e did not want to speak, not to anybody. There were two
gulls, like flakes of water and snow, over the river. The scent of green
rye soaked in sunshine came like a sickness. And the march continued,
monotonously, almost like a bad sleep.

At the next farm-house, which stood low and broad near the high road,
tubs of water had been put out. The soldiers clustered round to drink.
They took off their helmets, and the steam mounted from their wet hair.
Captain sat on horseback, watching. He needed to see his orderly.
His hel-met threw a dark shadow over his light, fierce eyes, but his
moustache and mouth and chin were distinct in the sunshine. The orderly
must move under the presence of the figure of the horseman. It was not
that he was afraid, or cowed. It was as if he was disembowllled,
made empty, like an empty shell. He felt himself as nothing, a shadow
creeping under the sunshine. And, thirsty as he was, he could scarcely
drink, feeling the Captain near him. He would not take off his helmet
to wipe his wet hair. He wanted to stay in shadow, not to be forced into
consciousness. Starting, he saw the light heel of the officer prick
the belly of the horse; the Captain cantered away, and he himself could
relapse into vacancy.

Nothing, however, could give him back his living place in the hot,
bright morning. He felt like a gap among it all. Whereas the Captain was
prouder, overriding. A hot flash went through the young servant's body.
The Captain was firmer and prouder with life, he himself was empty as a
shadow. Again the flash went through him, dazing him out. But his heart
ran a little firmer.

The company turned up the hill, to make a loop for the return. Below,
from among the trees, the farm-bell clanged. He saw the labourers,
mowing barefoot at the thick grass, leave off their work and go
downhill, their scythes hanging over their shoulders, like long, bright
claws curving down behind them. They seemed like dream-people, as if
they had no relation to himself. He felt as in a blackish dream: as if
all the other things were there and had form, but he himself was only a
consciousness, a gap that could think and perceive.

The soldiers were tramping silently up the glaring hillside. Gradually
his head began to revolve, slowly, rhythmically. Sometimes it was dark
before his eyes, as if he saw this world through a smoked glass, frail
shadows and unreal. It gave him a pain in his head to walk.

The air was too scented, i