re present Dove, two
Americans, and a young clerk from the consul's office, who was happy to
be associated, in any fashion, with the English residents. It was the
coldest day of that winter. Over the earth swept a harsh, dry wind,
which cut like the blade of a knife, and forced stinging tears from the
eyes. This wind had dried the frozen surface of the ground to the
impenetrability of iron; loose earth crumbled before it like powder.
Grass and shrubs had shrivelled, blighted by its breath; the bare trees
were sooty-black against the sky. So intense was the prevailing
sensation of icy dryness that it seemed as if the earth would never
again know moisture. People's faces grew as wizened as the skins of old
apples; throats and lungs were choked by the grey dust, which whirled
through the streets, and made breathing an effort.

In the outlying cemetery it was still bleaker than in the shelter of
the houses. Over this stretch of ground the wind swept as over the
surface of a sea. The grave-diggers related the extraordinary
difficulty they had had in digging the grave; the earth that had been
thrown up lay cracked into huge, frozen lumps. These two men stood in
the background while the service was going on, and stamped their feet
and beat their hands, encased in monstrous woollen gloves, to keep the
blood flowing. The English chaplain, a tall, cadaverous man, with
sunken cheeks and a straw-coloured beard, had wound a red and white
comforter over his surplice; the five young men pulled down the
ear-flaps of their caps, and stood, with high-drawn shoulders,
burrowing their hands in their pockets. The chaplain gabbled the few
necessary prayers: they were inaudible to his hearers; for the rushing
wind carried them straight over his shoulder into space. He was not
more than a bare ten minutes over the service. Then the diggers came
forward to lower the coffin. Owing to the stiffness of their hands, the
ropes slid from their grasp, and the coffin fell forward into the hard
yellow grave with a bump. The young men took the obligatory handfuls of
earth, and struck the side of the coffin with them as gently as
possible. With the last word still on his lips, the chaplain shut his
book and fled; and the rest hastily dispersed. Maurice shook off the
young clerk, who was murmuring unintelligible words of sympathy, and
left the cemetery in the wake of the two Americans, for whom a droschke
was in waiting to take them back to the town.

"W