ing after them; and it came into his heart that
war was a foul and evil thing; though he half envied the poor soul that
had fought his best, and was now sinking into the shadow of death.

While he thus lingered there sprang into his mind a thought that made
him suddenly grow erect.

He walked swiftly along the lane with its high hedges and tall elms. The
lane was at the foot of the down, but raised a little above the plain,
so that he could see the rich woodland with its rolling lines, and far
away the faint line of the Northern hills. It was very still, and there
seemed not a care in the great world; it seemed all peace and happy
quiet life; yet the rumbling of the cart-wheels which he still heard at
a distance, now low and now loud, told him of the sorrow that lay hidden
under those dreaming woods; was it all thus? And then he thought of the
great armies that were so near, and of all the death they meant to deal
each other. And yet God sat throned aloft watching all things, he
thought, with a calm and quiet eye, waiting, waiting. But for what? Was
His heart indeed pitiful and loving, as His priests said? and did He
hold in His hand, for those that passed into the forgetful gate, some
secret of joyful peace that would all in a moment make amends?

He stopped beside a little stile--there, in front of him, over the tops
of an orchard, the trees of which were all laden with white and rosy
flowers, lay a small high-shouldered church, with a low steeple of wood.
The little windows of the tower seemed to regard him as with dark sad
eyes. He went by a path along the orchard edge, and entered the
churchyard, full of old graves, among which grew long tumbled grass. He
thought with a throb, that was almost of joy, of all those that had laid
down their weary bones there in the dust, husband by wife, child by
mother. They were waiting too, and how quietly! It was all over for
them, the trouble and the joy alike; and for a moment the death that all
dread seemed to him like a simple and natural thing, the one thing
certain. There at length they slept, a quiet sleep, waiting for the
dawn, if dawn there were.

He crossed the churchyard and entered the church; the coolness and the
dark and the ancient holy smell was sweet after the brightness and the
heat outside. Every line of the place was familiar to him from his
childhood. He walked slowly up the little aisle and passed within the
screen. The chancel was very dark, only lighted