the noise of Monty cantering behind, pulled hard. My heart was in
sympathy with her, and I let her open into a stretch-gallop. For I
was absurdly thinking that, if once I allowed Monty to draw abreast
of me, I should yield to him a share of my position as chief
mourner. I wanted to be lonely in my grief.

At a point in front of me on the beaten road shells were dropping
with regularity. Savagely grieving, I let the mare race the shells
to the danger zone. What cared I if shell and mare and rider
converged together upon their destruction?

I rode through a rush of confused impressions. At one moment I was
passing Pink Farm Cemetery, which had two of its crosses nearly
broken by a shell-splinter. I was wondering if they would bury him
there, alongside of White, under the solitary tree. At another, I
was galloping through the lines of the Lowland Division, where a
band of pipers was playing "Annie Laurie," and an officer cried out
to me: "Stop that galloping, you young fool." In answer I put heels
to the mare's flanks and urged her on. And all the while the "White
City" was growing nearer and larger, and my heart beginning to beat
with anticipation and fear. I shouldn't know what to do or to say.
Never shy of Doe living, I was shy of Doe dying.

Having pulled the excited mare into control and dismounted, I looked
round, sneakily sideways, for Monty. I wanted his company now, for I
feared what was coming. Too proud to appear to wait for him, I
shammed difficulty with the animal's head-rope, and delayed long
over the task of tethering her securely. And the time, during which
Monty arrived and dismounted, I killed by unloosening girth and
surcingle.

"Come along, Rupert, old chap."

Monty led the way to Doe's tent. And the chief mourner followed
humbly behind. As we dipped our heads to pass under the porch, we
went out of the glare of the open air into the subdued and gentle
light of the tent. At once a coolness like that of evening displaced
the warmth of the afternoon. And a strange quiet fell about our
ears. It seemed to me that the eight cots were empty.

The orderly on duty greeted Monty with a soft whisper: "He's quite
conscious, sir, but won't last long."

Following the glance of the orderly, I saw Doe's wide eyes fixed
upon me.

"Hallo, Rupert."

I hurried to his bedside, feeling, even in that moment, a triumphant
joy that his affectionate welcome had been for me and not for Monty.

"Hallo, Doe."

He