't persuade them that the British fought for
Belgium at Mons.

We got into Ghent about midnight.

Dr. ---- is to stay at the Hotel de la Poste to-night.

[_Monday, 5th._]

The mosquitoes from the canal have come up and bitten me. I was ill all
night with something that felt like malarial fever, if it isn't
influenza. Couldn't get up--too drowsy.

Mr. L. came in to see me first thing in the morning. He also came to
hear at first hand the story of our run into Antwerp. He was extremely
kind. He sat and looked at me sorrowfully, as if he had been the family
doctor, and gave me some of his very own China tea (in Belgium in
war-time this is one of the most devoted things that man can do for his
brother). He was so gentle and so sympathetic that my heart went out to
him, and I forgot all about poor Mr. Davidson, and gave up to him the
whole splendid "scoop" of the British troops at Saint Nicolas.

I couldn't tell him much about the run into Antwerp. No doubt it was a
thrilling performance--through all the languor of malaria it thrills me
now when I think of it--but it wasn't much to offer a War Correspondent,
since it took us nowhere near the bombardment. It had nothing for the
psychologist or for the amateur of strange sensations, and nothing for
the pure and ardent Spirit of Adventure, and nothing for that insatiable
and implacable Self, that drives you to the abhorred experiment,
determined to know how you will come out of it. For there was no more
danger in the excursion than in a run down to Brighton and back; and I
know no more of fear or courage than I did before I started.

But now that I realize what the insatiable and implacable Self is after,
how it worked in me against all decency and all pity, how it actually
made me feel as if I wanted to see Antwerp under siege, and how the
spirit of adventure backed it up, I can forgive the Commandant. I still
think that he sinned when he took Ursula Dearmer to Termonde and to
Alost. But the temptation that assailed him at Alost and Termonde was
not to be measured by anybody who was not there.

It must have been irresistible.

Besides, it is not certain that he did take Ursula Dearmer into danger;
it is every bit as likely that she took him; more likely still that they
were both victims of _force majeure_, fascinated by the lure of the
greatest possible danger. And, oh, how I did pitch into him!

I am ashamed of the things I said in that access of insulting and
i