rode savagely and thought savagely, a strange thing
happened. I was gripping the mare with my knees, and, now that she
was attaining her highest speed, I leaned forward like a jockey,
throwing my weight on her withers. The wind rushed past me; the
exhilaration of speed filled me; that invigorating sensation of
strong life pulling upon my reins and springing between the grip of
my knees ran through my veins; my lungs tightened; a pleasing
weariness set in below the heart; and for a moment I almost felt the
unconquerable joy of youth in life!

Instantly I pulled the wild animal in, and dropped into a melancholy
walk. I felt as if I had been trapped. Not yet would I be disloyal
to Doe by admitting beauty in creation or joy in living. I walked
the lathering mare to the lines, like a tired jockey who has run his
race. Then I wandered home to Fusilier Bluff--home to a dug-out for
two! I couldn't enter the dug-out yet. I lay down on the Bluff,
watching the late sun nearing the hills of Imbros.

The misery possessing me was of that passionate kind which embraces
self-torture. I wilfully excavated the ten past years for memories
of Doe, though, in so doing, I was pressing upon my wound to make it
hurt. I watched him as a boy, getting into the next bed in the
Bramhall dormitory, or rowing in the evening light up the river at
Falmouth. I saw two young khaki figures, his and mine, setting out
at midnight to sin and sully ourselves together. I heard him quoting
on the hilltops of Mudros his haunting couplet:

"As long days close,
And weary English suns go west'ring home."

The memories made my breath come fast and jerkily. With madly
exalted words I addressed that slight fair-haired figure, which
must now for ever be only a memory. "_My_ friend," I said to it;
"_mine, mine!_" In the freshness of my loss, I thought no lover had
ever loved as I did. "I loved you--I loved you--I loved you," I
repeated. And I even worked myself up into a weary longing to die.
Pennybet had led the way, and Doe now was following him. And why
should not I complete the story? Why not? Why not?

My brain was pulsing thus tempestuously when Monty drew near me. I
affected not to notice his coming, but when he sat down beside me I
decided to speak first. I felt it would be a supreme relief to hurt
him with the news that I had abandoned his ideal, and let my
spiritual life collapse. So, without looking at him, I said angrily:

"Th