h pierced his thigh, all the way
through.

Slowly, carefully, he went on with his statement:

"In spite of my wound they make me pass between their lines, giving me
still more blows of the gun-butt in the back, in order to make me march.
There are seventeen or eighteen persons with me. They place us in front
of their lines and menace us with their revolvers, crying out that they
will make us pay for the losses they have suffered at Alost. So, we
march in front of the troops.

"When the battle begins, we throw ourselves on our faces to the ground,
but they force us to rise again. At a certain moment, when the Germans
are obliged to retire, we succeed in escaping down side streets."

Hilda was watching Hinchcliffe while the peasant and the priest were
speaking. Curiously and sympathetically she watched him. A change had
come over the man: something arrogant had left him. Even his voice had
changed, as he leaned forward and asked, "What does he say?" The banker
had pulled out a black leather note-book, and was taking down the
translation as the priest gave it. Something kindly welled up inside
Hilda toward him. Something spoke to her heart that it was the crust of
him that had fallen away. She had misjudged him. In her swift way she
had been unjust. Her countryman was not hard, only unseeing. Things
hadn't been brought to his attention. She was humbly glad that she had
cared to show him where the right of things lay. Her fault was greater
than his. He had only been blind. Distance had hidden the truth from
him. But she had been severe with him to his face. She had committed the
sin of pride, the sin of feeling a spiritual superiority.

"If you please, come to the other side of the room," said the priest,
leading the way to the cot of a peasant, whose cheeks had the angry red
spot of fever. He was Frans Meulebroeck, of Number 62 Drie
Sleutelstraat, Alost. Sometimes in loud bursts of terror and suffering,
and then falling back into a hopeless pain-laden monotone, he told his
story.

"They broke open the door of my home," he said; "they seized me, and
knocked me down. In front of my door, the corpse of a German lay
stretched out. The Germans said to me, 'You are going to pay for that to
us.' A few moments later, they gave me a bayonet cut in my leg. They
sprinkled naphtha in my house, and set it afire. My son was struck down
in the street, and I was marched in front of the German troops. I do not
know even yet the fate