and the strong springing of his dark hair from his
forehead and every little feathery tuft of beard on his chin. And I have
known no other measure of time than the rhythm of his breathing, no mark
or sign of time than the black crescent of his eyelashes when the lids
are closed, and the curling blue of his eyes when they open. His eyes
always smile as they open, as if he apologized for waking when he knows
that I want him to sleep. And I have known these things so long that
each one of them is already like a separate wound in my memory.[28] He
sums up for me all the heroism and the agony and waste of the defence of
Antwerp, all the heroism and agony and waste of war.

About midnight [?] he wakes and tells me he has had a jolly dream. He
dreamed that he was running in a field in England, running in a big
race, that he led the race and won it.

[_Sunday, 11th._]

One bad symptom is disappearing. Towards dawn it has almost gone. He
really does seem stronger.

[_5 a.m._]

He has had no return of pain or restlessness. But he was to have a
morphia _piqure_ at five o'clock, and they have given it to him to make
sure.

[_8 a.m._]

The night has not been so terrible, after all. It has gone like an hour
and I have left him sleeping.

I am not in the least bit tired; I never felt drowsy once, and my cough
has nearly gone.

* * * * *

Antwerp has fallen.

Taube over Ghent in the night.

Six doctors have seen Mr. ----. They all say he is ever so much better.
They even say he may live--that he has a good chance.

Dr. Wilson is taking Mr. Foster to England this morning.

Went back to the Hotel Cecil to sleep for an hour or two. An enormous
oval table-top is leaning flat against the wall; but by no possibility
can it be set up. Still, the landlord said he would find a table, and he
has found one.

Went back to the "Flandria" for lunch. In the mess-room Janet tells me
that Mr. ----'s case has been taken out of my hands. I am not to try to
do any more nursing.

Little Janet looks as if she were trying to soften a blow. But it isn't
a blow. Far from it. It is the end of an intolerable responsibility.

The Commandant and the Chaplain started about nine or ten this morning
for Melle, and are not back yet.

We expect that we may have to clear out of Ghent before to-morrow.

Mr. Riley, Mrs. Lambert and Janet have gone in the second car to Melle.

I waited in all afternoon on the