, inert. He stood and looked at it in silence. It was a
pity it was broken. It represented more than the thing which had kicked
and bullied him. He was afraid to look at the eyes. They were hideous
now, only the whites showing, and the blood running to them. The face of
the orderly was drawn with horror at the sight. Will, it was so. In his
heart he was satisfied. He had hated the face of the Captain. It was
extinguished now. There was a heavy relief in the orderly's soul. That
was as it should be. But he could not bear to see the long, military
body lying broken over the tree-base, the fine fingers crisped. He
wanted to hide it away.

Quickly, busily, he gathered it up and pushed it under the felled
tree-trunks, which rested their beautiful, smooth length either end on
logs. The face was horrible with blood. He covered it with the helmet.
Then he pushed the limbs straight and decent, and brushed the dead
leaves off the fine cloth of the uniform. So, it lay quite still in the
shadow under there. A little strip of sunshine ran along the breast,
from a chink between the logs. The orderly sat by it for a few moments.
Here his own life also ended.

Then, through his daze, he heard the lieutenant, in a loud voice,
explaining to the men outside the wood, that they were to suppose the
bridge on the river below was held by the enemy. Now they were to march
to the attack in such and such a manner. The lieutenant had no gift of
expression. The orderly, listening from habit, got muddled. And when the
lieutenant began it all again he ceased to hear. He knew he must go. He
stood up. It surprised him that the leaves were glittering in the sun,
and the chips of wood reflecting white from the ground. For him a change
had come over the world. But for the rest it had not--all seemed the
same. Only he had left it. And he could not go back, It was his duty to
return with the beer-pot and the bottle. He could not. He had left all
that. The lieutenant was still hoarsely explaining. He must go, or they
would, overtake him. And he could not bear contact with anyone now.

He drew his fingers over his eyes, trying to find out where he was. Then
he turned away. He saw the horse standing in the path. He went up to it
and mounted. It hurt him to sit in the saddle. The pain of keeping his
seat occupied him as they cantered through the wood. He would not have
minded anything, but he could not get away from the sense of being
divided from the others