredNoel。
　　Piersonputhisarmroundherwaist。’Shefeelsnofear！’hethought。Thesearch—lightsswitchedapart;andsuddenly，fromfaraway，cameaconfusionofweirdsounds。
　　"Whatisit？They’recheering。Oh！Daddy，look！"Thereintheheavens，towardstheeast，hungadullredthing，lengtheningastheygazed。
　　"They’vegotit。It’sonfire！Hurrah！"
　　Throughthedarkfirmamentthatfieryorangeshapebegancantingdownward;andthecheeringswelledinasavagefrenzyofsound。AndPierson’sarmtightenedonherwaist。
　　"ThankGod！"hemuttered。
　　Thebrightoblongseemedtobreakandspread，tilteddownbelowtheleveloftheroofs;andsuddenlytheheavensflared，asifsomehugejugofcrimsonlighthadbeenflungoutonthem。SomethingturnedoverinPierson’sheart;heflunguphishandtohiseyes。
　　"Thepoormeninit！"hesaid。"Howterrible！"
　　Noel’svoiceanswered，hardandpitiless:
　　"Theyneedn’thavecome。They’remurderers！"
　　Yes，theyweremurderers——buthowterrible！Andhestoodquivering，withhishandspressedtohisface，tillthecheeringhaddiedoutintosilence。
　　"Let’spray，Nollie！"hewhispered。"OGod，WhoinThygreatmercyhathdeliveredusfromperil，takeintoThykeepingthesoulsoftheseourenemies，consumedbyThywrathbeforeoureyes;giveusthepowertopitythem——menlikeourselves。"
　　ButevenwhileheprayedhecouldseeNoel’sfaceflame—whiteinthedarkness;and，asthatglowintheskyfadedout，hefeltoncemorethethrilloftriumph。
　　Theywentdowntotellthemaids，andforsometimeaftersatuptogether，talkingoverwhattheyhadseen，eatingbiscuitsanddrinkingmilk，whichtheywarmedonanetna。Itwasnearlytwoo’clockbeforetheywenttobed。Piersonfellasleepatonce，andneverturnedtillawakenedathalf—pastsixbyhisalarum。HehadHolyCommuniontoadministerateight，andhehurriedtogetearlytohischurchandseethatnothinguntowardhadhappenedtoit。Thereitstoodinthesunlight;tall，grey，quiet，unharmed，withbellgentlyringing。
　　3
　　AndatthathourCyrilMorland，undertheparapetofhistrench，tighteninghisbelt，waslookingathiswrist—watchforthehundredthtime，calculatingexactlywherehemeanttoputfootandhandforthegoingover:’Iabsolutelymustn’tletthosechapsgetinfrontofme，’hethought。Somanyyardsbeforethefirstlineoftrenches，somanyyardstothesecondline，andtherestop。Sohisrehearsalshadgone;itwastheperformancenow！Anotherminutebeforetheterrificracketofthedrum—fireshouldbecomethecurtain—fire，whichwouldadvancebeforethem。Heranhiseyedownthetrench。Themannexthimwaslickinghistwofirstfingers，asifhemightbegoingtobowlatcricket。Furtherdown，amanwasfeelinghisputtees。A
　　voicesaid:"Wotpricetheorchestranah！"Hesawteethgleaminfacesburntalmostblack。Thenhelookedup;theskywasbluebeyondthebrownishfilmofdustraisedbythestrikingshells。Noel！
　　Noel！Noel！……Hedughisfingersdeepintotheleftsideofhistunictillhecouldfeeltheoutlineofherphotographbetweenhisdispatch—caseandhisheart。Hisheartflutteredjustasitusedwhenhewasstretchedoutwithhandtouchingtheground，beforethestartofthe"hundredyards"atschool。Outofthecornerofhiseyehecaughttheflashofaman’s"briquet"lightingacigarette。Allrightforthosechaps，butnotforhim;hewantedallhisbreath——
　　thisrifle，andkitwerehandicapenough！Twodaysagohehadbeenreadinginsomepaperhowmenfeltjustbeforeanattack。Andnowheknew。Hejustfeltnervous。Ifonlythemomentwouldcome，andgetitselfover！Forallthethoughthegavetotheenemytheremighthavebeennone——nothingbutshellsandbullets，withlivesoftheirown。Heheardthewhistle;hisfootwasonthespothehadmarkeddown;hishandwherehehadseenit;hecalledout:"Now，boys！"Hisheadwasoverthetop，hisbodyover;hewasconsciousofsomeonefalling，andtwomenneckandneckbesidehim。Nottotryandrun，nottobreakoutofawalk;togosteady，andyetkeepahead！D——ntheseholes！Abullettorethroughhissleeve，grazinghisarm——ared—hotsensation，likethetouchofaniron。ABritishshellfromcloseoverhisheadburstsixtyyardsahead;hestumbled，fellflat，pickedhimselfup。Threeaheadofhimnow！Hewalkedfaster，anddrewalongside。Twoofthemfell。’Whatluck！’hethought;andgrippinghisrifleharder，pitchedheadlongintoadeclivity。Deadbodieslaythere！ThefirstGermantrenchline，andnothingaliveinit，nothingtocleanup，nothingofitleft！Hestopped，gettinghiswind;watchingthemenpantingandstumblingin。Theroarofthegunswaslouderthaneveragain，barragingthesecondline。Sofar，good！Andherewashiscaptain！
　　"Ready，boys？On，then！"
　　Thistimehemovedmoreslowlystill，overterriblegoing，allholesandhummocks。Halfconsciouslyhetookcoverallhecould。Theairwasalivewiththewhistlefrommachine—gunfirestormingacrosszigzagfashion—aliveitwaswithbullets，dust，andsmoke。’HowshallItellher？’hethought。Therewouldbenothingtotellbutjustasortofjaggedbrownsensation。Hekepthiseyessteadilybeforehim，notwantingtoseethemenfalling，notwantinganythingtodiverthimfromgettingthere。Hefeltthefaintfanningofthepassingbullets。Thesecondlinemustbeclosenow。Whydidn’tthatbarragelift？Wasthisnewdodgeoffiringtillthelastsecondgoingtodothemin？Anotherhundredyardsandhewouldbebangintoit。Heflunghimselfflatandwaited;lookingathiswrist—watchhenotedthathisarmwassoakedwithblood。Hethought:’Awound！NowIshallgohome。ThankGod！Oh，Noel！’Thepassingbulletswhirledabovehim;hecouldhearthemeventhroughthescreechandthunderoftheshell—fire。’Thebeastlythings！’hethought:Avoicebesidehimgaspedout:
　　"It’slifted，sir。"
　　Hecalled:"Comeon，boys！"andwentforward，stooping。Abulletstruckhisrifle。Theshockmadehimstaggerandsentanelectricshockspinninguphisarm。’Luckagain！’hethought。’Nowforit！
　　Ihaven’tseenaGermanyet！’Heleapedforward，spunround，flunguphisarms，andfellonhisback，shotthroughandthrough……
　　Thepositionwasconsolidated，astheysay，andinthedarknessstretcher—bearerswereoutoverthehalf—mile。Likewill—o’—the—
　　wisps，withtheirshadedlanterns，theymoved，hourafterhour，slowlyquarteringtheblackhoneycombwhichlaybehindthenewBritishline。Nowandtheninthelightofsomestar—shelltheirfiguresweredisclosed，bendingandraisingtheformsofthewounded，orwieldingpickandshovel。
　　"Officer。"
　　"Dead？"
　　"Sure。"
　　"Search。"
　　>Fromtheshadedlantern，loweredtojustabovethebody，ayellowishglarefellonfaceandbreast。Thehandsofthesearchermovedinthatlittlepooloflight。Thebearerwhowastakingnotesbentdown。
　　"Anotherboy，"hesaid。"Thatallhehas？"
　　Thesearcherraisedhimself。
　　"Justthose，andaphoto。"
　　"Dispatch—case;poundloose;cigarette—case;wristwatch;photo。
　　Let’sseeit。"
　　Thesearcherplacedthephotointhepooloflight。Thetinyfaceofagirlstaredupatthem，unmoved，fromitsshorthair。
　　"Noel，"saidthesearcher，reading。
　　"H’m！Takecareofit。Stickitinhiscase。Comeon！"
　　Thepooloflightdissolved，anddarknessforevercoveredCyrilMorland。
　　II
　　WhenthosefourtooktheirseatsintheGrandCircleatQueen’sHalltheprogrammewasalreadyatthesecondnumber，which，inspiteofalltheeffortsofpatriotism，wasofGermanorigin——aBrandenburgconcertobyBach。Morecuriousstill，itwasencored。Piersondidnotapplaud，hewastoofargoneinpleasure，andsatwitharaptsmileonhisface，obliviousofhissurroundings。Heremainedthusremovedfrommortaljoysandsorrowstillthelastapplausehaddiedaway，andLeila’svoicesaidinhisear:
　　"Isn’titawonderfulaudience，Edward？Lookatallthatkhaki。
　　Who’dhavethoughtthoseyoungmencaredformusic——goodmusic——
　　Germanmusic，too？"
　　Piersonlookeddownatthepatientmassofstandingfiguresinstrawhatsandmilitarycaps，withfacesturnedalloneway，andsighed。
　　"IwishIcouldgetanaudiencelikethatinmychurch。"
　　AsmilecreptoutatthecornerofLeila’slips。Shewasthinking:
　　’Ah！YourChurchisoutofdate，mydear，andsoareyou！YourChurch，withitssmellofmouldandincense，itsstained—glass，andnarrowedlengthanddroningorgan。PoorEdward，sooutoftheworld！’Butsheonlypressedhisarm，andwhispered:
　　"LookatNoel！"
　　ThegirlwastalkingtoJimmyFort。Hercheeksweregushed，andshelookedprettierthanPiersonhadseenherlookforalongtimenow，eversinceKestrel，indeed。HeheardLeilasigh。
　　"Doesshegetnewsofherboy？DoyourememberthatMayWeek，Edward？Wewereveryyoungthen;evenyouwereyoung。Thatwassuchaprettylittleletteryouwroteme。Icanseeyoustill—wanderinginyourdressclothesalongtheriver，amongthe’holy’cows。"
　　Buthereyesslidroundagain，watchingherotherneighbourandthegirl。AviolinisthadbeguntoplaytheCesarFranckSonata。ItwasPierson’sfavouritepieceofmusic，bringinghim，asitwere，aviewofheaven，ofdevotionalblueairwheredevoutstarswereshininginasunlitnoon，aboveecstatictreesandwaterswhereecstaticswanswereswimming。
　　"Queerworld，Mr。Pierson！Fancythoseboyshavingtogobacktobarracklifeafterlisteningtothat！，What’syourfeeling？Arewemovingbacktotheapes？DidwetouchtopnotewiththatSonata？"
　　Piersonturnedandcontemplatedhisquestionershrewdly。
　　"No，CaptainFort，Idonotthinkwearemovingbacktotheapes;ifweevercamefromthem。Thoseboyshavethesoulsofheroes！"
　　"Iknowthat，sir，perhapsbetterthanyoudo。"
　　"Ah！yes，"saidPiersonhumbly，"Iforgot，ofcourse。"Buthestilllookedathisneighbourdoubtfully。ThisCaptainFort，whowasafriendofLeila’s，andwhohadtwicebeentoseethem，puzzledhim。
　　Hehadafrankface，afrankvoice，butqueeropinions，orsoitseemedto，Pierson—littlebitsofMoslemism，littlebitsofthebackwoods，andtheveldt;queerunexpectedcynicisms，allsortsofsideviewsonEnglandhadlodgedinhim，andhedidnothidethem。
　　Theycamefromhimlikebullets，inthatfrankvoice，anddrilledlittleholesinthelistener。Thosecriticalsayingsflewsomuchmorepoignantlyfromonewhohadbeenthroughthesameeducationalmillashimself，thaniftheyhadmerelycomefromsomeroughdiamond，someartist，someforeigner，evenfromadoctorlikeGeorge。
　　Andtheyalwaysmadehimuncomfortable，likethetouchofapricklyleaf;theydidnotamusehim。CertainlyEdwardPiersonshrankfromtheroughtouchesofaknock—aboutphilosophy。Afterall，itwasbutnaturalthatheshould。
　　HeandNoelleftafterthefirstpartoftheconcert，partingfromtheothertwoatthedoor。Heslippedhishandthroughherarm;and，followingoutthosethoughtsofhisintheconcert—hall，asked:
　　"DoyoulikeCaptainFort，Nollie？"
　　"Yes;he’saniceman。"
　　"Heseemsaniceman，certainly;hehasanicesmile，butstrangeviews，I’mafraid。"
　　"HethinkstheGermansarenotmuchworsethanweare;hesaysthatagoodmanyofusarebulliestoo。"
　　"Yes，thatisthesortofthingImean。"
　　"Butarewe，Daddy？"
　　"Surelynot。"
　　"ApolicemanItalkedtooncesaidthesame。CaptainFortsaysthatveryfewmencanstandhavingpowerputintotheirhandswithoutbeingspoiled。Hetoldmesomedreadfulstories。Hesayswehavenoimagination，sothatweoftendothingswithoutseeinghowbrutaltheyare。"
　　"We’renotperfect，Nollie;butonthewholeIthinkwe’reakindpeople。"
　　Noelwassilentamoment，thensaidsuddenly:
　　"Kindpeopleoftenthinkothersarekindtoo，whentheyreallyaren’t。CaptainFortdoesn’tmakethatmistake。"
　　"Ithinkhe’salittlecynical，andalittledangerous。"
　　"Areallpeopledangerouswhodon’tthinklikeothers，Daddy？"
　　Pierson，incapableofmockery，wasnotincapableofseeingwhenhewasbeingmocked。Helookedathisdaughterwithasmile。
　　"Notquitesobadasthat，Nollie;butMr。Fortiscertainlysubversive。Ithinkperhapshehasseentoomanyqueersidesoflife。"
　　"Ilikehimthebetterforthat。"
　　"Well，well，"Piersonansweredabsently。HehadworktodoinpreparationforaConfirmationClass，andsoughthisstudyongettingin。
　　Noelwenttothedining—roomtodrinkherhotmilk。Thecurtainswerenotdrawn，andbrightmoonlightwascomingin。Withoutlightingup，shesettheetnagoing，andstoodlookingatthemoon—fullforthesecondtimesincesheandCyrilhadwaitedforitintheAbbey。
　　Andpressingherhandstoherbreast，sheshivered。Ifonlyshecouldsummonhimfromthemoonlightoutthere;ifonlyshewereawitch—couldseehim，knowwherehewas，whatdoing！Forafortnightnowshehadreceivednoletter。Everydaysincehehadleftshehadreadthecasualtylists，withthesuperstitiousfeelingthattodosowouldkeephimoutofthem。ShetookuptheTimes。Therewasjustenoughlight，andshereadtherollofhonour——tillthemoonshoneinonher，lyingonthefloor，withthedroppedjournal……
　　Butshewasproud，andsoontookgrieftoherroom，asonthatnightafterhelefther，shehadtakenlove。Nosignbetrayedtothehouseherdisaster;thejournalonthefloor，andthesmelloftheburntmilkwhichhadboiledover，revealednothing。Afterall，shewasbutoneofathousandheartswhichspentthatmoonlitnightinagony。
　　Eachnight，yearin，yearout，athousandfaceswereburiedinpillowstosmotherthatfirstawfulsenseofdesolation，andgropeforthesecretspirit—placewherebereavedsoulsgo，toreceivesomefeebletouchofhealingfromknowledgeofeachother’strouble