," shouted the little cockney.

"Oh, I hope not," replied Barry. "I'm not going that way. May I say, in
wishing you every good luck, that you are a credit to your country, and
I can say nothing higher. I wish to thank the officers who so splendidly
did their duty and gave such valuable service. Good luck to you, boys,
and give my love to all at home."

Again the men broke into cheers, and Barry, shaking hands with the
officers, turned away toward the car. As he was entering the car,
Sergeant Matthews came over to him.

"I want to thank you, sir, for getting me free of the R. A. M. C. up
there. I feel rather bad, but since my wife is waiting to meet me in
London, I was anxious to get through."

"All right, sergeant," replied Barry. "I'll get you to a hospital in
London, when we arrive. You are not feeling too badly, I hope."

"A little shook up, sir," said the sergeant.

At the R. A. M. C. hospital a bitter disappointment awaited him. He
found that the V. A. D. had departed for England, but just where no one
seemed to know. In her last letter to him, received before the last tour
in the trenches, she had mentioned the possibility of a visit to London,
and had promised him further information before her departure, but no
further word had he received.

His inquiry at Etaples was equally unproductive of result. Paula and her
father had also gone to England. They had taken the V. A. D. with them,
and their address was unknown. The matron of the hospital believed that
they had planned a motor trip to Scotland, for they had carried Captain
Neil Fraser off with them, and were planning a visit to his home. They
expected to return in about three weeks.

By the bitterness of his disappointment, Barry realised how greatly he
had counted on this meeting with his friends. Were it not for the hope
of being able to discover them in England, he would have turned back
up the line, there and then, and found among the only friends he had on
this side of the ocean relief from the intolerable weight of loneliness
that was bearing him down.

He walked out to the cemetery, and stood beside his father's grave.
There for the first time it came over him that henceforth he must go all
the way of his life without the sight of that face, without the touch
of that hand on his shoulder, without the cheer of that voice. In floods
his sense of loss swept his soul. It took all his manhood to refrain
from throwing himself prone upon the little m